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Elizabeth Firooz Zahedi

Preface by Liz Smith

Foreword by Bob Colacello

Elizabeth Firooz Zahedi

Preface by Liz Smith

Foreword by Bob Colacello

Contents

A Letter from Elizabeth

Preface: Unmoderated Passion

Liz Smith

Foreword: Illuminating Elizabeth Bob Colacello

Introduction: Always, Always

Firooz Zahedi

The Embassy Iran

New York and Andy Warhol Vienna

Washington to Hollywood Bel Air

111

Vanity Fair Amsterdam Cannes Venice

137 148

150

156

The White House

161

Husband Number Nine The Last Sitting

171

The Museum Show Acknowledgments A Brief Chronology Index

202

175

198 200

168

Contents

A Letter from Elizabeth

Preface: Unmoderated Passion

Liz Smith

Foreword: Illuminating Elizabeth Bob Colacello

Introduction: Always, Always

Firooz Zahedi

The Embassy Iran

New York and Andy Warhol Vienna

Washington to Hollywood Bel Air

111

Vanity Fair Amsterdam Cannes Venice

137 148

150

156

The White House

161

Husband Number Nine The Last Sitting

171

The Museum Show Acknowledgments A Brief Chronology Index

202

175

198 200

168

A Letter from Elizabeth

August 11, 2006

The images in this book bring back so many memories of happy days with just Firooz and me being good, bad, excited, playful...all the components that go into making a thoroughly good time together. We got to know each other very well and as you will see through Firooz’s eyes, we became really good friends. I love him as a friend, admire him as a photographer, and wish him everything wonderful that the world can offer. He deserves it all...all the good stuff. He’s worked hard to keep from becoming a diplomatic “darling,” 8

Elizabeth and I at a mosque, en route to Isfahan, Iran, May 1976 (photo by Arthur Bruckel).

A Letter from Elizabeth

August 11, 2006

Elizabeth and I at a mosque, en route to Isfahan, Iran, May 1976 (photo by Arthur Bruckel).

and darling he is. I wish him everything wonderful for the rest of his life. Just to show how exactly wonderful he is, all the monies he might make from this book go directly to ETAF (the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation). This means that all the money we make goes directly to the patient because I take care of all overhead for ETAF. No secretariesâ€™ salaries, no empty pockets. It all goes to our beloved friends who need the help. For that I really love him and thank him. â€”Elizabeth Taylor 10

Elizabeth siteseeing in Tehran.

The Embassy It was April 1976 when Elizabeth Taylor came to Washington, DC, at the invitation of my cousin, Ardeshir Zahedi, who at the time was the Iranian ambassador to the United States. The 47-year-old diplomat was handsome, charismatic, and considered to be one of the capital’s most eligible bachelors. His buddy Henry Kissinger, at that time the Secretary of State, wanted to fix Ardeshir up with Elizabeth, who at the age of 44 was once again separated from Richard Burton after their second marriage. The matchmaker, who himself had once attempted to date Elizabeth, suggested that my cousin invite Elizabeth to be his guest at the American Ballet Theater Gala at the Kennedy Center. That event was to be followed by a dinner and dance at the Iranian Embassy. My cousin was only too happy to oblige. Since there was a considerable amount of social buzz about him, Elizabeth was sufficiently intrigued and accepted the invitation, but as a safety measure she arrived at the gala escorted by her close friends Liza Minnelli and Halston. Two years earlier I’d resigned from my post at the embassy, where I’d served as my cousin’s aide, and enrolled in art school. One of my responsibilities at work had been to help organize and oversee embassy parties. It was a relief to no longer deal with the stress that came with those black tie events: running around until the wee hours making sure the guests were consuming vast quantities of champagne and caviar and having a grand time. The one person I

