The Elephant to Hollywood (13 page)

But perhaps the most memorable encounter of all during that whirlwind tour was with the legendary Bette Davis. People had been so generous to me during my trip that I asked Paramount if they would let me host a cocktail party the night before I left to say thank you. My new friends, the wonderful theatrical couple Jessica Tandy (who went on to win an Oscar at the age of eighty-two for
Driving Miss Daisy
) and Hume Cronyn, asked if they could bring Bette Davis along. I could hardly believe what I was hearing and when the evening came, I couldn’t wait to introduce myself to her. ‘You know,’ she said, in that unmistakeable drawl, ‘you remind me of the young Leslie Howard.’ I’d heard this before but this was from Bette Davis! She went on, ‘Did you know that Leslie screwed every single woman in every movie he made – except me?’ I had heard this, I said. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘
I
was not going to be just one on a list of conquests – but when I look at you I was just wondering what difference it would have ever made if I had.’ She sounded almost wistful. I blurted out, ‘Will you have dinner with me tonight?’ She looked at me for a minute. ‘I was
not
making a pass at you,’ she said, rather severely. ‘No, no,’ I said hastily. And I didn’t think she was. But she was trying to tell me that she had been there and that sometimes you can have regrets. ‘We could have dinner together with Jessica and Hume,’ I went on, ‘just the four of us.’ She smiled and relaxed. ‘That would be nice,’ she said, ‘as long as I can go home in a taxi on my own.’

I wasn’t back in England long before I got the call from my agent that would truly change my life. Shirley Maclaine had seen me in
The Ipcress File
, Dennis said, and as her contract stipulated that she could choose her own leading man, she had chosen me for her next film,
Gambit
. She was the star and she had chosen me. Of course the fact that I was a relative unknown and therefore cheap was a bonus for the production, but nonetheless she had picked me out and wanted to take the chance. They sent the script and I thought it was great, but that was completely beside the point. This was Hollywood – and I would have done anything to make a movie there. I had made it at last.

So off I went to the land of my youthful dreams. My expectations were so high I thought the reality would be a disappointment. I was wrong – it was better than the wildest of those dreams. I arrived at LA airport and was whisked off in a Rolls Royce to a luxury suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Then there was a bit of a hiatus, a glamour blip for a few days as Shirley was delayed and so I sat there in the hotel in splendid isolation awaiting her stamp of approval and the welcome party she had planned for me. To pass the time, I took to star-spotting in the hotel lobby. I didn’t know it, but both
Alfie
and
The Ipcress File
were doing the rounds of the luxury home cinema circuit in Beverly Hills and going down very well – and my face was beginning to become known around town. The first famous person to recognise me was Jane Russell, the gorgeously sexy star of Howard Hughes’s
The Outlaw
. She was passing through the lobby and came over to have a chat and invited me to lunch. Lunch with Jane Russell – it might seem the very essence of glamour, but by this stage Jane was
une femme d’un certain age
to put it politely (she was getting on a bit) and the lunch was hosted by the Christian Scientist church of which Jane was a member. Not my most stunning Hollywood moment.

The next lobby encounter, however, made up for it. As I was sitting there I heard the sound of a helicopter landing in the gardens opposite the hotel, which, a porter told me, was strictly illegal. We stood at the door to see who had dared break the law so flagrantly and out of the swirling cloud that had been whirled up came the figure of John Wayne. He strode into the lobby and up to the desk, wearing a full cowboy costume and hat. He was covered in dust. I just stood there, mouth open, while he waited to be handed his room key. Suddenly he turned round, saw me looking at him, pointed at me and said, ‘What’s your name?’ I could barely get the words out, partly from nerves and partly because I’d hardly spoken to anyone in days. ‘Michael Caine,’ I croaked. ‘Are you in that movie
Alfie
?’ ‘Yes,’ I said again, still hoarse. ‘You’re gonna be a star, kid,’ he said, ‘and if you want to stay one, remember to talk low, talk slow and don’t say too much.’ ‘Thank you, Mr Wayne,’ I said. He put his hand out and I shook it. ‘Call me Duke,’ he said and putting his hand on my shoulder he guided me round the lobby with him. ‘And never wear suede shoes,’ he said confidentially. This threw me. ‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘Because I was taking a piss the other day and the guy in the next stall recognised me and turned towards me and said, “John Wayne – you’re my favourite actor!” and pissed all over my suede shoes.’ And with that he was gone. I was to meet the legend many more times in Hollywood and he was always full of advice. I was even with him when he was dying of cancer in 1972. Shakira was in the UCLA Medical Center and when I visited her I found John Wayne in the next room. I don’t remember what we talked about – old times, I guess, people we knew – but I remember his bravery as he faced up to the terminal illness he’d been fighting for so long. ‘It’s got me this time, Mike,’ he said to me. When Shakira was well enough to go home I went in to see him for the last time. ‘I won’t be getting out of here,’ he said as I got up to go and then, seeing I was close to tears, ‘Get the hell out of here and go and have a good time!’ I left before he could see me cry.

When Shirley arrived, my real Hollywood life started. I couldn’t believe my luck in having this powerful, gorgeous woman on my side. I had wondered what she and Ronald Neame, the director, saw in me that made them think I was right for
Gambit
, and I think it was the sort of nefarious charm I projected with Alfie. Alfie’s a bit of a villain, but he’s charming with it. I’ve still got the poster for
Gambit
and the blurb says, ‘Alfie’s on the go again’ and that’s just right for my character in
Gambit
. Whatever it was, once Shirley had decided I was the one, she backed me all the way and I became her protégé – although to this day she claims she made a mistake. She’s a great mickey-taker and whenever I see her now she always says, ‘Are you still doing it? When are you going to give it up? How many movies are you going to make this year?’ It’s all a tease because she knows and I know that my life in Hollywood all began with the incredible welcome party she threw for me. The first person to arrive was Gloria Swanson – who looked just like Gloria Swanson, only smaller. The next person to arrive was Frank Sinatra. I simply couldn’t believe it – Frank Sinatra! Then came Liza Minnelli, and then star after star. Of course they all walked straight past me and went to say hello to Shirley, but I didn’t mind. She was very generous and brought them all over to meet me. Almost everyone had seen
Alfie
by now and they were very complimentary and after a while I started to feel I really had arrived.

