B00C4I7LJE EBOK (17 page)

We got to the plane by the skin of our teeth and clambered up the steps. The steward in the doorway took our boarding passes.

“I was afraid we weren’t going to make it,” I said.

In true Southern-hospitality fashion he said, “Oh, we’d always hold the plane for Miss Diller.”

I could have slapped him.

Warde, who was just behind me, made a harrumphing noise that I knew meant something like “See? We didn’t have to rush after all.”

Of course, this was more than enough to justify his “I don’t want to spend my precious time sitting around the airport” attitude. If Warde had been difficult before that, he was almost impossible afterward. He was convinced that any airline anywhere would hold a plane if Madam so desired.

Phyllis’s appearance with the Dallas Symphony for its New Year’s Eve Gala the next night was a major social event, and when Texans had social events, they did it up right.

When we checked into the Dallas Fairmont, the desk clerk handed me a stack of messages. One was from Ken, the publicist for the symphony. Even though it was late, I called him as soon as I got to my room.

“Will Phyllis do an interview after the rehearsal tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” I said. “Phyllis will do an interview to advertise an appearance, but this is already sold out, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s no point then. People who hear the interview won’t be able to get tickets, so no.”

“Okay,” he replied.
Boy, that was easy!
I had been prepared to be firm and even a little rude, if necessary, but he took the refusal with good grace. Then he said, “There’s something else I want to ask.”

“Okay.”

“The Dallas Symphony Orchestra Guild wants to meet Phyllis after the rehearsal. They have a special gift for her that can only be presented in person.”

“I’ll run it by Phyllis and let you know in the morning.”

I woke up bright and early New Year’s Eve morning and did a quick run-through of all the things I needed to do. I hoped that Phyllis hadn’t stayed up late drinking with Warde. If so, she’d sleep until the last possible minute, and the only chance I’d have to ask about meeting with the guild would be in the limo on the way to rehearsal.

I ordered breakfast from room service before I took my shower. Ordinarily, I would have plenty of time to bathe and dress before the food arrived. I had not counted on the efficiency of the Dallas Fairmont. The breakfast arrived while I was still wrapped in a towel trying to make my recently cut hair do something other than lie on my head like a dead tarantula. The waiter’s knock coincided with a knock on the door from the adjoining room. (The hotel had put us in a two-bedroom suite with our bedrooms separated by a luxurious living room.) At that particular moment the phone began to ring. New Year’s Eve was going to be one of those days.

I yelled, “Just a moment,” to whoever was knocking on whatever door, lurched for my bathrobe, snatched up the phone, and without even waiting to identify the caller, snapped, “Hold on,” and dropped the receiver on the bed, then made my way to the door, avoiding the wet towel lying at my feet. Room service first.

While the waiter set up the table and got out the food, I unlocked the adjoining door to the suite. Surprisingly, it was Warde. Surprising because he was usually nursing a hangover at that time of day and was seldom out of bed before noon.

“Madam wants to know what time rehearsal is.”

I swallowed the desire to tell him that it hadn’t changed from when she asked me last night. Instead I said, “It’s at noon and I need to talk to Phyllis before we leave.” I closed the door in his face, locked it, tipped the waiter and grabbed the phone receiver, which still lay on the bed.

“I wondered if you’d had a chance to talk to Miss Diller yet?” Ken, the publicist.

I bit back the urge to snarl at him and instead told him I’d call as soon as I had an answer and hung up. My stomach had signaled that I had better appease it and soon, and my hair was slowly drying into an unmanageable mop. That was when I realized I hadn’t packed my curling iron.

By the time I finished breakfast and coaxed my hair into some semblance of order—with the aid of half a can of hair spray—I could hear the sound of a Bach étude from the living room next door. (The suite had a grand piano, which Phyllis required for practice.) I dressed and nearly swallowed my tongue when I went into the living room to find Phyllis dressed and evidently ready to get on with the day. We still had half an hour. Remarkable! Best of all, Warde was nowhere in sight, and I could put the proposition of meeting with the ladies’ guild without him standing there saying, “Oh, Ada, you don’t want to do that,” as he inevitably would.

