Skimming a heavenly 10 thou weekly from the show Charlie’s Angels, Kate Jackson has reason for her dread of becoming wrapped up in “the brown Mercedes, Beverly Hills addresses and all the other trappings that go with TV success.” But on whom does the Angel lean to lead her away from Hollywood’s fleshly temptations? Why, Warren Beatty, the town’s silver-tongued Lucifer. “Warren has a good perspective on the business and keeps me from going over the edge,” says Kate of her 40-year-old handholder. “But,” she adds, as the old saying goes, “we’re just friends.”
Fourteen years ago top British secret agent Kim Philby, a super-U 007, defected to Russia. But old snobbism dies hard, and he’s now sent word across the Iron Curtain that he’s upset at the common origins of the blighter selected to portray him on film. ” ‘The chap’s a Cockney. How could he possibly play a person of class?’ ” mimics the object of the innuendo, actor Michael Caine. Veddy well, ek-chually, is Caine’s rejoinder. “I think he’d end up liking me. The thing he and I have in common is that we are a pair of arrogant sods who know what they want.”
“You’re on The Bob Newhart Show!” yelled the man as his car lurched to the Michigan Ave. curb. Pedestrian Marcia Wallace, who plays Carol Kester, the buck-toothed receptionist, just nodded as the man leapt out and handed her his card. It identified him as a member of the Chicago vice squad. “If you ever need me while you’re in town, just call,” he said. “What are you doing in Chicago really?” Although she’s appearing in a Neil Simon revival, Marcia deadpanned, “Turning tricks.”
“I love the violence. I love the executions—I think they are tastefully done,” says Robert Conrad (of NBC’s Baa, Baa Black Sheep), and that’s not just a promo hype for his new martial arts flick, Sudden Death. Tough guy Conrad, who at a bar once allegedly fractured the jaw of a man in a Santa Claus suit, is a true believer in “justifiable homicide. Capital punishment is the greatest deterrent. Gary Gilmore isn’t killing anyone anymore. There are a lot of guys who’ve got it coming and who ought to get it.” But when pressed by a Variety reporter as to whether celluloid violence might create killers, Conrad’s reply was a snappish non sequitur: “Did John Wilkes Booth watch TV or films?”
“When you read this one you’ll go cuckoo,” promises pulpster Harold (The Lonely Lady) Robbins of his next best-seller, Dreams Die First, which has yet to go through the formality of being published. “The guy’s totally bisexual.” Queried as to how he researched it, Robbins admits he’s experimented but remains hectically heterosexual. “Personally, I find homosexuality too escapist and narcissistic,” he says. “It’s like kissing yourself in the mirror because you’re afraid you won’t perform well with a girl.” But since his trendy trash has already sold over 135 million books, Robbins couldn’t resist the hot new theme. “Homosexuality is on the increase,” he explains, because men feel threatened “now that we’ve acknowledged women’s sexual supremacy.”
•A man-bites-dog story from Washington: a congressman has been felled by hot air. Rep. Don Young, accustomed to Alaska’s virgin atmosphere, was sped to Bethesda Naval Hospital when rising pollution in Smoggy Bottom brought on a coughing fit so violent he suffered a ruptured hernia. “No kidding,” gasped a recuperating Young, “I’m just not used to breathing this stuff like the rest of you down here.”
•A Massachusetts attorney defending a porn rap against the Pussy Cat Cinemas decided he might need an impeccably credentialed survey of the state’s community obscenity standards. His choice to run the pioneering questionnaire? None other than Patrick Caddell, 26, President Carter’s own whiz-kid campaign pollster.
•To a schoolboy fan in Illinois came Mark Spitz’s wisdom of the week. “Being a star at a young age,” sighed the 27-year-old seven-time Olympic gold medalist, “is a terminal illness.”