Shirley (29 page)

At the end of six weeks Shirley and Bernard boarded a plane for New York without further entanglements. Shirley had a full schedule waiting for her, including photo sessions and an appointment with a throat specialist before the opening at the Royal Box nightclub in the Americana Hotel.

In the meantime Bernard took Shirley to spend a day with Milton Greene, the man who was once close to Marilyn Monroe and who had taken many photographs of her. Shirley was going to be photographed for some of the covers of her new recordings, and Bernard’s job was to get
her in and out of her costumes, look after her make-up and ensure that the pictures were flattering.

Shirley held Bernard’s arm as they walked back along Madison Avenue that afternoon when a taxi suddenly swerved to a halt by the kerb.

‘Bernarr!’ a voice called. To Bernard’s delight, his old friend Gilbert Bécaud, one of France’s premier singing stars, young, good-looking and charming, hurried towards them. Apart from being pleased to see Bernard, whom he had known in Paris, Bécaud had recognised Shirley, whom he had much admired, and was eager to meet her. He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Madame, mes hommages. You are a great artiste.’ There was something else Gilbert wanted to thank her for. He had written a song called ‘Et maintenant’ which roughly translated means ‘And now’. Shirley had recorded it in English as ‘What now, my love’, and it had gone to the top of the British charts. To his compliments, Gilbert added, ‘And every time you sing that song, Madame, I get a commission from the music publishers. You are my beautiful benefactrice.’

There was one particular scene in the lift at the Americana Hotel that Bernard remembered about their stay in America. He and Shirley were going up in the elevator together. She was beautifully turned out with a mink wrap over an elegant dress. A group of men and women from a Southern state, perhaps Texas, got in. They were more flamboyantly and roughly dressed in checks and bright colours, not a bit New York style, and the men were certainly rednecks. They seemed to have been drinking, and one of them looked Shirley up and down and said in a
loud voice, ‘How come we get nigras riding with us folk in the same elevator?’ Shirley’s fingers dug deep into Bernard’s upper arm as if to hold him back and stop herself, or him, saying anything. A brawl in the lift didn’t solve anything and would reach the front pages of tomorrow’s tabloids. It wouldn’t do her any good.

Kenneth Hume arrived in New York very early in time for Shirley’s first rehearsal at the Royal Box. He took a taxi straight to the Americana. On the way he read the careful itinerary arranged by his London office manager. By the time Bernard got there half an hour late at ten o’clock, Kenneth was exploding with rage.

When he calmed down he was eager to wake Shirley. He told Bernard he’d brought a new recording contract with him for her to sign. These days Kenneth was becoming a first-rate recording producer. ‘Big Spender’, Shirley’s latest disc was going to race to the top of the charts. Bernard, who didn’t really understand these things shuddered. How could Kenneth think of waking Shirley up early? Managers had been fired, partnerships ruined and agents kicked out for disturbing her before the magic hour of twelve mid-day. It was Shirley’s opening night so he really had to keep Kenneth out of her room.

Breakfast arrived. ‘Leave the trolley here,’ Bernard told the waiter, ‘I’ve got to wake her up first. Have a cup of tea Kenneth, it’s nice and hot.’ He looked at his wristwatch. Eleven-thirty. It might work if she didn’t see the clock but he daren’t go in yet. He looked at Kenneth drinking his tea and wondered how, having been married to Shirley he still didn’t understand.

At eleven-forty-five there was no holding Kenneth back
any longer. Bernard went in first and woke her gently as he could. Her dark eyes looked up at him then at the clock. They clouded. After she’d had a cup of tea, Kenneth marched in, waving his recording contract for her to sign.

It was a cool reunion at first. Kenneth could have waved a bunch of flowers or brought a gift, a little piece of jewellery, perhaps. Once he had sent her a full box of Mars Bars because he knew that she liked them. This time however, his gift was a recording contract – one with a difference. It was signing her to United Artists. He paced back and forth excitedly, telling her about it. He read out ‘that her American sales would rise dramatically, she was going to become a world-class recording artist who would compete favourably with the best of the American stars.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Shirley. They understand me better in London and my voice is better there.’ Kenneth brandished the contract again. ‘It’s all down here, you will record your future albums and singles in the UK.’

