Watching ‘Burton and Taylor’ this evening at the Club, I found myself dazzlingly aware of the Forlorn.
Elizabeth Taylor broke her heart over Richard Burton.
Years ago, my mother used to tell me that Mike Todd was the one La Taylor actually loved. But, as I’ve grown older and developed my own heart, I think she loved all her husbands when she was with them, and she probably felt the echoes for some years later.
We had the additional companionship of Cleo, the pointer, after the interval. She’d be sat in Lady Jane’s car for the first half of the film. She, also, may have felt forlorn.
Stephen’s on his way up north to see his girlfriend in a week or two. I think others are planning trips to Wales and other far-flung nations. Everyone seemed to look forward to seeing their people of significance.
And she was the Queen. I don’t think anyone quite measures up to Elizabeth Taylor. She had something other, something ethereal, totally different from even my favourite actresses. She was stunningly beautiful, of course, but there was a depth of feeling assigned to her that others just don’t seem to achieve.
And it’s a mean thing to say, but when friends of mine are perilously single, I say, “Well, Elizabeth Taylor fell in love with a trucker with a drug problem. There’s someone for everyone.”
She was so much better than I should have anything to say about.
She was desperately lonely, afraid that people would only ever take advantage of her, that no one would ever know the person beneath the persona. She was loyal, committed until the final straw, and forgiving. Her eyes told stories on their own, hid passions no one could imagine … a beautiful lady indeed.
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