observed with envy at those galas was the party photographer, whose job looked so much more interesting than my own. Having drawn and painted since childhood, I’d saved up and treated myself to a 35mm camera, adding photography to my roster of creative dreams. As much as I was disappointed to not be included in the gala, which Elizabeth was attending, I consoled myself with the fact that I was enjoying my new life as an art student. I took pride in the fact that I’d been courageous enough to break away from family traditions to pursue the arts, a direction that was almost taboo in a family that had produced a succession of politically powerful men. My great-uncle, General Fazlollah Zahedi, Ardeshir’s father, had been instrumental in re-establishing the Pahlavi monarchy, in 1953, following a failed coup by the nationalist government to overthrow the Shah. This led to his being appointed as the Shah’s Prime Minister. Ardeshir went on to marry the Shah’s daughter and become the Iranian ambassador to the United States and, some years later, the country’s foreign minister. In 1973 he was, once again, appointed ambassador to the United States. My father, General Nasrollah Zahedi, had served alongside my great-uncle, and several other family members had gone on to become generals and senators. I knew my resignation from the diplomatic corps would come as a shock to my family, whom I’d spent most of my life

Elizabeth and Ambassador Ardeshir Zahedi at the ambassador’s residence, Iranian Embassy, Washington, DC, May 1976.

Iran Despite the extraordinary diversion that Elizabeth’s presence had created, I managed somehow to graduate from art school. Certain that my accomplishment wouldn’t impress anyone in my family, I decided to call Elizabeth, still a guest of my cousin’s, and share the news with her. She was genuinely delighted to hear of my achievement, and again encouraged me to stay the course. The next day Arthur called and asked that I meet him at Ardeshir’s residence. When I arrived, he handed me a gift-wrapped package. I opened it to find a beautifully illustrated book on photography. On the title page there was an inscription: “Dearest Firooz, Congratulations! From the ‘best speller’ in the business. You are a dear man, love Elizabeth.” (The spelling comment referred to her taking great pride in spelling my name correctly.) Even though Arthur had been commissioned to find the gift, I was extremely touched by her gesture, especially since my graduation news didn’t seem to make an impression on anyone else. Elizabeth was happy staying with my cousin, whose resplendent style of entertaining was a good distraction from her faltering marriage to Richard Burton. One Sunday I was asked to go help supervise another luncheon for

Elizabeth in Persepolis, Shiraz, Iran, May 1976.

Ardeshir. During dessert he announced that, in honor of the American bicentennial, a group of VIPs were being invited to visit Iran. They were to travel on Iran Air’s inaugural nonstop flight from New York to Tehran. Turning to Elizabeth, he asked if she’d like to join the group. “It sounds like fun,” she said. “Are you going?” “Unfortunately I’ve a lot of work to do here, so I can’t go,” my cousin responded. Elizabeth took a sip from her drink and, after a moment, looked at him and said, “I’ll go if you send Firooz with me.” Both my cousin and I were surprised by this suggestion. On my part, I was of course totally delighted, whereas my cousin looked somewhat disconcerted. Obviously he was unaware of the strong bond that had developed between Elizabeth and myself. But after a little hesitation, he agreed to her terms, as it was to his benefit to have her chaperoned by someone she was comfortable with rather than a stranger. Home for me had been London, to which my parents had relocated in 1959, and then later, my home became Washington, where I’d settled after college. I had never imagined returning to Iran. However, a trip with Elizabeth, and a chance to visit all the historic places that I’d never been to before, sounded like a splendid idea. In addition to touring the country, my cousin informed us that we’d also been invited

Elizabeth in Persepolis, Shiraz, Iran, May 1976.

to attend several official events, one of which was a tea party at the royal palace.

Elizabeth on flight back to Tehran.