Shirley smiled and Bernard, watching, realised he was mistaken. Kenneth Hume knew Shirley much better than he did. He was in charge of her career and she trusted him. It was irrelevant that he hadn’t praised her success in the tour, and that after a five-month break there were no preliminaries. He was planning her future.

That night Shirley opened at the Royal Box and it was an important occasion. She really needed to conquer New York. The city was the jewel in the crown of her tour. When Bernard went into Shirley’s dressing room he thought she looked a bit glum. She sat in front of her mirror concentrating on her make-up, dabbing her face with a powder puff.

He crept up behind her, leaned over her shoulder and whispered, ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall . . .’

Shirley saw him in her mirror now. Suddenly her face lit up like a little girl who listens to a well-loved nursery rhyme and always knows the happy ending. In a deep, gruff voice he whispered again, ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?’ Shirley giggled and laughed, then he hissed in her ear, ‘You! You, you black bitch. You!!’ She was still laughing when Bernard kissed her cheek before he left and whispered ‘
Merde
!’ for luck.

When it was all over and Shirley came off the stage amid tumultuous applause, a jubilant Kenneth was waiting for her in the wings. He put his arms around her and hugged her. ‘You’ve made it,’ he told her. Shirley looked radiant. These two had an unusual and unpredictable relationship, but there was a strong bond between them.

Next morning this bond seemed to have loosened a little and Kenneth Hume was in a hurry to catch his plane back to London. ‘Shirley’s decided to have a holiday in Jamaica,’ he told Bernard, ‘going to look up her ancestors I should think, so she won’t be flying back with you when the show closes.’

His racial jibe was ridiculous, and showed how glibly he talked of Shirley’s parentage. Shirley’s mother said, ‘I could never get on with Kenneth Hume. I couldn’t even talk to him.’ She would have no doubt told him to mind his own business.

The American tour had been an unqualified success. As one Las Vegas reviewer had enthused, ‘Shirley Bassey has the ferocity of Lena Home, the trickery of Ella Fitzgerald and the dramatic appeal of Streisand. And when she sang
torch songs about the men in her life, she gave off the same magical sparks as Judy Garland and the melancholy of Helen Morgan.’

But, more than that, Shirley Bassey had conquered New York.

No longer a rising star, but an established international name with guaranteed sell-out potential, Shirley Bassey arrived home in London in the summer of 1966 to a fanfare of publicity. Kenneth Hume, meanwhile, had got well into his stride as one of Britain’s most energetic recording producers, despite the fact that he made disgraceful scenes and many enemies.

At the studios of Associated Television (ATV) he caused one memorable scene at a recording of
The Eamon Andrews Show
that reached the front pages of all the newspapers. Eamon, with his easy Irish charm, was one of the leading lights of British television in the Sixties and Seventies, and an appearance on his show was always a plus, especially if you had a song to plug. Shirley had a new record called, ‘Don’t Take the Lovers from the World’, for which she and Kenneth had high hopes. She had recorded the number in the United States and it was released in England in August 1966, but so far it hadn’t made any impression in the charts. Kenneth hoped the sight and sound of Shirley singing it on TV would make it move.

Associated Television were keen to please Shirley; she was a big star after all. They brought in an eighteen-piece orchestra especially for her and agreed to engaging Kenny Clayton as her musical director. But Kenneth Hume started making trouble at rehearsals before the live
programme went out, declaring that the sound of Shirley’s voice was not coming over well. He announced that he was not happy. Shirley’s song was tried again. Kenneth was still not pleased. He barged into the control room and announced that, to ensure TV listeners would get the full Shirley Bassey impact, he himself would take personal control of the sound balance mechanism. This was an unprecedented demand. Producer Malcomn Morris and the TV technicians were incensed and told Kenneth this was out of the question; he was asked to leave the control room.

‘I am not an enthusiastic amateur,’ spat Kenneth through gritted teeth. ‘I am a technician talking to other technicians on equal terms.’

Malcomn Morris again asked him to leave; again. Kenneth refused. The arguments grew heated, Kenneth’s language became unpleasant, and security guards were called to remove him.

