Authors: Candy Spelling
It goes without saying that the idea of introducing a whole line of my own beautiful fantasy dolls was thrilling, but I also knew how much work and time would be involved. Aaron and the kids were always my number-one priority. Even though Tori and Randy were teenagers by then, I knew my husband needed to be part of the decision. It was going to be a tough sell because taking this on would require at least two trips to New York City and at least a year, if not more, of preparation.
My proposal to embark on this project went over with Aaron like a lead balloon. We had a very traditional marriage, and Aaron never liked it when I wasn’t available to him or to make decisions for the kids. I still hadn’t traveled anywhere without him in all the time that we had been married. It took me about a week, but I was finally able to convince my husband that this was a
huge opportunity for me. I argued that the president of QVC had asked me himself, and Madame Alexander wanted to produce my designs.
Once Aaron got on board, he was very supportive. I flew to New York City to the Madame Alexander factory in Harlem, which had once been the original factory for Dodge. After meeting with executives at Madame Alexander, we flew to Westchester, Pennsylvania, to meet with Doug Briggs and the business affairs attorney for QVC. I told them both that one of my requirements was that my profits and proceeds would be donated to Centro de Niños.
Once I had the green light from my husband and QVC, I set up a workshop in the attic of The Manor. I was literally up there with the dustpans, cleaning supplies, and all of our vacuums. That was where I put together my ideas and sketched out each doll. I tacked up my swatches and also had photographic references. It was such an exciting time. I was so inspired while I was working on the collection. I knew the back story of each doll and exactly what every one should look like down to the smallest detail.
It took a year and a half to complete the collection of twenty-four dolls. There were two sizes: twelve-inch and seventeen-inch. All the dolls had different hairdos and fabulous underpinnings. The time just flew, and before I knew it, it was time to fly back to New York City for the big day. Like any designer, I was so proud of my work, especially in light of how much sacrifice had gone into it. On Sunday, September 18, 1994, we went on the air during prime time for three hours. It was a win-win situation for me, QVC, and of course all the children at the Centro de Niños.
The other fund-raiser that is most memorable in my mind happens to have followed on the heels of my QVC venture. It seems funny to call it a fund-raiser since it was a dinner with Prince Charles, but the evening was in fact an event to raise funds for his charitable foundation, The Prince’s Charities. Lew and Edie Wasserman asked Aaron and me to host the dinner for the Prince of Wales, who was on a goodwill tour following his divorce from Diana, Princess of Wales.
We agreed to it without having any idea of what was involved. The guest list was a real “Who’s Who” of Hollywood with plates going for $10,000 each.
After all the RSVPs were accounted for, the list was about three hundred people long. About a week before Prince Charles was scheduled to arrive, an advance team came out to meet with us.
The advance party included a press secretary, logistics manager, senior personnel in charge of security, and a researcher. They briefed us on royal etiquette, outlined the proper table setting, and helped us create a menu that would be to the Prince’s liking. We learned quickly that royal appearances are tightly scripted and that there is not much room for improvisation.
First and most important was the “no-touch” rule. Even if Prince Charles were to show us or any of our guests attention, we were not to make the mistake of reaching out and touching him. If the Prince happened to extend his hand, we were supposed to deviate from our American custom of shaking his hand. Instead, we were instructed to touch it very lightly and very briefly.
The second rule was that nobody could be seated at dinner until Prince Charles was seated. Then everyone else could take their places at their respective tables. Part and parcel of this rule was the protocol that we were to stop eating if the Prince stopped eating. I didn’t see how this could work unless everybody stared at the Prince all through dinner. Finally, and this was the hardest one for Aaron, nobody was allowed to get up from the dinner table until the Prince did.
I honestly thought finding a caterer to prepare game bird for three hundred people was going to be the biggest challenge. The evening was going to be very complex, and because I am such a perfectionist, it was absolutely nerve-wracking. The logistics manager did a walk-through of the house with me, and we worked out where the dinner would be held. There would be tents outside and guests would walk through the house.