Of all the movie stars and producers and celebrities passing before my dazed eyes, there was one man in particular who was destined to play an especially important role in my new life. And he was the smallest man in the room: at just over five foot tall, I could easily have missed him. But his size was the only small thing about Irving Lazar. He was one of the greatest agents of all time – his clients included Noël Coward, Gene Kelly, Ernest Hemingway, Cary Grant and my idol, Humphrey Bogart. In fact it was Bogey who gave him his well-known nickname of ‘Swifty’, because he once got him three movie deals in one day. Swifty – no one ever called him ‘Swifty’ to his face, he was always ‘Irving’, except when he answered the phone which he would do with a very clipped ‘Lazar here’ – was the first person to get a million dollars for a script (for
My Fair Lady
) and the first person to get a million dollars for an artist (Elizabeth Taylor for
Cleopatra
). And it was he who would persuade me, years later, to write my first autobiography. So I’ve got a lot to thank Swifty – sorry, Irving – for.

Later, when I got to know Hollywood better, I realised that Shirley had indeed pulled in the A list that night. It was a dazzling event and among the whole host of people I met were many who would go on to become some of my closest friends, including Swifty and Sidney Poitier. ‘Who is this party really for?’ I asked Shirley about halfway through. She smiled her wonderful smile and said, ‘You, Michael, only you!’ but only she could have pulled it off in that town: she was so loved.

The night after the party, I was invited to a quiet Chinese dinner in Danny Kaye’s kitchen. It really was a kitchen, and Danny Kaye really did do the cooking himself, with the help of a Chinese chef. I didn’t know it then, but these were famous evenings and I would end up going to many of them, but that night was my first time and it was a memorable one. We went into the kitchen and Shirley introduced me to the other guests: two English naval officers and a bald American who was wearing dark glasses, which was odd inside a house and at night, to say the least. I was completely mystified – and then in walked the Duke of Edinburgh (hands behind his back, just like Gonville Bromhead) and it became obvious that they were his security. And then, as if the guest list didn’t feature enough surprises, in walked Cary Grant. I was overwhelmed and sat almost silent throughout the meal, only speaking when I was spoken to. ‘Old Ipcress’ was how the Duke referred to me then and many times since. I had actually met Cary Grant in Bristol while he was visiting his mother and I was on location, but I was too shy to remind him of this or to talk much to him. Many years later when we moved to Beverly Hills we would become good friends, but on this evening he was still one of my idols and I was very much in awe.

Feeling a little more in command of myself by the end of the evening, I escorted Shirley home. As we approached her house I saw clouds of smoke pouring out from it. I pulled the driver up. ‘Shirley,’ I said, ‘I’m very sorry, but I think your house might be on fire.’ ‘Oh, Michael,’ she said. ‘That’s just the steam from the swimming pool.’ Welcome to Hollywood, I thought.

Dinner in Danny Kaye’s kitchen with Prince Philip and Cary Grant seemed a strange idea of a quiet relaxing night off, but when Shirley invited me to dinner with her family the following evening I felt sure that this really wouldn’t present any surprises. I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I walked into the restaurant, there was Shirley, her mum and dad – and Warren Beatty. Now, Warren and I had knocked about together in London a couple of years earlier. He’d heard what was going on in Swinging London and come over to see what it was like. I knew he was a bit of a jack-the-lad, but I had no idea he was dating Shirley. And of course he wasn’t – he was her brother and this really was a quiet family dinner. He was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him and as I wasn’t sure how much his parents knew about Warren’s London exploits, we didn’t do too much reminiscing about what we’d got up to.

We used to have a competition for a fiver a time. It went like this: we’d see a woman from the back and one of us would say, ‘Ugly or beautiful?’ And the other would choose and then when she turned round you would either win or lose. (Sexist, I know, but it was the Sixties.) One day we were out together and we saw a girl with her back to us buying one of the London newspapers. ‘Ugly or beautiful?’ Warren asked, quick as a flash. ‘Ugly,’ I said, and he said, ‘All right – beautiful.’ And she turned round and it was Candice Bergen, one of the most beautiful women in the world. I felt such a putz I nearly paid double – but then Warren always did have an eye for the ladies.

I last saw Shirley a year ago. We’re still good friends, but as she now lives in New Mexico we don’t see each other as often as we used to. She’s as lovely as ever, although these days frankly more and more eccentric, but I’m happy to say she’s never tried to dangle her New Age crystals over me. I think she realised very early on that I was a lost cause as far as that sort of thing was concerned. Mind you, in the surroundings of Beverly Hills – as I very soon learnt – it passes for normal.

The day after dinner with the Beatty family I took myself off to explore those new surroundings. Back then, Beverly Hills, which now features some of the world’s most expensive and luxurious boutiques, was quite a sleepy place with just a few shops including, bizarrely, a hardware store on Beverly Drive. I once nipped in there for a ball of string and there was Fred Astaire looking for sandpaper and when I was lining up by the till, I found myself behind Danny Kaye who was buying a single light bulb. It was in that store that I had what still ranks as my most terrifying experience in America: I was browsing through the power tool display when I popped my head round the corner and there in the next aisle was Klaus Kinski buying an axe. Never has a shop full of DIY aficionados cleared so quickly . . .