Fisher did it his way

By JIM SLOTEK
Toronto Sun


BEEN THERE, DONE THAT
Eddie Fisher
(Thomas Dunne Books)


NEW YORK -- "Yes, I certainly have heard Elizabeth's response to my book," says Eddie Fisher, his wife Betty Lin by his side at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. "I've heard nothing but her response."

 The book is Been There, Done That -- though it could more appropriately be called "Been There, Done Her" for the Wilt Chamberlain-like quantity of sexual episodes and
Hollywood names-named. Nonetheless, the now-aged crooner was married to Elizabeth Taylor, and that's kind of like wearing a conspicuous tattoo.

 Still wincing from La Taylor's public statement that Eddie's "living in a fantasy world ... I hope he gets better soon," Fisher can't hide his interest when I haul out a copy of the latest Talk magazine, with Liz on the cover.

 But Betty Lin is even more intrigued. "Ooh, can I see that?" she says, lunging for the magazine.

 Points of interest from the interview are exchanged. Fisher hears that
Taylor likens herself to Wendy and Michael Jackson to Peter Pan.

 "Wendy, and him, Peter Pan? She says that really? And I'm the one living in a fantasy world?"

 Further in the article, there's a comment that
Taylor gets along with all her husbands except Eddie. ("Let's say we're not exactly intimate buds," she's quoted as saying.)

 "Oh yeah, she gets along great with Nicky Hilton, but he's dead. Michael Wilding is dead. Mike Todd is dead. Richard Burton is dead. It's easy to get along with someone who's dead." (In fact, only John Warner and Larry Fortensky are alive, and they've signed non-disclosure clauses).

 At a stiffly moving 71, looking very much like a little old
Hollywood lion in winter with his jet-black hair, ill-fitting jacket and gold chain, the sight of Eddie Fisher makes you think, "This guy had a thousand women?" But in the '50s, when his nickname was Sonny Boy (after the song), he was, by his accounts and others, catnip to women and a world-class cad.

 Like the time he had romances going with Ann-Margret and Edie Adams (widow of the great comic Ernie Kovacs), as per this Been There, Done That passage. "Edie was a sexy lady who liked to wear a full-length chinchilla fur coat with nothing under it," he writes. "After the show, I was in my dressing room when Ann-Margret walked in. She'd flown to Vegas to surprise me, and immediately got down on her knees and started showing me how happy she was to see me. Suddenly the door opened, and Edie Adams was standing there in that fur coat. 'Oh ... I'll be at the bar,' she said, embarrassed, shocked, maybe even a little hurt." Gee, Eddie, ya think?

 Marlene Dietrich, Joan Collins (he calls her "the British Open"), Michelle Phillips, Mamie Van Doren, Stefanie Powers, Abbe Laine, Mia Farrow, Juliet Prowse, Judith Campbell Exner (a mistress he shared with John F. Kennedy and mobster Sam Giancana). The list goes on and on, and it's telling that none of the women still alive have commented on the book, save for
Taylor. Gossip columnist Liz Smith has quoted Debbie Reynolds as calling him "pathetic." And Eddie and Connie Stevens' daughter, Joely Fisher, who's currently in Toronto starring in Cabaret, has allowed that her mother is hurt by it.

 Even what principles he had with women are shaky. "About the only thing that prevented me from pursuing a woman was a wedding ring. I knew what it felt like to learn your wife was cheating on you. I didn't want to do to someone what
Burton had done to me. There were only two exceptions: Michelle Phillips and Nathalie Delon, wife of actor Alain Delon." In other words, I don't sleep with married women. Okay, maybe twice.

 "I'm not proud of what's in there, it's just the truth," Fisher tells me. "I'm not apologizing for it either." Ironically, though, he was as big a cad with Stevens as with anyone (he got cold feet on their wedding day, and called it off in front of the wedding party, declaring the event an "engagement party"), he says Stevens is the only ex he's still friends with.

 Indeed, Been There, Done That gives you a glimpse of the kind of grudge-holding that keeps the Balkans in business as a trouble spot. Despite
Taylor's contribution, it is clearly his first wife, Debbie Reynolds, who holds a special place in his spleen. "Who do you like least of your exes?" I ask, "I'll guess Debbie."

 "That's not even a guess," he laughs. "That's the answer."

 As
Hollywood history has it, the kid singer who'll always be remembered for his hit Oh My Papa, was one half of the couple known as America's Sweethearts. He and Debbie Reynolds (Carrie Fisher's mother) lived a fairytale that was broken up after Eddie's friend, the legendary producer Mike Todd, was killed in a planecrash. Todd's widow, Elizabeth Taylor, ended up in Fisher's arms, and Eddie and Liz became synonymous in the late '50s with adultery.