While all this mayhem was going on off camera, the first two thirds of
The Eamon Andrews Show
, which had been pre-recorded was being transmitted to the nation. When it finished, Eamon Andrews, live, appeared before the cameras to say that, unfortunately, Shirley Bassey was losing her voice and might not be able to appear. He omitted to mention that everyone had been running around frantically looking for a substitute who could go out live in Shirley’s place.

The commercial break came and went, and it was back to the show. Music! Applause! And who is this lovely scantily clad lady making her way to the microphone? Miss Shirley Bassey, whose voice has miraculously returned. She
opens her mouth, filling the air-waves and a million living-rooms with ‘Don’t Take the Lovers From the World’.

ATV were incensed over the incident, but Kenneth told the press they had been fortunate to get Shirley Bassey’s services for a mere two hundred pounds, considering what she was paid elsewhere. ‘Miss Bassey,’ he announced ‘has just landed a one hundred and seventy five thousand pounds contract for the next three years at Las Vegas.’

Kenny Clayton was thoroughly ashamed of Kenneth Hume’s behaviour, his scorn at the low fee while all the time it was just an extra bonus he was picking up. To get ‘Don’t Take the Lovers From the World’ on to
The Eamon Andrews Show
was a great stroke of good fortune which stood to give a huge boost to the sluggish record sales. Kenny recalled, ‘The bad language he used was deplorable. I know you get much more done by speaking quietly and being nice to people.’

After this debacle, Kenny Clayton said he would rather not work for Kenneth Hume again. With Shirley it was different, she had her tantrums, but there was no nastiness in her nature. He would work for Shirley, tour with Shirley, but never again work with Kenneth Hume, who was his own worst enemy.

There was one piece of good news in all this. Although, ‘Don’t Take the Lovers from the World’ failed to top the charts, it was an unusual song which demonstrated that Shirley was moving into more adventurous material than previously, and the release of her first United Artists album, ‘I’ve Got a Song for You’, did very well.

Shirley has said, ‘In the very early years of recording I had sung whatever was given to me, but deep down inside
I said to myself that if ever I made it, nobody would ever again tell me what to sing.

‘When I signed with United Artists in 1966, my voice was changing just like the new material. I didn’t consciously attempt to change the way I sang, it was more of a natural development. I recorded the early United Artists albums in the USA, but I didn’t particularly enjoy the experience of doing them there. I was much happier recording in the UK.’

Kenneth was full of all the clever bookings he had made for her. Apart from Las Vegas there were many worldwide contracts, a film to be made in Paris, and other American engagements. Kenneth told Shirley that she wouldn’t have much time available to spend in London.

Shirley very much wanted to spend time in England in order to be with her children, which was why Kenneth’s idea of a long-running musical in London had appealed to her. He talked about it again when, unusually, he accompanied Shirley to Venice for a gala appearance at the Hotel Excelsior on the Lido. There, they became friendly with one of the managers of the hotel, a tall handsome man called Sergio Novak, who looked more like a Serb than an Italian. He was charming and made sure they were well looked after. Kenneth liked him, and so did Shirley.

Shirley talked to her old friend Tony Helliwell, the journalist from
The People
, about life and love. ‘It seems that I had to get married then go through a divorce to really become mates with Kenneth, my manager,’ she told him. ‘He’s helped me a great deal about money. I’ve learned to save and invest.’ She went on to say that by the time
autumn of 1967 came around she should be starring in a musical play,
Josephine
.

Kenneth and Shirley’s friendship with Lionel Bart had been the inspiration for
Josephine
. Lionel’s East End origins and cockney talent appealed very much to Kenneth. If Lionel could do it, so could he. Shirley’s recording of ‘As Long as He Needs Me’ had sent Lionel’s hit song to the top of the charts, and Carol Reed’s interest in her for the film of
Oliver!
augured well for a musical with Shirley Bassey.

Shirley discussed the play in Hollywood with Anthony Newley, the new boy wonder, who was then married to Joan Collins, and at one time it was thought he might co-star as Napoleon to Shirley’s Josephine. Kenneth fancied the idea of Napoleon as the hero of the show. He and Napoleon were both short (and, as many might have noted, both dictators!), and Shirley, like the Empress Josephine, who was a creole from Martinique, was a mixed-race beauty.