“That’s Debbie Reynolds,” the man whispered into my ear.
I turned around, not to get a look at Debbie Reynolds, but at the stranger whose lips were so close to my ear that I could hear his bad breath. Why he decided to share this information with me was unclear, but I smiled anyway.
“Where?” I asked, hoping he would use his lips gesture in some other direction.
“Over there!” he gasped. Although he might as well have said I just ate salmon! because that’s all my brain could process.
I spun around for a breath of fresh air and, sure enough, there was Debbie Reynolds. She was seated a few feet to my left, waiting in the Calgary airport to board the same plane to Los Angeles.
“She was so good in Tammy and the Bachelor,” said Fish Breath, instantly giving away his age and sexual orientation. “Don’t you agree?”
“I never saw that one,” I replied.
“You’re kidding!” he snapped. Clearly he had mistaken me for another elderly gay gentleman, but I nodded politely and then excused myself to the restroom.
When I returned, boarding had already started and Ms. Reynolds was long through the gate. As I passed by her seat in first class on the way to mine in economy, I saw her cotton candy hair sticking out from behind a magazine. I have to admit that my heart fluttered for a moment when I realized I was less than two feet away from the girl who tap danced over a sofa with Gene Kelly.
I’m not afraid of flying, yet I have frequent nightmares of going down in fiery crashes. Flying with celebrities takes the sting off entirely. Somehow it seems impossible for a plane carrying an A-list star to go anywhere but up. A Boeing could lose both engines and a wing, but if Julia Roberts was on board, her beauty alone would keep the plane from going into a nosedive. However, the opposite is true the farther a celebrity moves down the alphabet. B, C, and particularly D-list celebrities take down planes all the time.
One time I fastened my seat belt and settled in for a short flight from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. When I spotted Carrot Top a few rows up, I thought for sure we were all doomed. He’s just the sort of “celebrity” that turns up in the news for having died in a plane crash. “Prop Comic Finally Dies.” I clutched onto my armrest and prepared for the hereafter. Mercifully, the entire beefy cast of Thunder from Down Under came bursting down the aisle and I thought to myself, Whew! Surely they’ll keep the plane airborne for at least forty minutes.
One plane that I knew wouldn’t go down was the one I shared with Jane Russell. She may have been out of the public eye for more than thirty years, but she still had the same vivacity that made her so popular in films like The Paleface and Gentleman Prefer Blondes. How a gentleman could prefer anything but a brunette with her around is beyond me, but never mind.
She was seated in the row directly behind me, next to an old man who was taking his very first flight. The man was extremely nervous, so she talked to him from take-off until landing, never once mentioning that she was a movie star. She must have had an endless number of stories about Howard Hughes and Marilyn Monroe, but she was far more interested in his story and making sure he was comfortable.
I had always liked Jane Russell, but on that day I fell head-over-heels in love. She wore a bright red hat, bright red trench coat, and bright red shoes. You couldn’t miss her if you tried, yet not a single person recognized her. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything. Neither did I, which is one of the biggest regrets of my life. She seemed so lovely, so approachable, and so kind, that I’m sure it would have tickled her red clothes pink. As I watched her wait at the curb for a cab, I kicked myself for not having the nerve to say something. When she rode off in her taxi, I vowed never to let an opportunity like that slip through my fingers ever again.
I kept both eyes on Debbie Reynolds for the entire flight. She’s a person that demands both eyes. Then I wondered what she was doing on this particular flight. The destination was not a mystery (she lives in Los Angeles), but why was she in Calgary? Surely if she had a concert scheduled, I would have known about it. I can’t imagine she has family there, unless Carrie Fisher drags her every year to the Calgary Stampede.
Suddenly, I feared the worst. Did she come all this way for a corporate gig? Had she just performed show tunes in some Holiday Inn convention center? Was she that hard-up for cash? Even if that wasn’t the case, I started to feel sorry for her. While she was never exactly the toast of Hollywood, she was at least the bread. Her movies made millions of dollars and so did the woman who stole her first husband. She used to travel the globe, jet-setting from Hollywood to Morocco with an entourage of make-up artists, hair stylists, and photographers. She used to be unsinkable! Now she was all alone on a plane that had departed from Calgary of all places.
So I thought, in my infinite wisdom, that a fan letter would boost her spirits by reminding her how treasured she is. I’m not sure exactly what I wrote, but it went something like this:
I folded the note and dispatched a flight attendant to pass it to Ms. Reynolds. The very second it left my fingertips, I thought to myself, What the hell were you thinking?! I wanted to make my note memorable because I was sure she heard comments about Singin’ in the Rain every day, but Irene?! Perhaps I had more in common with Fish Breath than I thought.
I almost jumped out of my seat to get the note back, but it was too late. I could already see her tiny hands unfolding the paper.
I held my breath as I watched the top of her head swivel left and right as she followed my text. When she finished reading, she sighed graciously. Then just loudly enough for her secret admirer to hear, she exclaimed in that breathy voice of hers, “Isn’t that nice.”
As I predicted, the plane landed safely. Debbie Reynolds went one way with her luggage and I went the other with a fond memory that nobody can ever take away from me. Not even Elizabeth Taylor.
I turned around, not to get a look at Debbie Reynolds, but at the stranger whose lips were so close to my ear that I could hear his bad breath. Why he decided to share this information with me was unclear, but I smiled anyway.
