Unsinkable Page 4

  “That’s not possible,” I said.

  “Believe me,” Todd replied. “If I’m telling you that it’s in this guy’s name, it’s in this guy’s name.”

  How could this be?

  I confronted Richard, who suggested that we go see Billy, acting as if he wasn’t quite sure how this had happened.

  So Richard and I drove over to Billy’s house in Las Vegas. Billy and his wife, a very pretty blonde, welcomed us. After sitting and exchanging a few pleasantries, I said, “Billy, why isn’t the hotel in my name?” Billy looked at Richard, who was looking away from all of us. I continued. “I don’t understand why on earth that is. You made us a loan so we could buy the property, not you. We never agreed to this. I don’t understand any of it.”

  Billy mumbled something that didn’t answer the question.

  I turned to Richard and asked, “Is this your doing?”

  Richard wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

  “If this doesn’t go back in my name immediately, I’m leaving,” I threatened. “Today. Right now. Put the deed back into my name—only my name.”

  Richard was quiet on the ride back. Was I supposed to be an employee at my own hotel? I chose to believe that Billy had talked Richard into something. A few days later, Todd called the title office and the property was back in my name.

  Everyone turned their attention back to the work at hand. Money was going into the hotel as fast as I could borrow or earn it. Progress on the showroom moved along quickly. It looked like the Star Theater would open on schedule. In the final weeks, Todd had two crews working around the clock to finish in time. I couldn’t afford to pay people time and a half, so my production company hired them during the day and if they wanted to work another shift, their second paycheck came from the hotel payroll. The week before opening night, Richard decided that we needed to raise the floor at the bar in the back of the showroom three feet, to be level with the rest of the room. He and Todd got into a fight about it.

  “We’ll never make the opening if we tear out the back of the showroom to pour concrete for that,” Todd told Richard angrily. “What difference does it make if the waitresses have to walk down a few stairs to get to the bar?”

  Richard remained adamant, and Todd came to me, warning, “If we rip out the whole back of the showroom, it will take weeks until we can open.”

  I shut Richard down, which only caused more tension all around. It was getting more difficult for me to ignore the many problems at the hotel that seemed to be Richard’s fault.

  By this time, I had tapped every friend I had to help with the opening of the hotel. My accountant, David DeSalvo, was working in the showroom. My friend Margie Duncan had flown in from LA and was working alongside us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Spielberg and Lucas were there, doing the windows. I was running the vacuum cleaner in the hallways outside the rooms. Todd was Scotch-taping wires together in the showroom. People were running around getting the lights and sound set for the first show. The new fiber-optic curtain Todd had ordered hadn’t arrived.

  In the middle of this madness, I was rehearsing a new show for the Star Theater. We couldn’t do it at my hotel since the theater was still under construction, so I rented a suite in a nearby motel where we could work in the afternoons. My drummer Gerry had a rehearsal plank that he used instead of a drum kit. For three weeks, we worked getting ready for opening night. I put off paying the dancers and musicians until we were open, hoping that the showroom would support itself after that.

  But on opening night, I didn’t have enough money to pay them, and the ads had been placed and the tickets sold.

  I called my friend Phyllis McGuire, who lent me $20,000 to get the doors open. One of the popular McGuire Sisters singing trio, Phyllis was always so generous about lending me money when I was in a jam. Opening night arrived, and Todd’s crew was still cleaning up the showroom. I spent close to two hours serving champagne to the guests waiting in line for the show and making sure everyone had a good time while Todd and his group worked away inside.

  Finally everyone went into my new jewel of a theater. Rip Taylor took the stage and told jokes. But when he came to the end of his act, Todd was still working on the wiring in the sound booth. He waved to Rip, signaling for him to keep going. Rip vamped for almost an hour more and was really stretching by the time Todd secured the last of the wires with Scotch tape.

  At last Rip introduced me.

  “Debbie will be here in a minute. She’s been through a lot. Can you believe that Eddie Fisher left her for Elizabeth Taylor?”

  The crowd laughed, as they do whenever Eddie is mentioned

  near me.

  “Screw Eddie Fisher,” Rip joked.

  “I did—twice,” I said from backstage.

  The audience laughed loudly.

  When I finally walked onstage, I didn’t care that there was no curtain for my entrance. It didn’t matter that we’d had no time for a sound check. What a relief to be on my own little stage at last.

  I looked at everyone, comfy in the recently upholstered maroon seats. The booths in front of the stage were called Kings Row. Then there was a row of tables, and directly behind them was Queens Row, a name I knew would please some of my fans. Richard was seated in Queens Row, right in the center of the showroom.

  After my first song, I went downstage to greet the audience.

  “Hi, everybody. Welcome to my new theater. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Those wonderful people who had waited on line for hours for my opening night cheered loudly.

  “Thank you for coming. What a great night. We made it—we made it! We worked so hard to get ready for the show. I haven’t had this much stress since Eddie followed Elizabeth down the Nile.”

  The audience laughed. I continued to talk to them like they were my friends—which is how I think of them—and was pleased at how responsive they were. They really seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  Things went fine until about the middle of my act. As I was performing, Richard stood and walked to the back of the showroom, past Todd in the sound booth, and out the door. He was hard to miss: over six feet tall, with all that gray hair, striding up the center aisle in my spotlight.

