Stories From Candyland (13 page)

Forty-eight feet is a long, long way.

As a visitor made his way across the room, to the right was a fireplace and the door to Aaron’s private dressing room and bathroom. Farther down were a game table and four chairs,
where Aaron sometimes ate during a lunch meeting. Oh, yes, and he had a butler to escort people to their seats and make sure they had whatever they wanted to eat or drink.

To the left was a beautiful twenty-four-foot-long fourpiece sectional sofa, upholstered in beige silk. Three large square coffee tables sat in front of the sofas. Bookcases were everywhere, and some of Aaron’s memorabilia and awards were spread out tastefully. His television was built into the bookcase wall. Everything was large.

The walls were all upholstered in raw silk, to match the sofa. The carpeting was custom-made deep pile wool in a wave design in two tones of beige. Cashmere throws were carefully placed.

The same assistant who controlled the automatic doors was in charge of inspecting the carpet after every meeting. “Spot on the rug” was the phrase everyone—except the rug cleaners and makers of spot removers—dreaded.

If there was to be an official conference, rather than a regular meeting, giant round-back swivel chairs would be moved to the other side of the coffee tables.

Aaron always had a pipe in his mouth, and his desk had pipe holders and pipe supplies we had collected from all over the world. The pipes were much more prominent even than his TV mogul trappings of scripts, notes, and head shots.

Behind his desk was a delicate English antique table, a contrast to the big heavy desk, which displayed his favorite photos of me and our children. Some People’s Choice and
other awards were placed among the photos. We both liked everything to be in its place, and neither of us would leave his office without making sure everything was exactly where it should be.

Just for Aaron, and rarely noticed until people were leaving, was a floor-to-ceiling bubbled fish tank, installed to catch Aaron’s eye when he sat at his desk. He found it relaxing, and I was so happy when I’d see him watching the fascinating and graceful puffer fish, clown fish, and tiger fish as a temporary diversion from the pressures of running Hollywood’s largest and most successful production company. The tank relaxed him so much that we duplicated it at home.

Aaron’s new headquarters had “Hollywood” written all over it.

I think it worked—maybe a little too well.

Our feelings were hurt when a
Los Angeles Times
reporter described Aaron’s office as “gargantuan.” That was not an Aaron and Candy word.
Glamorous
would have been nice.
Extravagant
might have stung a little but it would have been appropriate. But not
gargantuan
.

It was somewhere between Dick Powell and Louis B. Mayer.

Aaron’s desk was a combination of beautiful and imposing dark wood, probably ten feet across, with intricate designs carved into it. I still love that desk; when he retired, we moved it to his office at The Manor. It still sits there,
basking in the sun from the gardens outside, and overlooking the scripts covering the thousands of hours of entertainment Aaron produced.

Aaron’s office was, in a word, spectacular. Guests felt important, and they knew they were dealing with an important executive. That was the idea, and it worked. By the way, Aaron was five foot eleven, so we weren’t trying to camouflage anything.

I’m not sure what we would do if we were faced with constructing a new office for a mogul today. Times have changed dramatically in the past two decades. Some of the Hollywood talent agencies are still building giant buildings, aimed to set records, and I know they need to distinguish themselves.

Aaron was already distinguished, and his office wasn’t built to set records. In fact, his record success enabled us to create and build the exquisite office.

Today, in our online and virtual world, though, maybe we could have saved a lot of money and just bought him a Microsoft Office suite.

Aaron, of course, wouldn’t have wanted the standard or small business versions. Even the professional version wouldn’t have been enough. But now people can buy their own servers, and there’s even an “Ultimate Office” program.

With all the technology, Aaron would have needed fewer assistants. The mailroom could have been practically eliminated. He could probably have done his own titles and
graphics with some of the software. Script changes could easily have been made online. He could have watched the dailies on his laptop. He wouldn’t have wanted to, but he could have done his own spreadsheets, contact lists, and photocopies.

And he could have worked at home all the time and used the butler and chef who already worked at the house.

On second thought, I think he’d still have gone for the big office on the lot, with his assistants, his own butler and chef, and even the postage meter and giant copy machines.

Aaron liked being a mogul. I liked that he could have the trappings. It worked. From that office came
Beverly Hills 90210
,
Melrose Place
,
Charmed
, and
Seventh Heaven
.

And he really did have his own richly deserved
Fantasy Island
in the middle of old Hollywood.

Chapter 9
Wizards and Showgirls Need Fifty-Two Suitcases

W
hen your husband doesn’t fly and is hesitant to take time off from work, you want to make sure the monthlong vacation he agrees to take with the family is perfect.

