(SORRY THERE IS JUST  NO BETTER STORY SLUG)

I was late.  Surprise, surprise.  But so was my plane. Chicago to LA. It was a Super 80. My favorite First Class cabin for short flights. It feels like an elevator, so smooth on ascent. Cozy, like a living room squished.  Being Platinum for life on American Airlines has its privileges. I had no life at home…but the road was a blast. Upgrades on MY airline. At CBS it was American. I spent my twenties in the Admirals Club at JFK and LAX a little too much. In fact,  after 14 years of ABC flying United (“Continental in drag…” you’ll have to wait for that chapter).  I’ve kinda switched back to American.  Recently I was at JFKs sumptuous luxurious spa-like Admirals Club at JFK and the bartender remembered me from so long ago. Naturally, Im blanking her name but  nearing 70 looking fantastic, she knew everyones drink on their way to Rio,  London or Los Angeles. Instantly recognizing me:  “Jack and Coke “ she said, smiling …like the 14 years hadn’t passed.  We knew each other by face..and in my case “Jack or John Daniels” I sometimes called my drink. I don’t drink anymore. (another chapter, another day).

Membership has its privileges. I learned early on..years before Peter Greenberg told the world to align myself in loyalty programs.  My lifetime high has been 1.2 million miles earned in the bank between United and American.  Another 150 thou on Delta.  That’s a lot of First Class trips to Tokyo. A few dozen …and many more for the wife and children I don’t have.  For almost ten years I was 1K on United the highest level of frequent flyer status.  On American Airlines I. Am. Platinum. For. Life. after becoming a Two million miler in my thirties.  All because of a TV show called “48 Hours”  not the movie.  I was one of the first 5 people hired by the show’s creator, Andrew Heyward, an amazing wordsmith and extraordinary Executive Producer. (His individual Christmas letters to staff were legendary)..But back to the story at hand:  Even in car rentals I’m Executive Something at National. And at Avis, as Richard Schlesinger once put it:  “BOK, You’re Avis Preferred Select Nightmare” !!

OK..I’m getting to Debbie Reynolds..standby..Its all related. Tangents are my thing. So because of my Platinum status on certain flights I would be automatically upgraded, if seats were available in First (or Business JFK- LAX)  I knew the system well. Tangent 3,243:  i would even fake book (back before 9/11 when you could hold seats without ticketing til last minute)….two fake Business Class seats for Mr. and Mrs. Phil Jones,  (“my wife and I” ) who didn’t really exist and were not really flying.  Those would be two people that I EXCLUSIVELY knew wouldn’t be showing up….. therefore increasing my chance of an upgrade.  Yeah, I had no life, no love, no partner til death do me part, but trust me you’d want to go on vacation with me back then.  I was good but not as studied as my friend Eric Ortner who knows fare codes,  upgrade algorithms, and flight attendants cell phone numbers. He has it down and has a PhD in American. Im not quite there yet.

But on certain flights and certain planes I enjoyed the Upgrade…but not the bulkhead.  At the gate in Chicago I was informed I had upgraded to the only seat available…1C.  Bulkhead. Ugh!  Aisle. Double Ugh!  On a Super-80? Just kill me!  You might as well shove me into the galley, I thought. The gate agent leaned over whispering conspiratorially, “Trust me, you’ll be very happy in your seat”. …stressing in a loud WHISPER the word V E R Y.   “But, I hate the bulkhead on the Super-80”, I protested. “I hate it”.  I sounded like one of my nephews moaning about homework…or broccoli.

“No, you’ll be very happy about sitting in that row”, nodding her head with that glowing “you’ll be next to a famous person” look that extreme frequent fliers dream and obsess about! It kind of becomes a spectator sport, particularly on that transcon JFK-LAX route that I would fly several times a month because CBS wouldn’t move me to LA…instead I earned hundreds of thousands of air miles. I would call my buddy Theresa Coffino and her office mate Carla with a five hour lead time about who was sitting in First..in case their paparazzi friends were near the airport. They now are Executive Producers of Extra and Dr Phil, respectively. I take full credit. (Obligatory namedropping, sorry.)  Flying around the country got me nowhere..but everywhere.

I snatched the freshly printed First Class boarding pass (the nice firm hard paper ones..not the waxy ones on Delta that melt in your hand) and headed down the jetway for boarding.

