Lucille Ball, the beloved redhead who revolutionized television with I Love Lucy and built an empire at Desilu Studios, carried a secret she kept hidden from the public for decades. In the final months before her death in 1989, the comedy icon revealed the names of seven actresses she believed were truly evil, not on screen but in the raw, unforgiving reality of Hollywood backlots and soundstages. The list, which she shared with a small circle of trusted confidants, 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭 a dark underbelly of the entertainment industry that fans never saw behind the glamour and the red carpets.
Lucy, known for her sharp wit and even sharper instincts, had spent years observing the true nature of her peers, and what she witnessed left her deeply unsettled. She spoke not out of malice but from a place of hard-won wisdom, warning those closest to her about the women she believed hid cruelty behind their fame.
The first name that fell from her lips was Joan Crawford, the queen of old Hollywood glamour whose icy demeanor Lucy saw through instantly. Crawford, worshipped by millions as a walking diamond, concealed a cold spirit beneath expensive gowns and a smile that never reached her eyes. Lucy once whispered to a close friend that all Crawford had was glamour, and underneath that shiny surface was nothing but ice.
The breaking point came in 1971 when Crawford guest starred on Here’s Lucy, and the tension was immediate. Crawford demanded the studio temperature be set at exactly 68 degrees, insisted her chair be angled at one perfect position, and told the lighting technicians to shape the lights around her bone structure as if she were shooting a royal portrait. Lucy, who had dealt with divas before, held her tongue until a young wardrobe assistant, just 22 years old, brought Crawford a dress with a tiny wrinkle barely visible to the naked eye.
Crawford erupted, hissing that the assistant was a useless little nothing and that toilets would be lucky to have her. The assistant ran out crying, shaking so hard she could barely speak, and Crawford demanded she be fired immediately. Lucy stepped in and refused, straight up refused, and that single moment marked the beginning of a private hatred she never let go.
When the cameras rolled, Crawford switched into charm mode so fast it was like watching someone hit a light switch, becoming warm and gracious, but the second the red light cut off, she turned stone cold again. Lucy later whispered that she had worked with department store mannequins who felt more human, and that was not an insult but a diagnosis of Crawford’s true nature.
Judy Garland was next on Lucy’s list, and her name brought a shift in energy, not with hate but with a deep, tired disappointment that came from years of watching chaos spill into every room Garland entered. Judy’s darkness did not come from cruelty but from a wounded place, yet the destruction it caused was real and heavy. Lucy had known Judy since their MGM years, admiring her voice and her once in a generation brilliance, but she also saw the side the world never wanted to believe existed.
She watched the mess Garland left behind whenever she arrived late, arrived shaky, or did not arrive at all. One story stayed burned into Lucy’s mind forever, involving a TV director who scheduled a shoot for 5 a. m.
sharp. The entire crew showed up on time, ready to make a masterpiece, and they waited for hours until Garland finally arrived at 2 p. m.
, glowing and apologizing. She delivered 30 minutes of pure perfection, the kind of performance that reminded everyone why she was a legend, but then she announced she was too tired to continue and walked out. The next morning, three crew members got fired because the project was now behind and bleeding money.
Lucy’s frustration came from survival, as she had clawed her way through Hollywood by being disciplined and professional in an industry that tossed women aside the second they slipped. Watching Judy waste her blessing while innocent people suffered made something inside Lucy snap. She did not hate Garland but hated the destruction that followed her, and at a private dinner, she said straight out that talent does not excuse destruction and that with Judy, someone always got destroyed.
Lucy never confronted Garland publicly, but she quietly stepped back and made sure she would never be tied to one of Judy’s productions again. When Garland passed in 1969, Lucy mourned the brilliance but not the chaos, believing Judy was not evil in intent but that the damage she caused was deep and unforgettable.
Ava Gardner came next, and Lucy described her as savage beneath the skin, a woman with a face that could stop traffic and a personality sharp enough to cut straight through someone’s pride. Ava was not messy like Judy but intentional, controlled, and far more dangerous in Lucy’s eyes. The feud between them did not start with a harmless misunderstanding but with Ava going after people she viewed as beneath her.
One afternoon in the mid 1960s during an MGM wardrobe fitting, a young adult assistant brought Ava a freshly steamed dress with a tiny patch of over steaming that had softened one seam. Ava stared the assistant down cold and steady, then said slowly that she should not bother fixing it because you cannot fix incompetence with more incompetence. The girl froze on the spot, turning red with embarrassment, unable to move or speak, and Lucy watched from a few feet away, feeling her stomach drop.
This was not diva attitude but someone enjoying the domination, and Lucy later vented to a confidant that Ava did not make mistakes but made victims. The tension only grew worse at a Hollywood cocktail party when someone casually mentioned Lucy’s name during small talk. Without hesitation, Ava smirked and said loud enough for half the room to hear that Lucy was the washed up clown and asked if she was still working.
The room went silent, some people gasped, and others stared at the floor, but Ava did not care one bit. Lucy was not shocked by the insult but by how much joy Ava seemed to get from delivering it. She later told a friend that if Ava had not been beautiful, no one would have tolerated who she really was, and that thought stuck with her for decades.
Until her final years, whenever Ava’s name popped up in documentaries or magazines, Lucy would mutter under her breath that people had no idea what she was behind the face.
