I got to see her and Richard Burton in Noel Coward's
Private Lives at the Wilshire Theatre. It was opening night (I have no recollection of how I scored tickets), and it was like being at the Oscars. The place was packed with celebrities, and, despite the
cranky reviews, I recall everyone, including Liz and Dick, having a rollicking good time.
Sad cheese, indeed. When Michael Jackson died, I felt worse for Liz than I did anyone in the Jackson family. After Richard Burton, it seemed that Michael truly was her soul-mate.