 What goes around comes around, of course, and Eddie ended up the jilted one after Liz met Dick on the epic, Cleopatra. "Debbie has never forgiven me for what happened," he says. "But she knows that I did not leave her for
Elizabeth -- we were apart long before that. But that's not the role she played for the public."

 In the book, he's even less generous. "Debbie Reynolds was the girl next door," he writes, "but only if you lived next door to a self-centred, totally driven, insecure, untruthful phony." He says their sex life ended soon after the wedding, that she was always a cold fish in bed with him, and apropos of that, he suggests she might have been a lesbian. Oh, and by the way, as for her public declaration that she stayed a virgin until the wedding, he reports, "That, I know is not true, because I was there long before our marriage."

 But it's with his whirlwind three-year marriage to Liz that the book takes on an almost Tennessee Williams plot turn. Fisher, a drug addict who was attended to by a
Hollywood needle doctor named Max Jacobson (who was also the official pick-me-up guy for JFK), took to pills and booze during his stint as Mr. Elizabeth Taylor (vices he shared with his overdose-and-illness-prone wife).

 One section, where he and Richard Burton have a man-to-man, is so over-the-top, I have to ask Fisher to his face if he made it up.

 "
Burton was relentless," the passage reads. "Whatever he was trying to accomplish, this was a bravura performance; sometimes charming, sometimes threatening, he roared and whispered, he lectured, he moved from bitter rival to sympathetic friend. Finally I said evenly, 'Why don't you leave her alone, Richard? She's my life, I love her.'

 "I'll never forget his response. 'You don't need her anymore,' he said with a calculated coldness I'd never seen in him before. 'You're a star already. I'm not, not yet. But she's going to make me one. I'm going to use her, that no-talent nothing."

 C'mon, I suggest, did that really happen? "It did!" Fisher says, making one correction. "He actually called her 'a
Hollywood c---.' He was dead drunk and the phone rang during all that and it was Elizabeth and he said to her (Fisher adopts a Burton impression) 'How dare you, this man loves you so much, if you're not careful, I'm going to take him upstairs and f--- him!' "

 They must have had some simpatico, because, according to Fisher, when mobster Frank Costello offered to break
Burton's legs for Eddie, he declined the offer.

 Betty Lin looks up from the magazine and we all talk about a passage in the Talk interview where Liz recalls a tracheotomy she received while suffering double pneumonia during the Cleopatra shoot -- a near-death experience during which she saw "a white light."

 "She said she had a near-death experience, and that's in the book too," Fisher says. "But she didn't mention (in the interview) that I was there with 10 doctors and nine nurses, and there were a couple of times that if I hadn't been there, she would have been dead.

 "That hurts me, absolutely, that she's forgotten that. And what did happen, when she came out of the coma, she said, 'I saw God, I saw Mike (Todd) and they both told me to love Eddie.' "

 Betty Lin puzzles me, living out her husband's past love life the way she is. "Given his past history with women, why did you get involved with him?" I ask. A sweet-faced, 50-ish Chinese-American woman, she smiles and says, "I like a challenge."

 'A big challenge'

 "And, heh, heh, I was a challenge," Fisher laughs.

 "A big challenge," she says. "He's a changed man. I feel like I have the original Eddie."

 "I always say," continues Fisher, "
Elizabeth was the love of my life, but Betty saved my life. She was the one who made me go to the Betty Ford Clinic.

 "Marlene Dietrich -- she was a very wise woman -- told me never marry an actress. So I went ahead and married three."

 Regrets, he's got a few. Professionally, he feels he squandered "The Voice" -- a vocal instrument that gave him everything he wanted in life, for a while. "I could have done as Sinatra did and Tony Bennett, these are people that really paid attention to their talent, to their gift. They enhanced it by having great taste in their choice of songs and music. And I didn't. I got on a kick of having hit records, starting with Thinking Of You in 1950. But they all had the same kind of feeling, they were all ... well, they were not real adult songs, they were teenybopper, bobby sox. Mine was not a career built on albums. And it should have been. But I spent more time with women and drugs and gambling."

 And then there are the kids. That's my main regret," he tells me. "I was one of the worst fathers in the world. And there's no way I can change any of that. I can't make up for it by seeing Joely every night in Cabaret. I have as good a relationship as we can have considering what happened our whole lives. I get very guilt-ridden when I talk about it. I'm a Jew, and I'm very conscious of guilt."

 "Todd (Fisher, his son with Reynolds) is the farthest from me, and yet when we're together, he's the closest. But he's been far away because he became a born-again Christian and a very fine one. He tried to convert me.

 "Carrie is in a class by herself. She's a rare writer, a rare talent. I see myself in all my kids. Joely came to do an AIDS benefit in San Francisco with Rita Moreno and a bunch of other people, a brilliant show. And afterward, I went to Joely and said, 'Y'know, I see me in your face.'

 "And she said 'I see my mother.' " He recalls the diss with a laugh. "Fine. But I see Connie and I see me."