When Elizabeth arrived in Washington, her suitcases were filled with milliondollar jewels, designer gowns—and, at the other extreme, simple T-shirts and jeans. She was not equipped for formal tea parties. I mentioned to her that she might benefit from investing in a few understated outfits for the trip, and so she commissioned Arthur and me to go on a shopping spree for her. The word “understated” didn’t exist in Arthur’s vocabulary, so I found myself constantly trying to persuade him to simplify his choices, as I steered him away from the more glitzy outfits. When we returned, Elizabeth glanced through our choices without much enthusiasm, and settled on a few classic pieces by Yves Saint Laurent. She was not used to being told what to wear, but being a good sport, she didn’t want to embarrass Ardeshir back in Iran. Within a week we were on a 747 jet bound for Iran. Up in the air, sitting next to Elizabeth, drinking champagne and watching Cloris Leachman powerwalk up and down the aisle, it struck me that I was indeed a fortunate man. I’d achieved my goal of graduating from art school, and now I was about to embark on an adventure with this astonishing woman. In addition to being famous, beautiful, and wickedly funny, Elizabeth was supportive of my goals and helped to bolster my courage and self-confidence. Never in a million years would I have imagined that the mentor I’d earnestly looked for all my life would turn out to be Elizabeth Taylor! A couple hours into the flight, and after a few drinks, Elizabeth began to tell me about her childhood. On hearing her stories, I realized that my strict upbringing, which included several

rough and abusive years at an English boarding school, paled in comparison to what she’d been subjected to as a young actress in Hollywood. From the age of 8, she was pushed into an adult working environment where she was treated, at best, insensitively. Elizabeth had been coaxed by her ambitious mother to remain an actress even when she was desperate to leave the profession and lead a normal teenage life. At 18, in an attempt to gain her independence, she’d married Conrad Hilton Jr. It was an abusive, unhappy, and traumatic union that didn’t last long. Before the age of 30 she had suffered numerous ailments, most of which were due to stress, and physical traumas such as a fall from her horse during the filming of National Velvet, which had permanently damaged her back. These revelations about her early years shocked me. Whatever I’d known of her past was confined to my knowledge of her movies and her “Liz and Dick” phase. How naive I was to have thought her life had been a series of glamorous adventures. The drama of her relationships with men and her occasional need to act out like a child now made complete sense. It’s common to read about child actors having a terrible time adjusting to life as they grow up and face many obstacles. Elizabeth had jumped the hurdle on multiple occasions, but had also bruised herself a little each time. And always the public was watching and judging her. Admittedly, these were not bedtime stories I was listening to, but her voice was soft and soothing. Enhanced by the effect of the alcohol, my eyes grew heavy. Soon I faded and slipped into a deep sleep. The next voice I heard was that of the pilot announcing our approach to Tehran airport. Elizabeth was walking back from the bathroom,

dressed in her Yves Saint Laurent outfit and beautifully made up with her hair coiffed by Arthur. She was camera ready. Sure enough, when we landed, the stewardess escorted Elizabeth, Arthur, and me to the exit ahead of the other passengers. When the door opened and Elizabeth appeared at the top of the steps, the crowd of press photographers waiting on the tarmac went wild, calling out her name as they clicked away with their cameras. Elizabeth descended the stairs and dutifully smiled for them. Along with the other guests, we were escorted to the Tehran Hilton, and soon after were taken to the royal palace to have tea with Empress Farah Pahlavi. After a few more official functions, all of which Elizabeth graciously endured as the center of attention, it became evident that the pressure was beginning to affect her. One night, Princess Ashraf, the Shah’s twin sister, gave a small dinner party in Elizabeth’s honor. Elizabeth wasn’t feeling well, but thought it impolite to decline the invitation. Halfway through dinner her condition grew worse and we excused ourselves. Now that I was aware of Elizabeth’s past health issues, I had tremendous empathy and a strong need to be protective. I knew that leaving dinner abruptly might appear disrespectful, so I called my cousin in Washington and explained the situation. Being the consummate social professional, Ardeshir made the appropriate apologies to the princess and, a few nights later, we were once again invited by her to another dinner. That was soon followed by a dinner party given by the Shah’s older sister, Princess Shams, at her palace on the outskirts of the city. Too many palaces, princesses, and formal dinners! It was taking a toll on Elizabeth. She was appreciative of all the attention but confessed to me that she wanted to explore the “real” Iran. I called my

