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.
23