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During an interview I’d done with David Frost a few nights before, I’d shown off a gorgeous diamond, also from Van Cleef & Arpels, worth about 0,000 which I’d given right back after the show.
As the two men ran off with my borrowed jewellery, I threw a bag containing all my own jewellery at them.
As I gave him my dirtiest look, I suddenly realised how small and harmless Brando really was, almost with the aura of a victim.
He never tried anything again, but it became increasingly difficult for me to be near him.
Despite the affectionate presence of my sister, Maria - who spent every night under my window to keep me company - I suffered terribly from isolation.
Nothing is more humiliating than the denial of freedom. It contains deep anger, an emotion that’s unusual for me.
It didn’t take me long me to see that he was an unhappy person, wrapped up in his own problems and ill at ease both with his talent and his body.
Sure enough, few women give a fair shake to a man who is 5’3”, no matter what else he has going for him. So I tried changing my profile for three days just to see what the difference was between being 5’3″ and 5’10”. And no amount of complaining is going to change it. And why, in God’s name, is it important to stand on your tiptoes to kiss a guy? Is there any legitimate reason not to go out with this amazing, amazing man?
I don’t know why I did it; maybe it was a kind of plea for them to take everything and get as far away from us as possible.
In Italy, a man who’d escaped from a psychiatric hospital arrived at our villa near Rome, shouting at the top of his lungs that Cipi was his son.
On Saturday in our exclusive serialisation, she told of her doomed affair with Cary Grant.
Today, she writes of her terror at the hands of a gun-wielding jewellery thief...