Shirley (15 page)

‘Perhaps we’d better take them home with us and put them to bed then,’ said her mother.

The two women walked gingerly up Shaftesbury Avenue, sure that out of some dark doorway would jump a mugger armed with a revolver or a knife. They got home to Olivelli’s in one piece and locked the bedroom door and window. When they felt they were securely barricaded in they made themselves a cup of tea, and the new star and her mother tucked the gems under Shirley’s pillow and went to sleep.

Sullivan as always woke them up too early. He came round armed with all the newspapers. The reviews for Shirley were sensational. ‘Don’t look at them now,’ he croaked, his throat raw from anxious chain-smoking, ‘just tell me where they are, please!’

Shirley, never at her best before twelve midday, pulled her pillow down and showed him the gleaming baubles. ‘Never again,’ she snapped. ‘Look after your own bloody diamonds in future.’

Shirley’s hard work in preparing for the Café de Paris was well rewarded. She was in demand now, the press clamouring for interviews and pictures. The
Sketch
and the
Tatler
ran full-page studio photographs of her and the daily
and Sunday papers carried stories about this extraordinary girl from Tiger Bay.

The Major decided that Shirley was much too popular to let her go after two weeks and extended her contract for another seven. Shirley didn’t bother to ask ‘What next?’ She knew that Sullivan would have something up his sleeve. She had to stay in
Such is Life
until December, and as long as she was under contract to Jack Hylton, he had a right to part of her earnings if she worked elsewhere. Financially, she hadn’t done very well out of the Café de Paris.

An American called Sammy Lewis did see Shirley at the Café de Paris and made her an offer to appear at his hotel in Las Vegas but, not only wouldn’t she be free until January 1957, but Lewis would not pay fares and travelling expenses to America.

Shirley visited Pepe Davies in hospital. He had serious injuries and was taking a long time to recover. One of the medical staff asked Shirley if it was true they were getting married.

‘No,’ said Shirley, ‘he’s got this on his mind. It isn’t so.’

To Shirley’s distress, Pepe’s doctor suggested that it might be a good idea not to disillusion him too soon. ‘Just go along with it a bit, it might help him to get well.’

To cheer Shirley up, Michael promised her a Christmas bonus of one hundred pounds. It was the fee she would get for a single broadcast from the stage of the famous Olympia Theatre in Paris, who had invited her to sing ‘Stormy Weather’ and another number. Shirley had never been out of the United Kingdom and was very excited about her trip to Paris.

The day after they arrived fog descended on London
Airport and Les Paul, the composer and her pianist, who was bringing the band music with him, found there was no way he could get to Paris in time for the performance. The boys in the band at the Olympia Theatre, however, came up trumps at rehearsal. Shirley sang a few notes and gave them the right key, and the rhythm and brass did a kind of jam session, then someone gave the fiddles a helping hand and the magnificent orchestra of the Olympia really got it together.

That night Shirley sang ‘Stormy Weather’, and ‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love’, to rapturous applause. Next day, before they went home, Shirley did some shopping in Paris.

The next big thrill and major challenge was around the corner. America.

SHIRLEY WOULD NOT
budge, she was transfixed. She sat on the edge of her bed in the Waldorf Astoria, a look of childlike wonder on her face, as if she was living the story and loving every moment.

‘How can she do it?’ groaned Michael Sullivan. ‘There’s all of New York waiting outside this window.’ To him, at that moment, it was the most exciting city in the world.

Lily Berde, who was Sullivan’s new love, said. ‘She’s in the sweetie shop. She’s never had it so good. She can sit on her bed and see every goddamn film she’s ever missed in her life. She’s got ten channels there, baby.’ She gave Michael’s arm a squeeze. ‘Isn’t it sweet? She told me that this is the first time she’s ever seen a television in a bedroom. Where she comes from they nail the set down in the parlour. Honey, give her time, its a big jump from Olivelli’s to the Waldorf Astoria.’

‘But we’re only here for five days,’ whined the exasperated Sullivan.

Lily was on a goodwill tour sponsored by the Greek government. She had been sent to London as an exponent of Greek dancing and while there had met Sullivan. Now she was on her way to Hollywood to meet a Greek tycoon and was doing the journey the slow way with Sullivan and Shirley, stopping off in Las Vegas en route. Sullivan and Lily were very fond of each other and Juhni and Sullivan’s marriage was on the rocks.

