News that megaselling novelist Jackie Collins had died over the weekend from breast cancer inspired a roll call of her larger-than-life titular characters: “Hollywood Wives.” “The Stud.” “Poor Little Bitch Girl.”
But perhaps no one was a more memorable character than Collins herself. The native Brit had first moved to Hollywood as a teen, lured by the chance to stay with her older actress sister, “Dynasty” diva Joan Collins. She went on to have a remarkably stable-by-Tinseltown-standards personal life (widowed after a happy, nearly 30-year marriage, she was mother to three daughters); professionally, her 32 novels sold over 500 million copies with their flip side view of the dysfunctional, sexy exploits of actors, casino magnates and other flamboyant fictional characters.
And she was genuinely appreciative of her success. That became clear seven years ago when Collins pulled into Atlanta in a giant tour bus on a promotional push for her newest book, “Married Lovers.” Sponsored by Harrah’s Entertainment, Collins was going around the country appearing at various casino complexes; Atlanta was casino-free, but she didn’t want to disappoint her many fans here, so she insisted on squeezing in a visit between stops at Harrahs in Indiana and North Carolina.
I interviewed her not long after the massive bus — previously used by Mariah Carey, now with Collins face festooned across the side — wedged into the parking lot of what was then Outwrite Books at the corner of Tenth and Piedmont. Collins was bubbling over, detailing stops on the road at places like Super Target and empathazing with some in the waiting crowd who’d confessed to feeling inadequate about coming up with something entertaining enough to ask her during a Q&A.
Here’s what I wrote then:
“Collins totally gets it. Even some of the most skilled radio hosts and their callers experience a form of verbal performance anxiety around her, she said in a pre-signing interview. But not because, as it was suggested to her, they’re intimidated by a woman they think is able to make up such rollicking, randy material for her books.
"No, I think they think I haven't made any of it up, " Collins said, her merry peal ringing out and her diamond bracelets flashing in the cluttered back office at Outwrite."
The subsequent public talk and signing went just fine, with Collins fielding questions about everything from who should play her in a movie (answer: Angelina Jolie) to whether real-life Hollywood types ever got their redone noses out of joint at her books. Here’s how that went:
"Has any real-life celeb ever confronted you over what you've written? (Yes, the woman who thought a "Hollywood Wives'" character was based on her actor hubby. Collins' unintentionally unfeeling response was, "No, there are a lot of fading superstars in Hollywood."
Afterwards, Collins invited me onto the bus, which was outfitted with a leopard skin throw, and where she proceeded to unwind over a Vodka-and-Sprite. When I left, she was still laughing over the news that neighboring Blake’s bar was having a “Jackie Collins Lookalike Contest” later that night and wondering if she could wander in unnoticed. I never found out if she did, but I doubt she would have blended into the crowd anyway. She was truly one of a kind.
You can read the full story about Collins's Atlanta stop here:
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