I took deep breaths. My mind racing wondering who it could be?  Madonna? What would I say to Madonna?  Oprah?  It was Chicago, after all, heading to LA . This was before she stopped flying commercial. Perhaps we would read a book out loud together or she’d tell me fun Gayle stories. Or Steadman stories.

I boarded and squeezed through the mini-galley and averted my eyes from ANYONES eyes…and tried to look like I didn’t know someone famous was going to be sitting next to me…you know that blank mask look.  But , inside my head I was thinking…look at me people….me, me, me:  I was special..I was sitting next to…

…Debbie Reynolds.

There she was.  Glowing. Kind of the way Diane Sawyer lights up the Universe.. Casual, calm, beautiful. Almost angelic.

I easily managed that “pretending to not know I would be sitting next to someone famous” look…but I couldn’t DARE to not look at her like I didn’t recognize her.  A subtle, tricky facial change! I pulled it off. I think.

She smiled gently, fiddling with a magazine. Then I remembered why I hate the bulkhead in that squishy living room in the sky: there’s nowhere to put all my stuff.  (This is even before all our devices, smartphones, tablets etc) Ive been told for Tauruses this is a challenge.  I lamented and Debbie kinda telepathically agreed. She nodded like “it is what it is.”  She had her wine and her magazines…and I had mine. We’d make do just fine…seatmates for 2,000 miles in the air together. Maybe we would become friends and she’d invite me to Beverly Hills for lunch in the Polo Lounge.

About 45 minutes out, after the warm nuts and my Evian WITH NO ICE , I was startled. Debbie was speaking to me. Her Vanity Fair magazine nestled open in her lap… (it was thick, you remember back in the day before the recession, before Janice Min and Bonnie Fuller saved the magazine industry) …when magazines were like cruise ships…plump,  full, teeming and pleasurable.

“Look at her..Just  LOOK at this!!”

There for the eight or twelve of us of us in Debbie’s squishy living room First Class cabin..was Elizabeth Taylor, glamourous of course…BUT …with a towel on her head….in a full page photo advertisement . I think.  Debbie, quite animated all of a sudden was bellowing, almost spitting venom..(seriously)…“She’s in terry cloth..AND FUR!!” with pure thick grating…disgust. “Terry cloth (pointing with her finger)….(seven second delay here…) and FUR!! (now shaking and furiously pointing).  “Unbelievable,” (with an “I’m embarrassed for Liz” look).  I knowingly nodded nervously taking it all in, quickly Googling in my head (this was before Google) the decades of Hollywood history condensed in her brief gasp attack.  O M G  Elizabeth was her best friend. They were bridesmaids for eachother!  I would briefly remember Jean Drago a neighbor of mine in my childhood more than once telling me and her daughter Carolann about “what happened to Debbie Reynolds” and now I was sitting with her and Debbie was now venting to ME….about Liz!!!!

She took her pointing index finger to her mouth, licked it as if disgusted since it just touched the “dirty” photo of the woman who stole her husband (and father of her daughter Carrie) …Eddie Fisher decades earlier!  It was one of the great tabloid earthquakes that sold many a newspaper and subtly germinated in some creative brains a burgeoning tabloid celebrity that would only grow and grow since.  Peter Brennan and Steve Dunleavy would carry that football legendarily to television. Network news divisions, slow to the party, would eventually join in.

Using the moistened finger to grab the top of the page to flip it furiously to the left…to banish that photo..and that disgusting fashion horror that would make even Donatella vomit…the mixture of terry cloth and fur adorning one of the most famous starlets who ever lived ..and the mistress that took Debbie’s husband from her.

“Blech”, “Yuck” , she said.

She didn’t say another word. Neither did I, honoring the long ago well established Jennifer Lopez Rule.  Don’t look or speak to celebrities until they speak to you first.

Still to come: More brushes with greatness: The Clintons on  their very first Inauguration night, Jennifer Aniston (twice)…..on-stage (not back stage) with Paul McCartney and an unbelievable, urgent message delivered in person to me from Henry (“The Fonz)”  Winkler.  And of course  the day when the world stopped ..the day I met and interviewed Oprah (Yes I interviewed her. Maybe she’ll interview me when my book comes out).

I can dream, can’t I ?

More… “Later in our 48 Hours”…..