Michael and Shirley were in New York because if Shirley was going to be successful on an international level she had to make an impact on America. Michael had organised a short-term ninety days contract with the powerful William Morris agency, which had booked her an appearance at the El Rancho in Las Vegas.

‘El Rancho is one of the best,’ Sullivan told Shirley, ‘Eartha Kitt and Sophie Tucker have appeared there. All these hotels are there for the gambling but the bigger they are the more important are the stars who appear in them. After Las Vegas, they’ve booked us into Ciro’s in Hollywood. It’s a restaurant and nightclub. Everybody goes there.’

For all his optimism, Sullivan knew that he was taking a big gamble. Berry, back in Reigate, had paid their fares and given them two hundred pounds spending money. In 1957 foreign exchange regulations were severe and obtaining dollars was very difficult. Until they reached Las Vegas and Shirley stood in front of a microphone and sang they had only Berry’s money to keep them going.

It really was America on a shoestring budget and if anything went wrong they’d be in trouble. The William Morris office knew of their difficulties but they dealt in
salaries and could only pay out what Shirley earned. Lily paid her own way and could help a little but she was also travelling on a restricted budget.

Sullivan didn’t want Shirley to know exactly how bad his finances were. She was riding high on her success at the Café de Paris, telling journalists that she was going to buy a mink stole and Jaguar. The Café de Paris had been a great publicity coup, and had brought several offers of work. Hiring the diamonds had also been a good stunt, but the nine-week run, far from making money, had cost money. After deducting half of Shirley’s salary at the Café for Jack Hylton, the remaining one hundred pounds had to cover Shirley and the pianist’s salary plus Sullivan’s expenses. It was never enough. Sullivan did not expect Shirley to understand, but he knew that if his gamble succeeded Shirley would have New York, Las Vegas and Hollywood to add to her list of successes, and all of America would one day open up for her.

An invitation to make a record for the Columbia label had brought them to New York. Although the session, with producer Mitch Miller, had been difficult and dispiriting, Michael had taken advantage of the visit to capitalise on an interview Shirley had given in London. She had told
Ebony
, the Afro-American magazine who ran a six-page feature on her, of her huge admiration for Sammy Davis Jr.

When they arrived in New York, the magazine was on the news-stands and Sullivan hired a publicity man, Ed Gollin, to give Shirley a night on the town that included a visit to the theatre to see Sammy Davis starring in
Mr Wonderful
. If they went backstage and met Sammy, even better. Sammy, one of the nicest and most generous of
performers, told Shirley he had read the feature, loved it, and promptly invited them both to supper because ‘You’ve been saying such nice things about me.’

Sammy took them to a famous restaurant, Danny’s Hideaway, and afterwards to see Frank Sinatra, who was appearing at the Copacabana. Davis and Sinatra were close pals; they had formed a little group along with Dean Martin and Peter Lawford which became known as ‘The Rat Pack’.

After the show Frank Sinatra came to sit at the head of the table. Frankie didn’t like being looked at, he didn’t like being spoken to, in fact that night Frankie didn’t care for human contact. Four gorillas in dinner jackets kept the uninitiated away. Shirley bent forward to take a look at him, another of her idols, and a woman shoved her back. The women were just as bad as the men.

The owner of the Copacabana, Joe Padella, came and sat next to Shirley. He looked pretty tough, too. ‘Whadda ya do?’ he asked her. ‘Sing,’ she replied. ‘Where?’ he asked. ‘I open in Las Vegas next week.’

‘Okay, sing for me.’

Shirley told him that she was under contract to the El Rancho. She was sorry but she couldn’t sing for him.

‘You gotta sing for Joe Padella!’ He got up, glaring at her, then he shouted, ‘Hey, Frank, this dame won’t sing for me.’

He started getting mad and walking up and down. Sinatra ignored him which made him even more angry. ‘Frankie!’ he yelled.

Frank Sinatra was busy talking to someone. ‘Never mind, Joe,’ he called back, waving a hand at him to sit down. ‘Never mind.’

One of the gorillas came round to ask Joe to stop bothering Frankie. There was an argument. Somebody pushed somebody. The tension in the Copacabana suddenly increased.

