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Taken from the book: Ava - My Story
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When Artie Shaw and I were first married, Garbo had lived right next door on Befdford Drive in Beverly Hills, but in spite of peering over wall, through hedges, and over curtains, I never caught so much as a glimpse of her.
So now, when my old friend Minna Wallis called [Frank Sinatra's] house at Palm Springs and said she and Garbo would like to spend the weekend there and didn't care if Bappie [Ava's older sister] and I stayed along for the ride, you better believe I was pleased at the opportunity.
Arranging Garbo's Bedroom! |
"We'd love to have her," I said, the Scarlett O'Hara of hostesses. "When does she want to arrive?" "In about five minutes." "Oh, my God!" It was midsummer in the desert, hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, but Bappie and rushed around, arranging flowers in Miss Garbo's bedroom and turning up the air-conditioner.
We'd barely had time to do anything before a taxi pulled up and out she stepped, wearing not only the expected large sunglasses ad wide-brimmed hat but also, I swear to God, a wool turtleneck sweater, this huge woollen scarf around her neck, and quite a heavy coat on top of it all.
Miss Garbo came... |
"Hello, Miss Garbo," I said, still the polite Southern miss. "I'm Ava Gardner." Did I get a hello back? A handshake? The slightest sign of recognition? No, I did not. Instead there was this sweeping movement toward the house and a booming "Where is my rooooom?", the echoing vowels as broad as the great outdoors.
And no sooner were she and Minna settled in their rooms when word came out that {a} Miss Garbo didn't like air-conditioning and {b} if there was anything Miss Garbo liked less than air-conditioning, it was flowers.
She was totally magnificent! |
Bappie and I retreated to the pool, fortifying ourselves alcoholically for what we were beginning to fear would be a grim weekend. Then, about an hour later, Miss Garbo decided to join us. She walked out to the pool and I really think she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.
And I mean that despite the fact that she wore a pair of men's baggy khaki shorts that came down to her knees--and nothing else. Though she must have been in her mid-forties, her breasts and shoulders were glorious. Her face had just a touch of blue eyes shadow, her lips a trace of lipstick, and she had that wonderful hair that moved from side to side as she turned her head. She was totally magnificent.
Swedish appetite! |
She was Greta now, all smiles, with the intention, she said, of taking a little swim. She changed into a dress after that, accepted our offer of vodka, and began a memorable weekend of drinking, eating, laughing, and more eating. Because though she was involved with nutritionist Gaylord Hauser and had the stock of health foods and vitamins to prove it, Miss Garbo definitely had a robust Swedish appetite.
Kneeses under the table...
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The only time she brought up health was when she made the rather enigmatic comment that "it was the 'kneeses' under the table that gives us the diseases." After a few more vodkas, Greta made her point clear. you sat down to dine, your 'kneeses' carefully placed under the table.
You had a plate in front of you. you filled it, stuffed yourself, got fat, and contracted one of the many diseases associated with that condition. true enough, those "kneeses under the table" had brought you to an ultimate end.
Garbo and the only man she really ever loved! |
There were two other things I remember about Greta's conversation. At one point she admired a small, inexpensive bracelet that Frank had given me and said, rather sadly, "You know, I love jewellery, and yet men have never given any to me. I don't know why."
And she also admitted that the only man she'd ever really loved was John Gilbert, her romantic co-star, but that he's "let me down" by having a surreptitious affair (is there any other kind?) with a little extra during their last film together. She had never forgiven him.
Tanks to Danica
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