The trouble with the plan as outlined was that we were going to have three hundred pairs of shoes walking over my light-colored silk carpets. Prince or no Prince, this didn’t work for me. I knew my gorgeous silk carpets would never survive. The solution we came up with was that the room would be carpeted with an area carpet, at the expense of the Prince. So days before the dinner, a
carpet company came and installed a light-colored carpet in what I came to call the “Prince Charles Suite” of The Manor.
The night of the fund-raiser arrived and so did Prince Charles along with his entourage that included more than one valet. He was a nice man, very soft-spoken. I hadn’t smoked in years, but that night I went off and had a cigarette by myself to calm my nerves.
We took the Prince into Aaron’s office, where his valets straightened everything from his tie to his shoelaces. When one of the valets accidentally dropped a cuff link, everyone on the Prince’s team fell to their hands and knees to look for it. It was clear that Aaron and I were expected to do the same. So we did. I still have this image of Aaron rolling his eyes at me as we combed through the carpet fibers looking for the Prince’s cuff link.
The dinner went off without a hitch. I was seated next to the Prince, and I think because I was the hostess (though my girlfriends say it’s because I was his type), he was very focused on having a conversation with me. We talked about his sons, William and Harry. He was also interested in architecture, so we chatted about the L'oiseau-style architecture of The Manor and also some restoration projects he supported through his charity fund. By the time we moved on to the dessert course, I could tell Aaron was desperate to sneak off and go to bed.
Finally, dinner was over and the Prince stood up. He was very polite and offered us thanks as we escorted him to his waiting car. As the motorcade pulled past our gates, Aaron sighed with relief.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
18
Upstairs Downstairs
The Prince of Wales wasn’t our only houseguest from the House of Windsor. We actually had a couple others. My friend Edie Goetz was the daughter of Louis B. Mayer. She had an exquisite art collection that included Picasso’s
Motherhood
painting from his Blue Period. Edie also had a butler named Lodge. Having been footman to the Queen Mother before coming to Los Angeles, he was a treasure in his own right. Lodge worked for Edie until she passed away in 1988, at which point he returned to London.
While we were building The Manor, I had become somewhat friendly with David Geffen, known to all as the wealthiest man in entertainment. In 1990, David made headlines when he purchased the 9.4-acre Jack Warner Estate on Angelo Drive in Beverly Hills for $47.5 million. At the time this was the highest price paid in the United States for a private home. David started his remodel on the Warner estate about a year before we moved into The Manor.
When The Manor was complete and became the center of so much media attention, I received an inquiry from Lodge the butler. He was seeking employment. Butlers with credentials were not easy to come by in Hollywood, so I immediately offered him a job.
Lodge flew out and became part of our staff. He was absolutely wonderful. He really had this regal air about him. We loved hearing all the stories about the royal family, and we also learned the differences between butlers and housemen—butlers don’t clean. One day David called to tell me he was putting French limestone on the terraces of the estate. Lodge was in the background as I gave David my honest opinion.
“No, don’t do that! The limestone is going to crack. I’ve already had to replace some stones.” David told me that his interior designer Rose Tarlow had already ordered the limestone. He didn’t think he could change course at this stage of the game.
About a year later, David had finally finished his remodel. The house was done and he was moving in. Just days later, my security personnel informed me that Lodge was gone.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” I asked. Apparently Lodge had literally packed his suitcase at two or three in the morning and fled. I couldn’t imagine where he had gone.
“He went to work for David Geffen.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My security team explained that Lodge had been offered a job by David Geffen but didn’t have the courage to face me, so he had run off in the middle of the night.