The year was 1984. Tori was ten, and Randy was five. Aaron had
Dynasty, The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Matt Houston, T. J. Hooker, Hotel
, and the miniseries
Hollywood Wives
in production; and I was, as always, behind the scenes, helping him with everything from policies to presents for his
company of sixteen hundred employees, making his world mogul-like, and striving to be the best mother in the history of motherhood.

Our vacations had been simple and routine. When the kids were growing up we would go to the beach almost every weekend and spend time together there. “Time away” was usually the five-hour drive to Las Vegas, or two hours to Palm Springs. One time, when Tori was four, we took a
Love Boat
cruise. She wanted to spend all her time in the casino.

Once, when we were getting ready for a cruise to England, we reminded Tori of that earlier cruise. Her father wanted to know if she remembered the security guards telling her she had to stop playing the slot machines because she was too young.

“I have a confession to make,” Aaron told Tori. “I told them you were a midget and that they were insulting you. They left you alone after that, and you kept pumping dimes into the slot machines.”

As I prepared, I kept thinking it didn’t seem that long ago that we were borrowing suitcases from the set of
Hotel
to take on a family vacation. Those trips to Las Vegas—Aaron drove and I flew to make sure everything was right when he arrived—were, I hoped, good practice for this once-ina-lifetime family adventure.

There was no rehearsal. There would be no encore. This was to be an epic Hollywood-style Spelling Family Vacation that wouldn’t be duplicated, imitated, or properly captured.

Our experiences were part Auntie Mame, introducing her nephew, Patrick, to the wonders of the world, samples of Lucy and Ricky’s European misadventures, flashes of Grace Kelly being wined and dined by Prince Rainier, and one of the best times our family ever had as we shared so many once-ina-lifetime experiences together. We were hosted and entertained in a manner beyond description. Ah, showbiz perks.

In 1984, Aaron Spelling’s shows accounted for one third of ABC-TV’s prime-time schedule. That made us really, really, really, really important to the network, and so many people went out of their way to make sure we were happy, entertained, and felt really, really, really important. We were, and we did.

We used every mode of transportation except an airplane. That meant we had to start with a private railroad car to get us from Los Angeles to New York. Some people saw the U.S.A. in their Chevrolet. We saw the country from the luxury of a private train car, the
Cannonball
, a vintage 1929 train from Brownsville, Texas, hitched to the back of an Amtrak train. Another car was added for our fifty-two pieces of luggage. More on that later.

I learned a lot about train rules and regulations, train furniture, train food, sleeping arrangements on trains, and how to keep children amused on long train rides. I found a new appreciation of our beautiful country as the train traveled through small towns and skirted big cities, and was reminded how far from mainstream America we lived. Looking
out the windows, we said, maybe, when Aaron retired, we’d move to the country. We knew we wouldn’t.

Our
Cannonball
had beautiful wood décor and touches not found on modern train cars. It wasn’t our first choice, as we’d wanted something modern. But we found out we’d have to switch railroads in order to tow our car from Union Pacific to Penn Central, and propane tanks were forbidden on those routes. So, after much research, we found the 1929 car with a wood-burning stove that would be our home for a few days before and after Europe. It sounded better than it was. Everything smelled as though it had been barbecued with wood chips. Aaron and I were so self-conscious when we dressed up in a gown and tux for a European dinner or party and brought the smell of the American Southwest with us. No one asked. We didn’t tell. We wondered if the odor lingered after we left a room, but were too embarrassed to ask any of our hosts.

The train car was a marvel to behold. I never saw so many things fold up and expand to turn into other useful things. We ate dinner at a table that converted to bunk beds. Our kitchen counter became a makeshift shower. Straps appeared everywhere to keep us in our beds at night, when the train went faster.

I’ve never been a good sleeper, but this was among the most difficult times I’ve ever had. I brought some of my favorite sheets from home, knowing in advance I’d need all
the help I could get to feel comfortable. They didn’t make a dent. I felt every bump, every turn, every movement of the straps touching my skin. Aaron said I was like his very own “princess and the pea.” I was not amused, just tired.

I had arranged for one of our television sets to be put on the train, so Randy could play his favorite Coleco video games during the day. We had board games, cards, and other amusements, too. Fortunately, I also brought some videotapes, which were my salvation at night when I couldn’t sleep, and the kids could watch their movies all day. Even though my entire family was sleeping within feet of the television, none of them shared my misery. I watched movies and got crabby. They slept soundly. The video boxes smelled like burnt wood.

I bought Aaron a diary with a blue velvet cover and a gold plate that read,
THE SPELLINGS EUROPE 1984
, and asked him to keep a journal with what I knew would be his unique view of our family vacation.

The only rule was that he had to promise not to refer to us as the Von Trapp Family. One of our security guards said we looked like the family fleeing Austria in
The Sound of Music
. I said we were having a good time and didn’t want to be compared to war time refugees. I also gave Tori and Randy diaries. They were bored by the time we got to Phoenix.