Moon River
On Audrey Hepburn, Meeting Your Idols & Melting Moments
Like many teenage girls before me, and since, I was completely entranced by Audrey Hepburn. Perhaps more than most in the mid-to-late 1980s.
I somewhat obsessively watched my battered videotape of Breakfast at Tiffanys and wistfully sung Moon River constantly and had tried to tape every Audrey movie I could by compulsively scanning the weekly TV guide, amassing close to a complete collection. I had soaked up every biography I could lay my hands on and had been teasing my hair into a ragged attempt at a Breakfast at Tiffany’s era bouffant since I was 14, mostly paired with an array of 1960s cocktail dresses. I would name my baby daughter Holiday after her infamous Breakfast at Tiffany’s self sufficient ‘party girl’ character Holly Golightly (her nom-de-plume was actually Holiday Golightly in the actual book it based on, by Truman Capote).
So, it was not surprising that one fine evening in 1989, a family friend would feel compelled to call me to announce that Audrey Hepburn was at that very moment about to give a speech for Unicef in the Wentworth Hotel Ballroom and I should get some gladrags on and try to inveigle my way in. He said the place was crawling with high society matrons and their debutante daughters and it shouldn’t be too hard to slip past any gatekeepers.
I have never been someone who longed to meet celebrities, in fact I’ve actively avoided it on many occasions, but I couldn’t help feeling this was unmissable.
Everything I owned was vintage (aka thrifted) and mainly ripped or held together with safety pins if you looked closely, but I did have one contemporary glamour dress that looked like it could have belonged to an Eastern Suburbs socialite, a refined chocolate sheer chiffon with embroidered gold leaves and pink tulle underskirt hand-me-down from some rich lady we knew (back when giving teenage girls bags of hand-me-downs was the source of so many of my clothes) – an 80s version of a rather Breakfast at Tiffany’s inspired party girl dress. I put it on and brushed my two-tone teased hair smooth, a complete rarity. I almost looked the part.
My friend was with me, egging me on and urging me forward each time I decided I felt too foolish to go ahead with the scheme; ‘This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! You will regret this for the REST OF YOUR LIFE if you don’t go!’. I wanted to play it cool, but I knew she was right. She also slipped on ‘a nice dress’ from the pile strewn around my bedroom and we raced like maniacs to the nearby taxi rank. Within fifteen minutes of receiving the call we were in a cab to the hotel, a mere ten minutes away.
From there it was frighteningly simple. We strolled into the lobby like fancy bitches that no-one ever would dare ask for proof that they belonged there, asked the concierge for directions to the Unicef function and were sent to the Ballroom upstairs. There was no security. No ticket takers. The lift doors opened and there was Audrey Hepburn, directly in front of us, onstage, just beginning the opening remarks of her speech.
We aimed for casual-verging-on-bored vibes, sauntering in and leaning on the big doors at the back of the room. We listened, hardly daring to breathe. Her command of that shadowy, sparkly ballroom, her tiny frame, her extraordinarily heartfelt voice, with its odd European lilt, was powerfully moving and everything you would hope for from an audience with Audrey Hepburn. You could hear a dainty handkerchief drop in that room.
Her handsome, bearded husband Robert Wolders waited for her side of stage, to escort her back to her seat at a large round table not far from the doors at the back of the room where we were malingering. Strangely, no-one else appeared to be sitting there with them, they were an island unto themselves.
Audrey sat down, back straight as a ruler, pulled a long white Kent cigarette from her purse and began to smoke so elegantly it killed me. After each drag, she would drape her hand down low behind her back so as to offend the least amount of people possible with her bad habit. She would exhale down low and to one side. Undercover smoking. Audrey had a way of making smoking look smokin’ hot, and cool, she certainly had enough practice, smoking up to 3 packs a day from the age of 15, and towards the end of her life when she was asked if she had any regrets, she apparently said she wished she hadn’t made smoking appear so glamorous. She used to say that freedom smelled like British petrol and British cigarettes, because when she ran out to welcome the soldiers liberating her hometown of Arnhem from the Nazis, she inhaled their petrol fumes like ‘a priceless perfume’ and demanded a cigarette, even though it made her choke.
When she needs a match for a cigarette, the look on her face is like a deer on a rifle range … She said, ‘I have some sins’, and one them was smoking.
From “Audrey Hepburn” by Barry Paris
Another speech began. Audrey listened, beautifully, and I watched Audrey listen, awkward. Her husband murmured something in her ear and left the table, leaving Audrey sitting there completely alone. She didn’t look bothered by this. Knowing what I now know about how torturous most swanky events are, she was probably grateful for small mercies.