A few months later, Lodge’s best friend, James, came to work for us. He had also worked at Kensington Palace. I guess we didn’t interview him thoroughly enough because one evening when Tori had some friends over for a Murder Mystery party, James told me with disdain that he didn’t serve children. Needless to say, James didn’t last long as a member of our staff. A few years later when Tori was on
Beverly Hills 90210
, Aaron was also promoting his book
A Prime-Time Life
. Aaron had a book signing at Book Soup on the Sunset Strip so we went as family. I couldn’t believe it, but there was none other than James waiting in line. When he got up to the table, he asked if he could take a picture with Tori. I found it very curious that James wouldn’t wait on her at the house but had no problem waiting in a long line to get her autograph now that she was on a hit television show.
We went through another couple of English butlers before I finally figured out that they all left as soon as they got their Green Card. We also received applications from several other butlers with resumés that included experience at Kensington Palace. It turned out to be easy enough to check references at the palace, and let’s just say a number of those applicants didn’t check out.
Sometimes our personnel issue at The Manor involved staff members who wouldn’t leave. For eighteen years we employed a housekeeper named Mrs. Hing. We called her Hing for short. She started working for us when she was close to the age when most people are thinking about retirement. Hing became one of our live-in housekeepers who stayed overnight five days a week. She had a bedroom in The Manor with a nice bed, a dresser, a club chair, and other accessories. Her work ethic was unbelievable especially considering her age.
When she wasn’t sleeping at The Manor, Hing stayed with her daughter, Suzi. Well, one day I happened to be in the motor court when Hing’s daughter came to pick her up. She was driving a massive Cadillac Escalade with those fancy rims and what appeared to be a custom mesh grill. It looked like something you’d see on one of those MTV reality shows. Hing looked over at me with such an expression of scorn her face.
“I paid for that car.”
Years later when I was thinking about selling The Manor, I thought it would be the perfect time to retire Hing. She was 84 years old and quite honestly, I was very worried about her health. So we offered her a nice severance package that she accepted, and then she retired.
Not a week later Hing called. She needed a job. This time she was more clear. She needed a job to support her daughter. I didn’t know what to say to her, but I knew offering her a job was not the answer. I thought it would be a nice gesture to let Hing have some of the furnishings from her room. I thought perhaps the club chair, the dresser, or her nightstand might be comforting for her to have in her room at her daughter’s house. She was very appreciative of the offer and said she would make arrangements to come by.
Well, it was Hing’s daughter who came by in her Escalade. She also brought a second car driven by a friend. They took every piece of furniture
and bedding from Hing’s old room. The literally stripped the room bare and loaded up the cars with everything except for the headboard that was mounted on the wall.
Sometimes I find myself thinking about Hing. I hope retirement is treating her well. I also still think about Lodge. I wonder, was The Manor just too much work, or were we not high enough on the Social Register for him?
19
The Story of the Storyteller
Aaron always used to tease me and tell me I was the worst storyteller. I always knew that if I forgot an important detail and then went back to it, or waited too long to deliver the punch line, my husband the raconteur was bound to give me a bad review. “Candy, you are the worst storyteller.” Throughout our marriage when we went to formal dinner parties or big Hollywood events, it was always my job to make sure Aaron and I looked good. It was his job to do the talking.
This arrangement worked for me then because I was still a little shy, and those evenings could be overwhelming. With my loquacious husband at my side, I always had the comfort of knowing that he would get other people talking. I know my storytelling ability is not as bad as he made it out to be; it’s just that I don’t tell stories the way Aaron did, but then again, who could?
Aaron’s repeated bouts with cancer and his subsequent struggle with Alzheimer’s is not a story he would be able to tell. This would be the one story in which Aaron would gloss over important facts, skip ahead, and diminish the
impact of the central theme. It is a difficult tale to tell, but I am the only one who can tell it because I was there at his side throughout it all.
In the early 1990s, Aaron was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He had a successful surgery and was given a clean bill of health. A few years later, it must have been around 2000, he developed a cough that just wouldn’t go away. We went to see our family ENT doctor, who made the initial diagnosis.