TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 20
|Piers with Joan & Nikki Haskell|
Joan Collins and her husband Percy threw a splendid house-warming party at their beautiful new Beverly Hills apartment.
The room was packed with Hollywood figures, including… Michael Brandon.
‘Michael! I don’t suppose you were…’
‘YES!’ laughed the Dempsey And Makepeace legend. ‘I felt such an a** shouting your name like that, you must have thought I was some crazy man.’
‘Actually, it’s more disturbing than that,’ said Celia, ‘he thought you were a fan.’
Designer Tom Ford arrived. ‘I’m wearing one of your shirts,’ I told him.
‘That’s nice,’ he replied.
‘In fact, I have more than 100 of your shirts!’ I added, excitedly. (I wear them for all my TV work.)
‘That’s nice too,’ he replied, without a single tonal change to his unimpressed voice.
I guess if you’re a friend of, and dresser to, Sir Elton John, then you’re used to more Imelda Marcos-style levels of sartorial extravagance.
Stefanie Powers and I got into a lively guns debate.
‘I have a firearm,’ said the Hart To Hart beauty whose on-screen romance with Robert Wagner electrified the world in the Eighties. ‘You have to in this country because there are so many of them out there.’
‘Would you fire it?’ I asked.
‘Honey,’ she retorted, ‘if someone broke into my home, damn right I would. And I’d shoot to kill, not wound.’
I had an amusing chat with George Hamilton, the man with the world’s most famous orange face until Donald Trump became President.
‘What do you make of him?’ I asked.
‘Best reality TV show ever,’ he laughed. ‘He’s made politics entertaining and exciting. I tune into the news every night to see what’s happened next. Whether that’s a good thing is another matter.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘Yes. He once threatened to sue me over some trivial thing involving Miss Universe when I co-hosted it with his ex-wife Marla, so I called him up and we went at it for a bit, then he suddenly laughed and said, “OK, let’s forget it and have dinner.” Everything with Donald is negotiable.’
Stefanie walked past and blew him a lingering kiss. ‘It must be great being George Hamilton,’ I sighed.
‘Relax, Piers,’ he chuckled, ‘she thinks I’m Robert Wagner.’