Shirley whispered to Ed Gollin, ‘Let’s go. I’m frightened.’ Sammy Davis noticed what was happening. Swiftly and discreetly he ushered Shirley and Ed Gollin out to his waiting car, and instructed his chauffeur to take them back to their hotel. The incident had rather taken the gloss off the evening, but it was nevertheless a special night for Shirley Bassey who before long would join the ranks of the famous in whose company she had briefly found herself.

Las Vegas looks a magical place from the air, especially when seen for the first time. Night had fallen and the plane flew over miles of dark empty desert until, suddenly, a long strip of light appeared below. As the plane banked, the brilliant coloured neons of the ‘We Never Close’ hotels grew nearer and Shirley could even see the hotel where she was going to stay illuminated in a giant sign: El Rancho.

On the drive from the airport, Shirley and Lily ooh’d and aah’d at the neon signs announcing that Peggy Lee or Tony Martin was appearing at this hotel or that. There was no sign over El Rancho that Shirley Bassey was coming, just a big one for the Lili St. Cyr show. ‘Isn’t she a stripper?’ asked Lily. Inside the hotel they were assaulted by the terrible clatter of dimes going into fruit machines. Gambling was what Las Vegas was all about, never mind Peggy Lee or Tony Martin or Shirley Bassey. Any singer and her manager were small fry, the entertainment was just to provide a pleasant background during dinner, and the
quicker the punters got back to gambling, the better.

Shirley and Lily couldn’t wait to get at the fruit machines, either, after Sullivan checked them all in. The management told him that Shirley would be expected to have three evening gowns, but she’d only got two. ‘Then get her another from the store in the arcade and we’ll take it off her pay check!’ The El Rancho management behaved in the grand manner, but their clientele was mostly composed of little old ladies wearing brightly coloured crimplene trousers and white canvas plimsolls. However, Michael soon found out that it was these little old ladies who paid for a highball and dinner and demanded that the singer wear haute couture dresses.

Las Vegas brought one surprise after another. Shirley was installed in a beautifully appointed wooden chalet in the grounds, but Michael and Lily had to stay in a motel. It was Shirley’s only free night – she would open the following evening – so Michael took the two girls on the town to visit some of the other hotels on the strip. Next morning he was called to the apartment of Beldon Katleman, manager of El Rancho. In spite of the luxury of the apartment there seemed to be a hint of Mafia about the meeting. The handsome Jewish gent who lounged back in a white towelling bathrobe was, on the face of it, quite friendly about Sullivan’s lack of local know-how, but there was no mistaking the veiled threat as he took Michael to task about the previous evening’s outing. ‘No more nightclubbing with that girl of yours,’ Katleman warned. ‘Don’t do it again, unless you want to be stoned or beaten up. They don’t like it in this town. You’d better tell her.’

But Michael never did tell her. He was shocked at this blatant racism, and couldn’t bring himself to mention it to Shirley, even when she voiced her surprise that nobody was asking her out on a date after the show. He had once asked her if she had ever suffered any discrimination and she’d replied, ‘It means nothing.’ She’d told him how her mother being white had made a big difference to her and how, when kids at school called her ‘Blackie’, ‘I didn’t cry. I used to punch them. Let
them
cry.’

She had told him, too, about certain landladies on tour who would claim to be full. ‘I just turned my back and never let it get the better of me. If people stare at me then I tell myself it’s because I wear lovely clothes. Otherwise it would drive me mad.’

At the El Rancho, the guest singer was something served up with the dinner. Shirley was instructed to sing louder if the audience couldn’t hear her – there was no question of their quietening down during her numbers. That was the attitude and she had to put up with it. It was a far cry from the attentive silence at the Astor or the Café de Paris, but at least the pay was good. After this experience, Shirley vowed that when she was really famous, she would never again allow herself to be thrown in with the dinner.

That, and the lack of male admirers, aside, Shirley enjoyed her first trip to Las Vegas. It was there that she bought a beautiful ranch mink, her first. It was a dream come true, which Michael allowed her to have on condition that she undertook to pay it off at a hundred dollars a week. At her first press reception, she wore the mink draped on her shoulders.

Her first review came from a local columnist.