Most people knew her as Joan Rivers. The majority of our little inner circle knew her as Mrs. R. From time to time, on a very few select occasions, I was instructed to address her as Mrs. von Rosenberg. Nothing pleased her more than when I entered the library where she was visiting with friends, and I would recite my rehearsed lines that she gave me, May I bring you some tea, Mrs. von Rosenberg? She could never keep a straight face when she cracked herself up. Finding the perfect gift for someone who could buy whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it, was next to impossible. The year I gave her, her beloved dog Spike, was somewhat of a financial strain for me. I was after all, the help and even though Spike was the runt of this pedigree litter, he still set me back two weeks of my salary. It was well worth every penny spent. It wasnt long before Spike became a celebrity in his own right. I remember Mrs. R. lovingly referring to Spike as having Clark Gable eyes. He had his own matching leash, collar and carrying case custom made by Louis Vuitton. We all hand fed him roast beef and steak from a silver platter. Like everyone else that Mrs. R. cared about, he indeed was spoiled! Early on, Spike became very friendly with Mrs. R.s fuzzy pink slipper that she affectionately named Carmelita. Since Spike never left Mrs. R.s side, we developed a routine when we went out for her appointments. She would distract any and all security guards by using her celebrity, while I stuffed Spike under my sweater and dashed for the elevator. Our plan worked flawlessly. Mrs. R. had a way of making everyone feel special. It didnt matter if you were part of her entourage, a fan, the guy pumping gas or the First Lady...she knew how to engage you and make you feel like you were the most important person in the world! One of my favorite memories with her was when she took a bubble bath. Even though she rarely drank, her treat was a small glass of Baileys over ice. She took her drink into the bathroom and closed the door while she drew her bath. When she was ready, she would call on me to bring a pad of paper and a pen to take notes for the following day. I entered the gardenia scented, pale peach bathroom to discover Spike hunkered down in the corner, courting his fuzzy pink companion and Mrs. R. covered in bubbles up to her neck. There were never any notes to be taken, we just sat and had a conversation. She not only asked about my family, my goals, my dreams - she listened...and she cared. I will miss those talks. I miss all the notes she used to slip under my bedroom door. I will miss the frequent encouraging and supportive emails. I will miss the feeling of someone actually caring. I believe it was Deborah Norville who commented at the service on Mrs. R.s generosity. It was true. She would give you the shirt off her back without blinking an eye. When her husband Edgar (Mr. R.) was in UCLAs ICU for his quadruple bypass, we literally moved into the hospital 24/7. One day after Mr. R. came home, we were out running errands and she asked to see my hand. She placed one of her gold and pearl bracelets around my wrist. The clasp was made of a little gold heart and she explained how that symbolized what we just went through and how thankful she was for my support. If I protested a gift, without missing a beat, shed sharply tell me to shut up. Last month, shortly after my best friend and sister-in-law died, my father passed away. She wrote, Im so so so sorry. This is some year full of loss for you. Instead of sadness, think of it as shedding skins for a new bright future. I would give anything to retrieve that layer of skin I lost on September 4th. The future will never be as spectacular and luminous as it was when Mrs. R. was in it.
Posted on: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 21:05:37 +0000
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