I was 16, and nine months after getting my driver's license, I had gathered enough courage to drive into L.A. alone. Rather, I drove to Century City, to attend the first screening of Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ. I found it tedious—the story of Christ is all black and white, no gray—but I didn't tell the TV crews waiting outside that. Actually, they didn't ask: Even though I was the first person to leave the theater, they wanted an adult's opinion, which burned. I must have had a real sourpuss look on my face, because as I was walking to the parking garage, a white Cadillac stopped, and the rear window rolled down.
"You look like you could use a taco," said Elizabeth Taylor Hilton Wilding Todd Fisher Burton Burton Warner Fortensky.
My parents had taught me not to get into a stranger's car, especially in the greater Los Angeles area, but this was Elizabeth Taylor, who knew a thing or two about breaking rules. (I tried calling her Ms. Taylor, but she said "Balls! Call me Elizabeth." She said she detested being called Liz: "I'm British, you know.") The chauffeur, who looked a bit like the young William Shatner, got out and opened the door; Elizabeth, scooching over, patted the blue velvet seat. "Hurry, or they'll run out of tongue."
We drove to what she said was one of her three favorite taquerias, La Cucaracha in El Segundo. It was an area that I had heard was rough. "Aren't you afraid to show up there in your white fur coat?" I asked somewhere on the 405.
She gave a throaty laugh. "I'm not afraid of much."
At the time, I thought I'd never forget what we talked about, but so many of the details are gone. I do know that she asked what my favorite movies were, and I had the good sense to lead off with several of hers—Butterfield 8, A Place in the Sun, Giant, Suddenly Last Summer.... I also had the poor sense to mention that I was a fan of old movies.
"Classic movies," she said tartly. She cocked her head. "Suddenly, Last Summer, huh? Curious about Cabeza de Lobo, are you?" I had no idea what she was talking about, but I did get that the joke was on me.
People have always remarked on her beauty, and she certainly was spectacular to look at. But I wonder now whether it was less about her looks than her willingness to be looked at. Sitting against the plush blue seat like a gemstone in a jewelry box, she seemed as if she were made to be displayed.
I had never had an actual Mexican taco before, the kind that come cradled in two soft tortillas. They were fantastic, if messy. I hope I don't spoil your image of Elizabeth if I tell you that she ate with visible delight. "Monty Clift introduced me to this place," she said, drawing taco number three in for the kill. "He liked the pollo, if you know what I mean—but of course you don't."
No one at La Cucaracha acknowledged the movie star—the last great movie star—in their midst. It was possible many of the patrons didn't recognize her. This was a couple of years before her White Diamonds perfume came out.
She had the chauffeur call me a cab—she would be continuing south, to visit friends in Laguna Beach—and while we waited, she dug around in a Giorgio Beverly Hills bag that had been sitting in the footwell. "Here's a hundred bucks," she said, holding out a crumpled bill. "Be sure to spend it all in one place—otherwise, why fucking bother?" She let out one last roar, and pointed at the cab that had pulled up alongside us.
