I Was Better Last Night: A Memoir by Harvey Fierstein

Author:Harvey Fierstein [Harvey Fierstein]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780593320525
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2022-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

34

ALL TALK AND NO…

Can we talk? As the most economical way to sell tickets, books, or careers, talk shows are an inescapable tool of the biz. Most are silly wastes of time. Hold up your tell-all—show a clip from your movie—deny the rumors of your death—and hope to escape with your dignity. The guest pays the host back with an item of gossip or a silly bit of nonsense. It’s entertainment to sprawl by. There’s no need to mention, let alone remember, most talk shows or their hosts; but there were some…

The best of the best, anyone who’s ever mounted a couch will tell you, was Johnny Carson. I appeared on The Tonight Show a mess of times with Joan Rivers and Jay Leno hosting, but only once with Carson himself, and there was no comparison. He was the greatest audience. He cared only about making you look good, which he accomplished by effortlessly appearing to have the best time with you. No one thought you were funnier or more interesting or more important than he did. Most hosts ask a question and then, as you begin answering, they are already looking at their cheat cards for their next question. Carson made you feel he was with you 100 percent of the time, and for a performer who improvises, that is nirvana. I remember saying something to him to which he remarked, “Oh. So you’re gay.”

And I ad-libbed, “You couldn’t tell from the socks?”

It was a totally senseless remark that sent him into a fit of laughter that I recall to this day.

A funny thing happened on the way to The Tonight Show stage one afternoon. Joan Rivers was hosting and another guest on that episode was that star of 1930s and 1940s musical Hollywood, the one and only Ginger Rogers. I’d been a fan of hers since those Million Dollar Movies in my bedroom, so when I heard she was there, I snuck down the hallway in search of her dressing room. The door was partially open, and I could see a segment producer speaking with her. Waiting politely outside the door, I heard her tell him that she wanted to be offstage when I was introduced.

“Oh,” he said, “do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“No,” she answered.

“In that case, Joan loves for all the guests to stay after their interviews. It makes for a more partylike atmosphere.”

“I understand,” she confided, “but this guest after me…he’s a homosexual?”

“That’s true,” the producer confirmed.

“I can’t chance that. I’m not saying he has it, but I can’t chance catching AIDS.”

The producer, duly embarrassed, said he’d bring her off during the commercial break. I can’t describe the shade of red he turned when he saw me standing in the half-open doorway. I smiled and entered, rushing to Miss Rogers’s side, where I took her hands in mine and planted a huge kiss on her cheek. “Miss Rogers, you’ll never know how many hours of pleasure you have given me over the years. I only hope I can give you back something in return.

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