Farrah Fawcett on Stiletto Power

She actually came in a black Jaguar driving to a restaurant I was meeting her at in the Hollywood Hills. And she was 47 years old. She was still very attractive. She still had that dynamic smile. And the story that really she told me was a turning point for her was this story in the taxi, because she said that it proved to her that she wasn’t to be taken lightly. And that she was not a Charlie’s Angels airhead, basically. Farrah was doing “Extremities” the play, off-Broadway in Manhattan and…

It was raining and I remember I was on 5th Avenue and 51st. And I had on these—I remember it exactly—these pants, these Maud Frizon shoes with little heels but they were like stiletto and kind of this big shirt. But it was raining and I was wet. And all I was thinking is: I am going to have to do this performance with wet hair. What am I going to do? I am going to be late. There’s no taxi, you know. When it rains in New York, you know, there is no— I’d never been late. I’ve never missed a performance. Oh my god. So I was panicking.

I had my assistant with me who was a gay guy. I didn’t know him very well. And so one of these what I thought I guess was a gypsy cab, kind of a van, pulled up. And he said, “Are you trying to get a taxi?” And I said, ”Yes.” He said, “Okay, get in. I’ll take you.” And he said, “Where do you want to go?” And I told him.

Now we passed, actually, the street I wanted to go to and I went, “No, wait, wait. Oh no, you passed—” because now I’m in a panic. And so he just slams on the brakes and reaches over and pulls a screwdriver out of the, you know, glove compartment. And he turns around to us and he holds it like this and he goes, “Give me your [bleep]ing money.”

So I said: “Oh man, you know. Listen, let me tell you something: I’ll give you all my money. Just please take me where I want to go which we passed it, so if you just do that…” He said, “Just shut the [bleep] up. Give me your money.” He was like really abusive.

So I just sat there and I looked at him. And all of the sudden he said, “You, faggot, out,” which was my assistant. And he said, “And you, [bleep], give me your fucking money.” Now I dislike that word so much, and I really was offended that this guy said this to me. So I had my assistant like pulling on my right hand which I’m right-handed so my strongest hand in case I might need to defend myself. And the guy has got this screwdriver really close to my face, and I’m going, “Let go of my arm.” And so he gets out., and the guy says, “Close the door,” so he closes the door. And we are just staring at each other.

In my mind I’m going: Okay, he’s got a screwdriver. That will go in my leg and that will hurt. That will hurt. It won’t kill me. He’s not going to get my eye. I’ll go back. And I’ve got on these stiletto heels. Aim for his face. Okay, if he wants to duke it out, my legs are my strongest. You know, okay.

So we just sat there looking at each other. And he’s like enraged. He’s like some crazy guy. He’s white but he’s just like— His face is all frothing and everything. And so I said, “Come on, chicken [bleep]. You going to use it or what? What? Come on!” And so he just went, “You shut the [bleep] up. Shut the [bleep] up. Give me your money.” I said, “[Bleep] you. No. If you took me where I wanted to go I would. Now [bleep] you. So do something or let me out, because I have to go.” He said, “You get out. Get out.” He starts screaming at me: Get out, get out.

Anyway, I got to the theater like two minutes before I went on. And when we got out my assistant said, “I can’t believe he called me a faggot.” And I said, “He called me a [bleep]. Shut up and don’t ever grab my arm again.”