Growing up, the highlight of every wedding I went to was watching my cousin Carmela catch the bouquet—even if she had to trample every other single woman to do it. When I got an invitation to Donald Trump’s 1993 wedding, to Marla Maples, I was eager to learn the difference between regular weddings and celebrity weddings.
There I was at the Plaza Hotel, along with Rosie O’Donnell and O. J. Simpson, among other notable and/or notorious guests. I had always thought that weddings were supposed to be for close friends and family, but I soon learned that celebrity weddings are more about getting pictures into People magazine than about tearful moments to be cherished throughout the marriage.
Many people at the wedding, like me, had little or no relationship with the couple, except through name recognition—not that I had any back then. But I did have a connection through my manager, and so, voilà, I was invited!
It was an entertaining evening, to say the least, but things are a little different at celebrity weddings. There are certain rules. For example, women are often strongly encouraged to wear dresses. That’s hard for me, since I stopped wearing skirts in the last century. A simple black ensemble with huge earrings—that’s my official uniform at any fancy event, and I’ve found I can usually get away with it.
Celebrity weddings are more about getting pictures into People magazine than about tearful moments to be cherished throughout the marriage.
But the next rule is non-negotiable: no cameras. If People is going to pay good money for those pictures, the happy couple want to make sure that the cash goes into their pocket and not yours. I took a few pictures anyway, but I made the mistake of getting up to dance. When I returned to my table, the film (it was 1993!) had been removed from the camera.
I was nonetheless hooked. So when I heard in 2002 that Liza Minelli and David Gest were planning the wedding of the year, I was determined to get invited. Since I had never met either Liza or David (even though I was a huge fan of hers), I needed a strategy. By that point, I was a co-host on The View, which is a freewheeling show—its charm lies in its unpredictability. So I just blurted out on the air that I would be thrilled to be invited. The next thing I knew, my husband and I were on the guest list.
We arrived at the Marble Collegiate Church, in New York, which was founded by Norman Vincent Peale. His book The Power of Positive Thinking is a must-read for anyone about to tie the knot for the second or third time. There were so many handsome and well-dressed men outside, it looked more like the Gay Pride parade than the union of a husband and wife.
Inside, we saw Mickey Rooney, who cut quite a swath despite his diminutive stature. I was a fan of Andy Hardy movies when I was a kid and to see this miniature superstar in person was—I hate to admit—a thrill for me. I could see why he was married eight times, to some of the most beautiful women in Hollywood, including Ava Gardner. I then spotted David Hasselhoff, of Baywatch fame. He was dressed (for once) in a long, black waistcoat, right out of the Edgar Allan Poe collection.
We got balcony seats, the best place from which to observe the other attendees. Liz Smith (with pen and paper) arrived, and then came Robert Wagner and Jill St. John. Jill was wearing a monochromatic, maroon velvet suit and matching shoes. Amid all the vegetation, she resembled a delicious crop of sugar beets. It never fails to amaze me that Henry Kissinger was able to seduce her, but I guess there must be something to the line about power being the ultimate aphrodisiac, no matter how boring or annoying the man is.
We arrived at the Marble Collegiate Church, in New York, which was founded by Norman Vincent Peale. His book The Power of Positive Thinking is a must-read for anyone about to tie the knot for the second or third time.
There were a couple of rows of what looked like a Turner Classic Movies marathon. One row was filled with Janes: Jane Powell, from the MGM musicals; Jane Russell, the born-again Christian from the brassiere ads; and Jane Withers, from the Josephine the Plumber ads (mercifully, she left her plunger at home). Seated behind the Janes was Joan Collins and—bless her heart—Joan’s much younger husband, Percy. She looked great, although the comedian in me desperately wanted to say, “She’s so old, her vibrator is a windup!” Forgive me. I can’t help myself. And who am I to talk? The amazing thing is that everyone got into their seats without breaking a hip.
After about 45 minutes, Diana Ross swept in with hair big enough to block the view of the entire Jane pew. I noticed that she sent one of her minions to fetch some Kleenex lest she get all weepy from the touching nuptials about to take place. That seemed to be another rule at celebrity weddings: be prepared to cry, in case a photographer is nearby.
Everyone who had been any part of Liza’s life was there. Even Esther Williams swam in for the occasion.
The groom and the minister walked onstage—I’m sorry, I mean to the altar. Suddenly, Michael Jackson, the best man, appeared out of nowhere, in a big, Quaker-style collar. No gloves or mask for this special occasion. His brother Tito was next to him, probably to grab him in case he fainted from hunger.
Liz Taylor was the maid of honor, but she was late. Rumor had it that she left her shoes at the hotel. She finally got there wearing Payless sandals and a hat that made her look like the Queen Mum. Still gorgeous, of course. Between Mickey Rooney, Joan Collins, and Liz Taylor, I counted 20 marriages.
Everyone who had been any part of Liza’s life was there. Even Esther Williams swam in for the occasion.
Eventually, the music began. Not the traditional Mendelssohn—how boring would that be? This was more Lerner and Loewe. (I have often walked down this aisle before …) About 10 bridesmaids and ushers filed in and then marched down between the pews, as if in a Busby Berkeley movie. They were followed by Gina Lollobrigida, who was resplendent in a stunning black-and-white schmatte topped by a dyed magenta wig. Next came Janet Leigh, looking like she was scared that Tony Perkins would jump out of one of the pews.
Finally, the bride appeared. She was a vision, in a white satin, beaded gown followed by a 30-foot train. The guests broke into applause. She got a standing ovation just for showing up! The groom, previously as pale as Brad Pitt’s teeth, suddenly had a glow as he watched his bride float toward him. Michael Jackson applauded with the tips of his fingers.
Natalie Cole sang “Unforgettable.” She sang beautifully, though I could have done without the scatting. The vows were exchanged. Michael Jackson fumbled with the ring box. The groom kissed the bride, seeming to inhale Liza’s lungs. More applause as we ambled out of the building to a rousing marching tune, to distract us as they got Miss Taylor off the stage. Cindy Adams could be heard mumbling to herself, “Only in New York, kids. Only in New York.”
Unfortunately, the marriage didn’t last very long. The only ones who lived happily ever after were the divorce lawyers. I hope that Liz Taylor, at the very least, got a deal with Payless shoes.
Travis Kelce, if you’re reading this, put a ring on it already. And when it comes time to send out the wedding invitations, don’t forget your old friend Joy.
Joy Behar is a comedian and a co-host of The View
