Free Katie Up and Down the Hall: The True Story of How One Dog Turned Five Neighbors Into a Family by Glenn Plaskin Page B

building,
     Katie would prance around, poking her nose here and there. She would run outside into the lush gardens and savor the California
     sun like a true Hollywood hound.
    On one memorable trip, I was to interview Bette Midler. The night before, we settled into bungalow 7A, one shaded by beautiful
     palms and a wild array of flowers and vines. Having Katie with me was like a tonic, erasing loneliness and anxiety. That night,
     even though Katie had been groomed a few weeks earlier, she looked a little rumpled, so I decided it would be fun to give
     her a bath, something I never did. What a mistake.
    Katie winced when she got shampoo in her eyes, it took forever to rinse her off, and she slipped and slid all over the porcelain
     tub. I was surprised how much work it was handling her, not unlike a slippery watermelon. Finally, I was so soaked with water
     that I got into the tub, naked, not expecting the impact of those sharp nails from her paws. Ouch!
    When Katie was finally all blown out and dried and fluffy, I opened the bungalow door ready to take her out for a walk, but
     she escaped in a flash. I went frantically looking for that naughty mutt everywhere along the winding pathways.
    “Is this yours?” a man asked a few minutes later. And there, standing in the doorway of a nearby bungalow was the comedian
     Alan King, with Katie wrapped in his arms, a guilty look on her face.
    “She looks familiar, but if you’d like to take her off my hands….”
    He handed her over to me with his left hand, puffing on a cigar with his right. “Best offer I had all day,” he laughed, closing
     the door.

    The next morning, we met the Divine Miss M in a suite at our hotel. Accustomed to seeing her in wildly extravagant stage costumes
     and elaborate makeup, I was taken aback by this understated, diminutive, rather serious-looking woman. She was dressed casually
     in black pants and a white sweater, wearinggreen-framed glasses and no makeup—so down to earth in every way—and delighted to see a
dog
, instead of just another probing journalist.
    “This is going to be
different
,” Bette exclaimed wryly, noticeably more interested in Katie than me. “My, my, my girlie, you’re just adorable,” she cooed,
     lifting Katie up by the front, her back paws hanging in midair. “How old is she?”
    “Two—the terrible,” I laughed, explaining her recent escape.
    “Would you mind if I hold her in my lap?”
    Not at all.
    And for the next two hours, as Bette discussed her movies and the course of her life, Katie slept soundly on Miss M’s lap,
     curled into a ball. One minute, Bette was serious, shy, and vulnerable, the next, funny, flirty, and sly.
    “There are,” she told me that day, “two people living in this body. I have a duchess and a tramp mentality. I love the low
     life and still have an affinity for it.” Not so different from my mischievous dog. But through it all, Katie never moved.
    Right up to the end, she remained asleep. “I can’t believe this dog,” said Bette, in parting. “She’s so sweet, so calm. I’ve
     got to get one. Can you please give me the name of the breeder?”
    Katie opened her sleepy eyes and reluctantly got off Bette’s lap, wagging her tail, having made a new friend. (Gratefully,
     there were no accidents.)

    Katie got quite a different reception a few weeks later from Leona Helmsley, one of my favorite interview subjects, the hotel
     queen who had been dubbed by the press the “Queen of Mean.”
    I can tell you that she was never mean to me. (After we became friends, I told her about my grandmother, Nana, whowas diagnosed with bone cancer in 1990 and was being treated in a Buffalo hospital. The next day, three dozen white roses
     were delivered to Nana, with a note signed “Love, Leona.”)
    Her legal problems aside, Helmsley had unbelievable charm and intelligence and I liked her immensely. After being introduced
     by the New York public relations legend Howard Rubenstein, we