“Where?” I asked, hoping he would use his lips gesture in some other direction.
“Over there!” he gasped. Although he might as well have said I just ate salmon! because that’s all my brain could process.
I spun around for a breath of fresh air and, sure enough, there was Debbie Reynolds. She was seated a few feet to my left, waiting in the Calgary airport to board the same plane to Los Angeles.
“She was so good in Tammy and the Bachelor,” said Fish Breath, instantly giving away his age and sexual orientation. “Don’t you agree?”
“I never saw that one,” I replied.
“You’re kidding!” he snapped. Clearly he had mistaken me for another elderly gay gentleman, but I nodded politely and then excused myself to the restroom.
When I returned, boarding had already started and Ms. Reynolds was long through the gate. As I passed by her seat in first class on the way to mine in economy, I saw her cotton candy hair sticking out from behind a magazine. I have to admit that my heart fluttered for a moment when I realized I was less than two feet away from the girl who tap danced over a sofa with Gene Kelly.
I’m not afraid of flying, yet I have frequent nightmares of going down in fiery crashes. Flying with celebrities takes the sting off entirely. Somehow it seems impossible for a plane carrying an A-list star to go anywhere but up. A Boeing could lose both engines and a wing, but if Julia Roberts was on board, her beauty alone would keep the plane from going into a nosedive. However, the opposite is true the farther a celebrity moves down the alphabet. B, C, and particularly D-list celebrities take down planes all the time.
One time I fastened my seat belt and settled in for a short flight from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. When I spotted Carrot Top a few rows up, I thought for sure we were all doomed. He’s just the sort of “celebrity” that turns up in the news for having died in a plane crash. “Prop Comic Finally Dies.” I clutched onto my armrest and prepared for the hereafter. Mercifully, the entire beefy cast of Thunder from Down Under came bursting down the aisle and I thought to myself, Whew! Surely they’ll keep the plane airborne for at least forty minutes.
One plane that I knew wouldn’t go down was the one I shared with Jane Russell. She may have been out of the public eye for more than thirty years, but she still had the same vivacity that made her so popular in films like The Paleface and Gentleman Prefer Blondes. How a gentleman could prefer anything but a brunette with her around is beyond me, but never mind.
She was seated in the row directly behind me, next to an old man who was taking his very first flight. The man was extremely nervous, so she talked to him from take-off until landing, never once mentioning that she was a movie star. She must have had an endless number of stories about Howard Hughes and Marilyn Monroe, but she was far more interested in his story and making sure he was comfortable.
I had always liked Jane Russell, but on that day I fell head-over-heels in love. She wore a bright red hat, bright red trench coat, and bright red shoes. You couldn’t miss her if you tried, yet not a single person recognized her. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything. Neither did I, which is one of the biggest regrets of my life. She seemed so lovely, so approachable, and so kind, that I’m sure it would have tickled her red clothes pink. As I watched her wait at the curb for a cab, I kicked myself for not having the nerve to say something. When she rode off in her taxi, I vowed never to let an opportunity like that slip through my fingers ever again.
I kept both eyes on Debbie Reynolds for the entire flight. She’s a person that demands both eyes. Then I wondered what she was doing on this particular flight. The destination was not a mystery (she lives in Los Angeles), but why was she in Calgary? Surely if she had a concert scheduled, I would have known about it. I can’t imagine she has family there, unless Carrie Fisher drags her every year to the Calgary Stampede.
Suddenly, I feared the worst. Did she come all this way for a corporate gig? Had she just performed show tunes in some Holiday Inn convention center? Was she that hard-up for cash? Even if that wasn’t the case, I started to feel sorry for her. While she was never exactly the toast of Hollywood, she was at least the bread. Her movies made millions of dollars and so did the woman who stole her first husband. She used to travel the globe, jet-setting from Hollywood to Morocco with an entourage of make-up artists, hair stylists, and photographers. She used to be unsinkable! Now she was all alone on a plane that had departed from Calgary of all places.
So I thought, in my infinite wisdom, that a fan letter would boost her spirits by reminding her how treasured she is. I’m not sure exactly what I wrote, but it went something like this:
Dear Ms. Reynolds,
The Broadway cast recording of ‘Irene’ is one of my favorites. You were sensational in that, as well as everything else you’ve ever done.
Much love, Bradley
The Broadway cast recording of ‘Irene’ is one of my favorites. You were sensational in that, as well as everything else you’ve ever done.
Much love, Bradley
I folded the note and dispatched a flight attendant to pass it to Ms. Reynolds. The very second it left my fingertips, I thought to myself, What the hell were you thinking?! I wanted to make my note memorable because I was sure she heard comments about Singin’ in the Rain every day, but Irene?! Perhaps I had more in common with Fish Breath than I thought.
I almost jumped out of my seat to get the note back, but it was too late. I could already see her tiny hands unfolding the paper.
I held my breath as I watched the top of her head swivel left and right as she followed my text. When she finished reading, she sighed graciously. Then just loudly enough for her secret admirer to hear, she exclaimed in that breathy voice of hers, “Isn’t that nice.”
As I predicted, the plane landed safely. Debbie Reynolds went one way with her luggage and I went the other with a fond memory that nobody can ever take away from me. Not even Elizabeth Taylor.