  I was stunned to see him leave, but didn’t miss a beat. Continuing my conversation with the audience, I joked, “They say sex is like bridge. If you don’t have a good partner, you’d better have a good hand.”

  I paused.

  “And some say sex is like air. It doesn’t seem important until you aren’t getting any.”

  As the audience laughed, I thought about a tall, gray-haired man who wouldn’t be getting any for a long time. How dare he walk out of my show?

  More singing, dancing, and joking around until opening night drew to a close. I thanked my audience again, then waved to Todd in the back of the room and thanked him for all his hard work. I basked in the applause, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

  Afterward, we had a party for everyone who’d helped to make the Star Theater happen. The party went on until the early morning light, with no sign of my husband, who’d never returned after walking out of my show. I didn’t have time to worry about him. I was so relieved that we had actually managed to open on time, thanks to Todd and all my friends. I’d made it to the end of a very long night in spite of my fatigue and my husband’s premature evacuation.

  Todd had been in the theater when Frank Basso, our concrete guy, stopped by after the show. He asked Todd if he had seen Richard, and Todd told him about Richard’s early departure.

  Frank laughed. He already knew what Todd’s answer would be.

  “Richard bet me ten thousand dollars that you guys wouldn’t get the place open in time,” he said. “I waited for him in the parking lot tonight. My truck was blocking his car when he came out. I knew he would try to skip out on me. We got into a big fight. I don’t think I hurt him too badly. He’s not much of a fighter.”

  This baffled Todd, although it might have explained
Richard’s desire to pave the showroom at the last minute, as well as all those calls to the building inspectors Todd had heard about.

  “Is he all right?” Todd asked Frank.

  “He’s fine. Ten thousand dollars lighter and pretty pissed off, but he’s fine.”

  Apparently my husband was somewhere in the city of Las Vegas, licking his wounds caused by betting against me. Meanwhile, I was laughing and drinking with my friends.

  CHAPTER 6

  FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS

  WITH THE STAR THEATER FINALLY open and the hotel operational, I needed time to catch my breath. Events had been moving so fast in the past year, but mostly things seemed fine—if I didn’t look too closely. I had finished my shows for the second night without a hitch.

  It was at least two in the morning. A glass of white zinfandel wine in hand, I sat looking through the open French doors that led to the balcony, at the other end of the living room of my Vegas apartment. From my seat at the little round glass dining table, I could see over the small balcony to the glittering lights of the city. I’d always loved this apartment that I’d bought after my divorce from Harry Karl in 1973. It was small and cozy. I poured another glass of wine and thought about the past few days.

  Chaos at the showroom finally turned to joy as we managed to open, only a few hours late. Then my husband walked out in the middle of my first show, and I hadn’t seen him since. I’d heard rumors that Richard had a mistress at the Stardust Hotel, loud whispers people must have known I’d notice, that he was having an affair with Jane Parker—that she’d come to Vegas from Roanoke with Richard to help him pass his free time while everyone else was working around the clock to finish the showroom in time for opening night. I didn’t want to believe it. Why would Richard be cheating, and with her? I’d met her and didn’t think much about her. How could he find the time when we were so busy? I guess people can always find time for affairs.

  And now my lawyer had sent me a copy of the deed to a Bel Air property I’d bought, on Angelo Drive. Somehow Richard’s name had been added to it. It knocked me back to the days during my second divorce when I was totally broke and in debt for millions, faced with complete failure in every aspect of my life. It was the worst loss I’d ever felt, and I never wanted to repeat it. After that experience with Harry Karl, I’d insisted that all new property I bought be registered in my name only. It was true that I’d bought this one because Richard and I were planning to build a new home in Bel Air. But when I saw the deed to the lot in both our names, that old feeling of insecurity washed over me again.

  As my mind raced about deeds, dalliances, and debt, I decided to wait up for Richard and confront him, hoping that he would show up. The more time that passed, the more anxious I grew. I sipped more wine, to soothe my nerves.

  It was almost four in the morning; if he didn’t get home soon, I’d pass out at the table.

  Finally I heard someone at the front door. I sat quietly as Richard closed the door behind him and latched the security chain. I was dreading the coming confrontation. But I wanted to know where he’d been, and why his name had been added to the deed.

  Richard’s appearance made things easier for me. He looked and smelled like sex, his gray hair tousled just enough to make me think he’d recently tumbled out of bed. He smiled when he saw me, that charming smile I used to love. Now it made me angry. I was sure he was hiding something.

  “What are you doing up so late, darlin’?” he asked innocently.

  “Waiting for you to come home,” I said. “Where have you been for the past day and a half?”

  Richard glanced at the empty wine bottle.

  “I was working.”

  “At a brothel? You smell like sperm. I hope it’s yours.”

  Richard looked at me wearily and said, “You’ve been drinking.”

  “You bet I have.” I held up the deed to the Angelo Drive lot. “Why is your name on this? You do not own this property.”

  “It’s our property,” Richard said, his blue eyes filled with anger.