I told her that they wanted to meet with her for “just a few minutes” after the rehearsal and give her a present. She agreed but told me I would have to make it clear that it wasn’t going to be a prolonged session.

“I don’t want to be rushed tonight. I want time to come back here and rest before the concert. And find out what the present is,” she added. “I don’t want to be surprised.” She turned back to the piano.

I called Ken. “Thank goodness,” he said. “These ladies have been counting on meeting Miss Diller. They would not be happy if she refused.”

“But no surprises,” I said. “Phyllis wants to know what they’re going to present her with.”

He hesitated.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” I continued. “If you don’t tell me, the meeting’s off.”

“It’s a puppy,” he said in a low voice, as if he didn’t want the ladies to know he’d given up the surprise. Although surely they weren’t all standing in his office. I hoped.

“A puppy?” I shrieked. I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely present. “What kind of puppy?” Maybe it was a stuffed toy—a souvenir of her stay in Dallas.

“It’s a purebred Lhasa Apso. One of the women breeds them,” he explained. “This last litter she named in Phyllis’s honor. All the dogs have names that start with
Ph
. There’s Phancey, Phunney Phace, and Phearless. They want to give Phearless to Phyllis.

“A dog. You are talking about a real, live dog, right?

“Yes. It’s just a puppy.”

“And it’ll grow up to be a dog, right?”  

“I guess so.”

Wait’ll I tell Phyllis they want to give her a dog.
“I’ll call you back.”

In the living room, Phyllis was still practicing the Bach étude. I knew better than to interrupt, so I seated myself on the couch, where she could see me.

“Well?” she asked as she finished.

“It’s a dog.”

“What’s a dog?”

“The present. They want to give you a puppy. A purebred Lhasa Apso, and they named it in honor of you.”

“A puppy named Phyllis?”

“No, the puppy’s name is Phearless.” I explained the whole naming rigmarole to her.

“How delightful!”

I couldn’t anticipate which way she would jump and was relieved that I didn’t have to call Ken back and tell him no dog.

“Warde, listen to this,” Phyllis said as Warde strolled into the room, towel-drying his newly permed hair. (Val had done it the day after Karen quit.)

“Tell him,” Phyllis instructed, so I repeated the story for Warde.

“That’s wonderful, honey,” he said. “Just think, it’ll be a companion for Candy.”

I sat there stunned. I would never have predicted that either Phyllis or Warde would be happy about getting another dog. And I doubted that Candy—a cute little Bichon Frise that received 100 percent of the attention from 100 percent of the people in the house—felt the need for a companion. Still, I couldn’t help but picture what a charming pair they’d make—two mop dogs.

On the way to the rehearsal, Phyllis had one instruction about the dog: “They are going to keep it overnight. Tell them they can bring it to the plane in the morning.”

Thank heaven! I really didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve baby-sitting a homesick pup.

“I’ll tell them,” I promised.

The rehearsal went about the same as usual. Once I had everything set up in the dressing room, I stepped into the wings, where I could hear snatches of music followed by laughter. Phyllis loved to clown, and when the members of the orchestra found that she really could play, they were happy to accept Phyllis as one of them and pleased to be entertained along the way. If Phyllis didn’t get through the entire number without a few mistakes, well, what difference would that make? The audience would be expecting a comedy routine anyway.

Toward the end of the rehearsal, I slipped back to the dressing room, astonished to find Ken already there with a dozen ladies. Ken had met us as soon as we arrived and it never occurred to me that we should discuss the way the meeting was going to happen. This would not do at all. Phyllis would want to come back and catch her breath, maybe use the bathroom and relax a few minutes before meeting with the ladies of the guild. Ken introduced me, and I was by then getting used to being considered something of a celebrity myself—all because I worked for a “star.”

I made all the right noises about how much Phyllis was looking forward to meeting them and how pleased she was that the proceeds of that night’s gala were going to charity. (I had noticed that on a poster outside.) Then I made a quick motion to Ken, and he stepped outside for a conference in the hall.

“They can’t be in here when Phyllis comes offstage,” I whispered. “You’re going to have to get them out for a few minutes.”