People were milling about a little by now, quietly conversing, not really paying attention to the boring corporate speeches now taking place on stage. My friend began elbowing me relentlessly and giving me the kind of look that clearly said ‘Do it now or I’ll kill you’. So I did.
It was the moment of truth. I swallowed hard, walked over to her table, knelt down at her side and whispered ‘Excuse me Miss Hepburn?’.
‘Yes, my dear?’ she replied in that unfathomably strange but exquisite accent of hers, as I uncomfortably balanced in a dangerously weird position on one knee.
‘I … er…I just wanted to say what a beautiful speech you made and …thank you so much … for … uh … just, everything. I really, really love your … work’.
Much to my embarrassment I had choked up so much with the emotion of being in her actual rarefied presence that my voice became a tiny croak and an actual tear crept out of my heavily liquid-eyelinered eye. Jesus. Mortifying. She grabbed my slightly trembling hand within her bony elegant hands and held it steady, squeezed it, looked me dead in the eye, so sincerely reassuring me ‘You beautiful girl! Thank you! I am so glad you enjoyed it. And I’m very touched! What’s your name?’ I told her. She repeated it. Told me it was lovely and unusual. Most people said ‘Hi Lo, get it?’ and thought they were hilarious.
Audrey Hepburn said my name.
‘Well thank you for coming tonight, Lo. It was so very nice to meet you’ she said, then turned away to welcome back her returning husband and return to the good work of squeezing money for desperate children from overfed Australian socialites and mysterious wealthy prancers (see below), and as I could not think of another thing worth saying, I somehow extricated my hand, patted her inappropriately on her impossibly delicate shoulder, probably bruising it, untangled my legs and stood up from my difficult perch, mouthing ‘thank you again’ to the perfumed air that had already forgotten me, before exiting backwards straight into the lift.
She turned and gave me a sweet little wave and a raise of her beautifully arched eyebrow. My friend stumbled into the elevator beside me and we sailed back down to earth gawping at each other in the stunned silence of those who have awakened to find themselves still in a dream.
We kept it together until a dashing hotel attendant opened the door of a waiting taxi cab and we elegantly slid in like we were Audrey Hepburn in a rush to a fancy dinner date with some rich jerk in NYC in 1965 before suddenly losing it and giggling hysterically and tearing up with the absurd beauty of the everything and nothingness that just happened.
The entire escapade had taken less than an hour, taxi rides included. I, of course, began thinking of the million and one things I should have said and asked and fascinating conversations we should have had and the champagne and swan shaped choux cream filled pastries we could have easily nicked on our way out - but I also knew the almost wordless meeting was perfect in its own way, and that somehow just inhaling Audrey’s exhaled smoke, hearing my name in her mouth and absorbing a melting moment of grace with her was enough to sustain me for life.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you're going, I'm going your way…
Moon River
Many many years later, I read Susanna Moore’s biography Miss Aluminium, in which she reflects on spending time with Audrey when she was a teenage model and they were both staying at the same mansion in Hollywood in the 60s. She describes Audrey poring over a box of Swiss chocolates to select exactly the right two for Susanna, then saying ‘There is something I have been meaning to tell you, it will make all the difference in your life, I promise you…’ before being interrupted by a call she had to take. Susanna spent the next few days trying to find herself alone for a moment with Audrey again to hear the end of what she was going to say, to no avail. Susanna says ‘I sometimes wondered if she was trying to torture me’. Finally, as they passed each other on the stairs ‘she grabbed my arm and said gaily, “I’ve been wanting to finish our conversation … You must always wear shoes the same colour as your hose…it means everything. It has been my secret for years” and continued down the stairs, waving goodbye over the top of her beautiful head.’
Now tell me all your meeting your idols or your never meet your idols moments below in an orderly fashion please. I want all the details! And your secret life changing words of advice.
And please, press that little ‘ol heart button below for the cold ravenous heart of the algorithm…. wishing you swan shaped choux pastries, pricey prances and melting moments ahead,
Lo x
Wow! What a beautiful story 🩷Thank goodness for good friends that nudge us to walk in the right directions🩷
My experience of meeting an idol was slightly different. At a book launch of Oz director Bruce Beresford the speaker introducing him was none other than Barry Humphries. While Bruce signed copies after the formalities Barry circulated the room and thanked us individually for coming. I was gobsmacked as I'd been viewing him from the stage since 1969. He even allowed me to have a photo souvenir with him . Now one of my prized mementos. Absolute legend and a fellow countryman to boot.