cousin in Washington and asked if we could have a private tour after the other guests had returned to the States. He agreed and made the arrangements, including retaining the services of a friendly guide plus a car and driver. Freed from our social obligations, Elizabeth got back into her T-shirt and jeans, and, with a small entourage that included Arthur and me, set out “incognito” to explore Iran. We visited the ancient ruins of Persepolis as well as the magical cities of Shiraz and Isfahan. At each location I took snapshots of Elizabeth, who had also brought along her camera and was taking hundreds of pictures, none of which I ever saw, nor do I recall her ever getting the film developed. We returned to Tehran having visited the main bazaars in all the major cities. Elizabeth was mesmerized by the colorful tribal costumes and splendid silk fabrics and tablecloths, all of which were covered in the beautiful paisley patterns characteristic of ancient Iran. As a result, she’d bought large quantities of everything she’d laid her eyes on. One day, on the way back to the hotel, we asked the driver to take us to an authentic Persian restaurant. He drove into the heart of the city and guided us down some stairs to a dark, cavernlike room packed with locals. At first we were reluctant to stay, but the rich aroma of Persian food was too enticing to ignore, so we decided to sit and eat. After the waiter took our orders, Elizabeth asked to be directed to the restroom. I was desperate to go as well but as there was only the one restroom, I waited for her to return and then ran in to relieve myself.

How naive I was to have thought her life had been a series of glamorous adventures.

When I looked for some soap to wash my hands, I noticed a shiny object on the ledge of the sink— Elizabeth had taken off her Krupp diamond and left it there. 37

to attend several official events, one of which was a tea party at the royal palace.

Elizabeth on flight back to Tehran.

How naive I was to have thought her life had been a series of glamorous adventures.

When I looked for some soap to wash my hands, I noticed a shiny object on the ledge of the sink— Elizabeth had taken off her Krupp diamond and left it there. 37

Dangling from her forehead was the famous Taj Mahal diamond pendant, a gift from Richard Burton.

Washington to Hollywood Once again Elizabeth was lured back to Washington by romance. The handsome and charming John Warner was a successful lawyer and former Secretary of the Navy. The courtship that begun in July had led to their engagement in August, when he visited the Vienna set of A Little Night Music. Soon after the movie wrapped, Elizabeth moved into John’s house in a quaint Georgetown neighborhood. It was a wonderful surprise to have her back in the city I called home, and before long she was calling to invite me to come and spend time with her. John, a true gentleman, had no issues with respect to her friendship with the close relative of a former beau. In fact it was at John’s home, over a luncheon of fried chicken and mashed potatoes (Elizabeth’s favorite food next to caviar) that I conducted the conversation that was to accompany my photos in Andy Warhol’s Interview magazine. In December 1976, after a six-month courtship, Elizabeth and John were married at Atoka, his vast estate in Middleburg, Virginia. Now that she had a home in the States, her children, Michael, Christopher, Liza, and Maria, who had until then lived a nomadic existence, became frequent visitors. I already knew that her daughters were very down to earth, and was happy to see that her sons were no different. They had an easygoing, hippie cool about them, and soon we all became good friends. What amazed me most about her children was their capacity

to share their mother and not begrudge the human strays she collected and welcomed into her life. Despite the fact that she was a liberal Democrat, when John decided to run for the Republican senate seat from Virginia, Elizabeth dedicated herself to his campaign. It was immediately apparent that there were those in John’s circle of supporters and friends— notably the ladies—who were having trouble accepting Elizabeth. They would have preferred a wife for the prospective senator who was pure “red, white, and blue,” whereas Elizabeth was all lavender and purple, thanks to Halston. Regardless, her presence on the campaign trail pulled in huge crowds and helped him immensely. Although she was elated when John became senator, Elizabeth was not used to playing a supporting role, and as the daily routine of being the senator’s wife set in, she grew increasingly weary and ultimately began skipping the couple’s many formal social obligations. During those days, there were frequent calls for me to come over and keep her company. I was delighted to do so, as I had plenty of free time on my hands. It hadn’t been easy finding work in Washington, where there was limited need for a portrait photographer. The center of the publishing and advertising world was in New York, but it was too expensive for me to live there without the guarantee of a regular job. Frankly, after years of juggling school and work, I was happy to have some “me time,” so

Elizabeth and Senator John Warner at their home in Georgetown, 1977.