It seemed to me a touchy situation, but Ken handled it smoothly, ushering the ladies into a vacant dressing room next door so that “Miss Diller can have a little privacy before we all descend on her.” There was much good-natured, Southern-belle giggling and that was that.

Once rehearsal ended and Phyllis had a few minutes to relax, I popped next door to give Ken the thumbs up. As always, Phyllis was gracious, and the ladies of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra Guild were “enchanted” to meet her. The presentation of Phearless went without a hitch, and I was surprised to see how small the dog was. She sat demurely in her breeder’s cupped hands while everyone reached out to touch her and remark on her resemblance to Phyllis.

They both did have shaggy hair.

The president of the guild told Phyllis that after the concert she was having a New Year’s Eve party, “and of course you’re invited. You and your charming husband. After all, it’s New Year’s Eve in Dallas, and we want to show you some of our true Texas hospitality.”

Phyllis muttered something noncommittal and I knew she’d want to check with Warde.

The performance that evening went as smoothly as Phyllis’s concerts usually did. That is to say, there were a lot of ad libs and unrehearsed interruptions. As always, she was billed as
Dame Illya Dillya
, and she appeared onstage in that gorgeous opera coat and long white gloves (the same white gloves Karen had stitched the yard of material onto in Pittsburgh for the Little Old Lady skit). She wore a glittering tiara in her fright wig, which gave a wonderfully comic effect. After the applause died down, she began removing the gloves with a sophisticated smile. As she kept pulling and the glove kept getting longer, she’d cast somewhat anxious “stay with me” glances at the audience. Then, as the glove continued to “grow,” she actually began to look embarrassed and try to hide her hands by half turning around. By the time the gloves were truly and finally removed, the audience was in stitches. The magnificent blue opera coat, which was lined with white satin and glittered with crystals, came next. She took it off to reveal a gorgeous white satin gown cut moderately low in front and even lower in back. Following her “strip,” Phyllis seated herself at the piano with a look of apprehension, mugging at the conductor and the audience. Finally, the concert began and the people in the audience sat in amazement, staring intently as Phyllis Diller actually played the piano. Bach and Chopin rippled from her fingers, and when she finished, the audience went wild with applause and enthusiasm. Perhaps because it was New Year’s Eve, people were in a particularly jovial mood. The concert ended with a standing ovation.

Afterward, well-wishers flooded Phyllis’s dressing room. Part of my job was to keep everyone outside until she had changed and had a few minutes to herself. Warde mixed drinks while I helped her out of the long, white gown and folded it neatly into the suitcase. By the time Phyllis had put on a party dress, I had everything packed and ready to be taken out to the limo. All that remained was to make sure we had all the music.

Each orchestra librarian collected the music after the performance, and I touched base with him (or her) during the rehearsal to make sure ours would be put back into our music bag. While Phyllis and Warde were busy hobnobbing in the dressing room with the crčme de la crčme of Dallas society, I went in search of the librarian. Sure enough, our music had been neatly packed in our music bag, and I went through it to make sure every part was there. It cost a small fortune to have the musical arrangements written out for each instrument, and losing any of it would be expensive. I didn’t want that happening on my watch.

When I’d seen the music bag, along with the costume case and wig box, safely stowed in the back of the limo, I returned to the dressing room. The last of the well-wishers was leaving, and I gave the room a final check to make sure nothing had been left behind.

“Is the music taken care of?” Phyllis asked as I closed the door to the closet.

“Yes, everything’s in the car.”

Ken poked his head in. “You’re coming to the party?”

“We’re just going to drop Robin off at the hotel with the bags and then we’ll be right along.”

“Oh, no, Robin’s invited, too.” Ken smiled for the first time since I’d met him that morning. Everything had gone smoothly and he’d finally relaxed.

Warde piped up. “No, she has to take the bags back to the hotel. It’s her job.”

I couldn’t believe that I was going to be left alone in a hotel on New Year’s Eve while everyone else went off to a party. I looked to Phyllis in appeal, but she was busying herself in front of the mirror. It was one of those times she chose not to get involved.