Witty and smart as a crackling whip. Never underestimate her.
A prolific author and actress, loyal daughter who bakes soufflés for mom Debbie Reynolds, who resided nearby.
Admired by millions who are addicted to her stardom as Princess Leia in the Star Wars franchise.
Extraordinary, yes, but let’s face the music and dance, she has had her moments. As all of us do.
Carrie Fisher, the issue of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher. Her chameleon personality and talents kept us captivated, including her bestselling memoir, The Princess Diarist. In which she details an affair with Harrison Ford, her Hans Solo castmate during those earlier days of filming.
Meeting with her, as we did, for interviews about her clever books and movies when she was wed to Paul Simon, Carrie was amusing and clever, albeit keenly assessing.
In time, her best friend, the in-demand dermatologist, Dr. Arnold Klein, was celebrating his 50th birthday. He invited us to join him at Carrie’s villa on Coldwater Canyon that previously belonged to the Universal’s Oscar-winning costume designer Edith Head.
Well, without warning, all hell broke loose.
“I do NOT want you at his and my party,” Carrie declared in a phone call. Not to worry, we assured her.
Carrie mumbled her complaint about awful journalists taking notes, and then we defended ourselves. That the only time we may jot a note is for the spelling of a Polish name.
“Promise you won’t come.”
“Capisce!” (Italian for “Yes, we understand.”)
Arnie insisted we go. We claimed, “No way.”
Early evening on Party Day, he tracked us down at our then Hollywood Reporter office, and in front of HR colleagues, he politely asked that we please join him in the car.
We begged not.
Several friends, who were with him, vouched they would drag us.
Embarrassed we were with the nonsense happening alongside our fellow workers.
Choking on our pride, we began joking with Arnie during the drive to Coldwater Canyon.
The party was at full gallop with a full house, indoors and on the terrace. The crowd included Tinseltown’s popular therapist, Dr. Milton Wexler. Assorted celebrity patients, and who knows who else.
Anticipating fireworks. Arnie suggested we wait until he talked with our hostess.
“All’s well,” he proclaimed when he returned.
Wearing a tall, black Wicked Witch from Oz hat, Carrie shrugged, “Okay. I love Arnie, but you agreed that there will be no notes.
“Okay, but on one condition,” she added.
She held our hand and walked us to the buffet table, and introduced us to her caterer, “who’s been with me for years.
“Even if you don’t like the food, write something wonderful about her. And you’ll be forgiven.”
Carrie was tipsy. Out of it. We called a taxi and hit the road to home.
A day later, Carrie called. “I hear you came to the party, and Dr. Wexler talked to you … he reads your column faithfully … you must mention him, and don’t forget my caterer.
Big Boo-Boo at the Golden Globes: Sly Stallone’s wife Jennifer Flavin, was not seated for dinner, although their three daughters were the Miss Golden Globes of the night. Sly was not a happy camper.
The sisters flew to Milan the next day to walk the runway for the new Dolce & Gabbana collection. Three beauties who are on the go!