People, Feb. 24, 1975

What is that naked lady doing in a fashion show? Juliet Prowse, 38, in the buff will be the highlight of this year’s Fashion Awards, to be aired on March 19 on ABC. It is not intended to be an insult to the winners, who include Designers Bill Blass, Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren, but simply a moment in the history of fashion. “It’s a musical montage-type thing, starting with a naked Eve and back full circle to almost naked in a string bikini,” explains Juliet. There is apparently no danger of a network furor over Eve sporting nothing but an apple. After all, says Juliet, “we see so much on TV these days.”

Learning, learning all the time are brother and sister Warren Beatty, 37, and Shirley MacLaine, 40. Shirley has just finished a book of selfdiscovery, which took place mostly during her 1973 trip to China with eleven other women. Now she plans to play Amelia Earhart in a movie. But before getting down to work, she stopped by to see a Manhattan screening of Warren’s latest film, Shampoo, a comedy about a hairdresser’s sex life. In it he claims “to challenge the assumption that a hypersexual character —a Don Juan—is acting out of anger or misogynist feelings or latent homosexuality.” Despite Warren’s machismo and Shirley’s feminism, the two exchanged a warm kiss while one member of the audience pronounced herself sold on Warren’s philosophy. Said Actress Sylvia Miles: “I’ve been going to the wrong hairdresser.”

Behind that painted grin and black button nose was Paul McCartney. Together with his wife Linda, 33, and their three children, Paul, 32, was enjoying Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Thoroughly disguised as a manic clown, he cavorted down St. Charles Avenue and watched the Rex parade. The McCartneys have been secluded in New Orleans since mid-January, and this was their coming-out party. Paul is also making a record album, using local jazz musicians. Linda plays along on the organ. Paul was so impressed by the festivities that he wrote a new song, My Carnival, for his album. As to why they came to New Orleans, “It’s a little crazy,” says Paul.

Little Yasser Colbert of Philadelphia was being given a provocative start in life. “Dear Mr. Arafat,” began the handwritten letter to Palestinian Liberation Leader Yasser Arafat in Beirut. “We decided to name our son after you because we were so impressed with your speech at the U.N.” Proud Parents Mr. and Mrs. Robert Colbert even sent along a picture of their chubby baby, which Arafat shared with Beirut newspaper readers last week. Nor did he waste time letting the Colberts know how pleased he was: “I pondered your nice picture,” he wrote. “Let me tell you that many children in the world are born good like you, but many, when they grow up, lose theirgood will toward our people.” Yasser Colbert is not likely to. The whole affair was a hoax perpetrated by a determined autograph collector, Robert Colbert, an out-of-work machine operator. He had tried the same trick without success on Presidents Kennedy and Nixon and Vice President Rockefeller, using a picture of his son Robert, now 12, when he was a baby. Robert likes his shifting names. Says he gleefully: “I guess I’m the most famous baby in the world right now. I’m more popular with my friends: I guess they think I’m a celebrity.”

The velvet voice still purrs with gentle sadism, and at around 350 lbs., Orson Welles’ presence is more commanding than ever. But gone is the baby-faced villainy that made Harry Lime and Mr. Rochester essays of anarchy, and muffled is the sly sardonic spirit with which Welles, as a 24-year-old enfant terrible, created Citizen Kane. Even as a tired king of the jungle, though, Welles, now 59, easily dominated the festivities at Los Angeles’ Century Plaza Hotel where the American Film Institute gave him its Life Achievement Award. Before an audience of 1,200, including Frank Sinatra, Charlton Heston and Joseph Cotten, Welles was the picture of graciousness. “What I feel this evening is the opposite of emptiness,” he said, as he accepted the award “in the name of mavericks everywhere.” Then he dandled on his knee another enfant terrible and early Oscar winner Tatum O’Neal saying “You’re terrific.”

“There’s no starch at his dinners,” said one Washington partygoer approvingly of Iranian Ambassador Ardeshir Zahedi, 46. Once married to the Shah’s daughter Princess Shahnaz, Zahedi has since 1973 been cultivating a playboy image. His friends say they are convinced his mission is simply to demonstrate the Iranian way of swinging. Zahedi likes to give lavish parties where he showers his friends with “yum-yum,” his favorite word for caviar, champagne and diamonds. His wooing techniques are quaint. Recently, Zahedi startled a blonde with a chorus of “kitchy-kitchy-koos” over the dinner table. And Columnist Maxine Cheshire reported a scene straight out of The Merry Widow. As Cristina Ford was leaving a Washington party, Zahedi cupped her hands, splashed them with champagne and then kissed each drop away.

“It’s primitive. You’re saying, ‘I’m here on earth,’ ” explained Tap Dancer Tommy Tune, 35. When Tommy’s long legs touch the Plexiglas T-shaped stage at the Manhattan cabaret where he opened his song-and-dance act this week, he seems eons away from the cavemen who, he theorizes, were his original foretappers. “I do urban tap,” says Tommy as he dances away to rock, jazz and the shuffle. Effective onstage, his height (6 ft. 6 in.) is bothersome off. “At 19½ hands, I have to be careful in life to avoid accidents,” he acknowledges. Fortunately, he has found a high loft, “Giraffe House,” in Manhattan, which just fits him. He has also found the ideal partner: Twiggy.

They appeared together in The Boy Friend in 1971, and are planning a movie of their own to be called Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance. Says Tune: “Twig is my favorite. We have the same body, only I’m a foot taller.”

“She’s very game,” said an approving manager, as Diana Ross, 30, hit the water for the second tune. On location in Rome for her first nonsinging movie, Mahogany, Diana plays a fashion model put through the perils of Pauline by an ambitious photographer (Tony Perkins). Diana designed all the 25 costumes she wears in the film herself, but she hardly has a chance to show them off, so busy is she avoiding disaster. In one scene, she walks away unscathed from a car crash, while in another she dives into the Fontana di Paola. Surfacing in icy water, all Diana could do was sputter. Gearing up for a retake, she said, “Asking me to do that scene again was like telling me to stab myself a second time.”

Queen Elizabeth II was in her counting house counting up the money when suddenly she found she could not make ends meet on her annual allowance of $2.3 million. Inflation, you know. Funny thing, her subjects were in a similar financial bind. But the Labor government told the trade unions to moderate their demands, else “Britain would be bankrupt.” The Queen was luckier. Prime Minister Harold Wilson asked Parliament to increase the Queen’s pay to nearly 3 million for the maintenance of her household. In the outcry that followed, the country’s richest woman diplomatically announced that $350,000 from her own private fortune will meet the budget gap expected even after the raise that this time around is sure to be confirmed by Parliament. Next step, who knows? Buck House would make a nice block of luxury flats and Windsor an ideal conference center. As for the Queen’s Keeper of the Swans, he may just have to look for another position.