Wednesday, as I left for Labor Day weekend, came Joan Rivers’ e-mail: “Cindalla: don’t forget dinner together Friday the 5th. I love you. I love having dinner alone with you. If you decide to bring anyone along, see if they’re a big eater, as I know it will be on my tab! . . . If you want to bring along somebody else, fine . . . Besides, you dumb bitch, I know all your stories! . . .”
Until the Divine Consciousness, which exists Out There, speaks to my longtime forever close friend, I’ll speak about her.
We recently did London. Just us. Five days. Her E-TV “Fashion Police” being a hit there, fans circled her. She took time to chat, sign, allow selfies even when “This light’s bad so move down the block a little.”
She moved down the block and from her purse handed out a scarf or bijoux that came with a “Joan Rivers” sticker. She’d offer to pose even when someone appeared too shy to ask.
Joan disappointed nobody. She distributed abundant cash tips. At six stage shows, she told the theater usher or box office she’d go backstage afterward.
Nine a.m., flying trans-Atlantic in early hours, she wore a coat with jet beads, multicolor jewelled necklace, long coat-length feathered boa, bracelets on both wrists.
Last year was our Colonial Williamsburg girls weekend. Every 9 a.m., a prebooked local hairdresser came to the hotel to comb her. No stepping out without full makeup, full furs . . . We’re talking Williamsburg, Va.!
In public life, brassy, unclassy, light on couth. In private life, elegant home, antiques, Tiffany dinner service.
Holidays whomever lacked an invitation was welcomed at her table. Her own thank yous were a delivery of her favorite scented gardenias.
She’d make a red-eye from LA just to spend two days with her beloved dogs. Mention Spike, whose last Yorkie days were lying on a furcoat at the fireplace, and her eyes well up.
She read. Did crosswords. Took grandson Cooper on European trips. Gathered us to her rented Puerto Vallarta hacienda each Christmas. Spoke about she and I buying contiguous hotel apartments so we could look out for one another.
For every appearance, she’d prepare. At one-nighter club dates, papers with reminder jokes were spread on the floor. She’d stay up a whole night before a TV appearance prepping, plus suggesting questions they should ask to elicit the lines. Joan never disappointed.
May Life not disappoint her now.
Survival hasn’t come easy for Joan:
Her parents contemplated putting her away. She ran off as a child because even then she craved being in show business. Her husband’s death left her with financial debt. An original partner in her QVC jewelry line ended with lawsuits and buyouts. Years back Johnny Carson’s would she/wouldn’t she get his promised show is history.
Last year Joan lost her sister. Thankfully daughter Melissa, devoted assistant Jocelyn, Graham who runs her office, best friend Scott and family surround her now. She’s a tough dame. She’s beat all the other odds.
We’re praying for you, Joan.
Alex Tarzan, Margot Jane
Jerry Weintraub, who’s produced “Ocean’s 11,” “The Karate Kid,” etc., etc., is building Africa in London. The movie’s “Tarzan” starring Alex Skarsgård. Margot Robbie, filmed chasing something in a loincloth, is Jane. There’s also Christoph Waltz and Samuel L. Jackson. Who plays the ape Cheetah, I don’t know. Possibly someone from Albany. It’s due out this season in 2016.
Anchor is ready
David Muir, ABC-TV’s new nightly news anchor who tonight officially replaces Diane Sawyer: “I won’t lean against the anchor desk. I won’t do anything wild. But it’ll be a different broadcast. You’ll see me make the newscast accessible.”
Forget the reviews, will his parents critique him? “They’ll watch and, believe me, I just know my mother will tell me if my tie’s askew.”
Wordplay time
In the Hamptons: “They’re saying Obama’s ‘cautious’? It’s our new word for ‘comatose?’ ”
New line going around: “You know who’s moving into the Upper East Side nowadays? People who can’t afford Brooklyn.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.