The Elephant to Hollywood - Michael Caine [68]
We got married in Las Vegas on 8 January 1973. Dennis Selinger flew out with us to give Shakira away and we were joined there by Jerry Pam, my Hollywood press agent. I had to be in LA anyway for the publicity tour of a picture, so we managed to keep the whole thing a secret. The ceremony took place in the ‘Little Chapel on the Green’ – so named because it was surrounded by a strip of AstroTurf rather than for any resemblance to an English village parish church – and it was a glorious mixture of style and commerce. The basic wedding cost a bargain $75, but there were some optional extras . . . flowers for the bride, buttonholes for the gentlemen, photographs of the vows, an audiotape – we paid (or rather Dennis paid) for the lot. The only hitch occurred just before the actual ceremony when, sitting rather nervously in the waiting room, I glanced up at all the pictures of the happy couples who had passed through the Little Chapel on the Green on their way to wedded bliss. They included more than a few Hollywood reprobates and I knew for a fact that the marriages so triumphantly displayed were all long since finished.
The ceremony was over very quickly and Shakira and I emerged onto the main strip of Las Vegas as man and wife. A quick dinner, and then it was back to the airport and a plane back to LA. As we strolled back into the Beverly Wilshire, as if nothing had happened, we congratulated ourselves on having got away with the whole thing but somehow word had got out and we found ourselves moved to one of the bridal suites. And not just any one – perhaps to honour Shakira, they had put us in the Indian one. It was beautiful, but in an (in my view) unnecessary nod to tradition, not only was the bed suspended from the ceiling, but each of the bedposts featured a bell, which tinkled gaily every time the bed moved. I didn’t feel inclined to provide the other hotel guests or staff with any evidence of our amorous inclinations and was determined to get the bells off. I struggled for a bit without success and was about to give up when I had a bright idea. Room service obliged. And with the buns from four hamburgers stuffed inside the bells, we passed on silent night.
My first marriage had been such a disaster and because I’d divorced and had a baby I couldn’t see I had vowed never to get married again – until I met Shakira. And then it wasn’t about getting married: it was about marrying Shakira. To me, the wedding ceremony is the least important thing about getting married. I always worry a bit about massive weddings and whether people have them because they are trying to convince themselves they are doing the right thing – as if they think that spending a huge amount of money will make up for up a lack of confidence in their choice of husband or wife. That said, I gave both my daughters grand weddings when the time came, because it was what they wanted and because they wanted to do it ‘properly’ – and I loved doing it. As for wedding anniversaries, we don’t make a song and dance about ours – in fact I have been known to forget it completely. And when I do remember, it’s most likely to be a bottle of champagne and some flowers. But for me, what’s really important is the way we live every day; because we are so much in love with each other, every day is a celebration of our love and the specific date doesn’t matter. But the fortieth is on its way – and after that, the fiftieth – and that really will be some party, I can tell you!
While I continued on the publicity tour – a gruelling twenty-two-city schedule – Shakira went to New York to visit her mother, Swabera, known to