  I glared at him as he sat down across from me at the table.

  “No, it’s not ours. I paid for it. It’s my lot. You need to sign this.”

  I pushed my lawyer’s paper across the table at him.

  Richard reached for my hand. “Why don’t we go out on the balcony and talk?” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. This conversation is over.”

  “We can talk about this outside,” Richard insisted and tried again to get me to cross the few steps to the open French doors. My hands gripped the table edge in defiance.

  The setting was perfect: my handsome husband and I sitting at a lovely glass table that had once been in a movie, while outside the night was turning to that beautiful hue just before dawn. I could feel my marriage hanging in the balance.

  “Let’s get all this out in the open,” I said. “Who have you been seeing? Do you really have a mistress? If you can have a mistress, I should be able to keep the lot that I paid for. I think you can sign it back to me; I think I deserve that. You walked out of my show on opening night. You’ve done a lot of bad things at the hotel. You presented yourself to me one way and now you’re somebody else. So sign this paper and

  get out.”

  “Come outside and let’s talk,” Richard repeated, his skin flushed with rage.

  “No! Sign this paper. I want my property back.”

  Richard stood and stormed up and down the small living room. My head was spinning from anger, disappointment, and a bottle of wine. Finally he came back to the table and said, “All right. I’ll sign it. Come outside and let’s be friends.”

  “Sign it,” I said, “and then we’ll be friends.”

  Richard scribbled his name hastily across the deed papers, then took my hand to lead me to the balcony. The look in his eyes scared me. Why did he seem so intent on getting me out on the balcony, which is only about three feet wide—not enough room to have a friendly conversation? Was he thinking about my million-dollar life insurance policy with him as a beneficiary? I could practically see the dollar signs floating above his head, like he was some corny cartoon monster. At that moment, through the haze of my cheap wine, I was sure he was going to toss me off the balcony. One shove and all his troubles would be over. I pictured myself plummeting twelve stories to the pavement.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, pulling away from him. “You go out on the balcony and I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

  I ran to my bedroom and looked for a place to hide. I didn’t know if I could find one, but I wasn’t going anywhere near Richard or the balcony.

  I opened my closet and quietly closed the door behind me, then shimmied up a pole to the top shelf, where I kept my big luggage and quilted bags, and slid behind the bags, arranging them in front of me so I was completely hidden. After all the work I’d been doing the past few months, I was down to ninety-five pounds, tiny enough to fit behind the duffels and the variety of big satchels. All I could do now was pray.

  I shook with fear as silence enveloped the apartment. Time passed. I held my breath as I heard Richard walk through the apartment, slamming doors and calling my name. I really did have to pee; I wished I’d taken a minute to go to the bathroom. But I felt that saving my life was more important.

  No sound for another hour or so. The wine had long since worn off. How could I have been so stupid? How could this be happening to me again? My mind raced through the events of the evening. Richard didn’t deny having a mistress, and he was certainly angry. I imagined him telling everyone, “Poor Debbie. She had so much stress from the opening of the hotel. She was drinking heavily. She must have fallen off the balcony. I wish I could have saved her.” The stress and the drinking were true. People would believe it was an accident—just a sad case of another drunken ex-movie star. What a great story for the tabloids. I bet I would have been on magazine covers at the supermarkets for weeks! I could almost see the show Richard wo
uld put on afterward: the grief-stricken widower busily revealing all the debts I’d accrued at the hotel, sighing through tears, “It must have been too much for the old girl.” It would have been a perfect crime.

  Finally I heard the front door close. As quietly as possible, I climbed off the top shelf, lowered myself to the closet floor, and curled up there for another twenty minutes, staying very still. God, I had to pee. Hoping desperately that Richard was really gone, I crept down the hall to the front door. The security chain was hanging loose, a sign that he had left and I was alone in the apartment. I said a silent prayer, blessing my daddy who had put that security lock on the condo door soon after I moved in. I slipped the chain back in place and bolted the door, sure now that it was true that Richard had a girlfriend down the block at the Stardust Hotel.

  After finally using the bathroom, I called security and instructed the office to remove my husband’s name from the parking garage and building pass lists and never to let Mr. Hamlett back into the building.

  CHAPTER 7

  A NEW DAY

  I’D TOLD RICHARD TO LEAVE and locked him out of my apartment, and now it was time to lock him out of my life. My third marriage was over.

  Eddie Fisher had left me for Elizabeth Taylor, humiliating me in front of the world. But the most hurtful thing that Eddie did was ignoring our children. He wasn’t mean or vicious to us, just absent. My second divorce was different. Although Harry Karl wiped us out financially, he was simply an unfortunate man oblivious to the fact that he was harming the children and me. The third time I’d married the devil.

  Why didn’t I see this coming? Especially after all the times that I’d saved Richard’s ass by lending him money. My eyes were wide open when I’d taken him on as a project, even though when I married him I didn’t know that he needed propping up. I did what I thought I had to do in order to be a good wife. Thank God my lawyers always drew up notes for him to sign and I could recover the money somehow when we sorted all this out. I felt the failure everywhere I looked. And this time I’d feared for my life as well as the security of my family.