Bette Davis was the fourth name, and Lucy swore she cut people for sport. Bette was worshipped for her acting and admired for her intensity, but Lucy saw something else in her, asking privately why she enjoyed hurting people so much. The hostility between them was instant, sharp, and unforgettable, exploding at an industry dinner in the mid 1960s.
Lucy was sitting only a few tables away when Bette suddenly snapped at a young adult waiter who accidentally served the wrong wine. The whole room froze as Davis snarled, asking if he even knew how to read a label or if that was beyond him, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. The waiter apologized again and again, trying to keep it together, but Bette kept going, dragging it out and savoring every second of the humiliation like it was some twisted stage performance.
Lucy sat there stunned, realizing this was not stress or diva panic but intentional cruelty delivered with a smile. Later that night, Bette spotted Lucy across the room and lifted her glass in 𝒻𝒶𝓀𝑒 friendliness, but Lucy did not lift hers back. She later told a friend that Crawford was cold but Bette enjoyed inflicting the wound, and that joy in hurting someone powerless was unforgivable.
Lucy respected talent more than almost anyone in Hollywood, but she had zero tolerance for people who used their power to crush those just trying to survive. She once said that greatness should protect people, not break them, and Bette violated that rule every time she opened her mouth. Lucy and Bette existed in the same city and the same circles, yet they avoided each other like oil and water, and even decades later, when tributes invited them for joint segments, Lucy refused every single time.
Zsa Zsa Gabor was the fifth name, and Lucy said she was 𝒻𝒶𝓀𝑒 down to the bone. The second Zsa Zsa’s name came up, Lucy did not sigh or groan but laughed, a knowing laugh that revealed her disdain. Lucy did not fear Zsa Zsa or envy her beauty, her furs, or her spotlight, but she truly hated the fraudulence she carried like perfume.
Zsa Zsa was not just dramatic but a walking performance, a woman who used charm as a weapon and treated people like props she could toss aside. Lucy’s disgust started at a charity event in the late 1960s when cameras flashed as Zsa Zsa floated into the room, dripping in diamonds and wrapped in fur, smiling like royalty. But the moment the cameras turned away, everything flipped like a switch.
A volunteer politely guided her to a table, and Zsa Zsa snapped that she did not sit with peasants. Lucy saw it from across the room, and that one sentence was enough to make her skin crawl. The worst moment came minutes later when another volunteer, barely 20 years old, accidentally brushed against Zsa Zsa’s coat while passing behind her.
Zsa Zsa whipped around, eyes blazing, preparing to unleash another insult, but instead of a loud outburst, she leaned in close and whispered with a sweet smile that if the volunteer touched her coat again, she would make sure she never worked an event in that town again. It was quiet, sharp, and threatening, like she had practiced it, and Lucy felt sick watching it happen. Zsa Zsa did not deliver the threat like anger but like charm, and that was the part that messed with Lucy the most.
Later that night, she vented to a close colleague that nothing about Zsa Zsa was real, not the accent, not the elegance, not even the kindness. For Lucy, 𝒻𝒶𝓀𝑒 kindness was even worse than open cruelty because a cruel person showed their cards, but a 𝒻𝒶𝓀𝑒 person could disarm you with a smile and still slice you down when no one was looking. Even decades later, when Zsa Zsa slapped a Beverly Hills police officer in 1989 and turned it into national news, Lucy was not shocked at all.
She just shook her head and said that there she was, the real one, believing the glamour was real but the heart behind it was just another costume.
The sixth name on Lucy’s list was a revelation that stunned even those who thought they knew Hollywood’s darkest secrets. She spoke of an actress whose public persona was so pristine that fans would never believe the truth, a woman who used her angelic image to manipulate and destroy. Lucy recalled a specific incident on a film set where this actress, known for her sweet roles, deliberately sabotaged a younger co-star’s performance by whispering cruel comments between takes.
The young actress, barely out of her teens, broke down in tears, and the crew had to reshoot the scene multiple times, costing thousands of dollars. When confronted, the actress smiled and claimed she was just trying to help, but Lucy saw the satisfaction in her eyes. This was not about improving the scene but about asserting dominance, and Lucy never forgot the cold calculation behind that smile.
She warned her friends that this actress was a master of deception, hiding a venomous heart behind a halo of innocence. The public adored her, but Lucy knew the truth, and she carried that knowledge like a heavy weight until her final days.
The seventh and final name was one that Lucy hesitated to reveal, even to her closest confidants, because the actress was still alive and powerful when Lucy spoke. This woman, a titan of the industry, had built a reputation as a mentor and philanthropist, but Lucy saw a different side entirely. She described how this actress would invite young starlets to her home for private dinners, offering career advice and connections, only to later demand favors that crossed ethical lines.
Lucy witnessed one such encounter where a young woman, desperate for a break, left the dinner in tears, feeling violated and trapped. The actress, meanwhile, smiled for the cameras the next day, accepting an award for her charity work. Lucy felt a deep rage simmering inside her, knowing that this woman used her power to prey on the vulnerable while the world applauded her generosity.
She told her friend that this was the most dangerous kind of evil because it wore a mask of kindness and no one dared to question it. Lucy never revealed this name publicly, fearing the backlash and the harm it could cause to the victims who had already suffered enough. But in her private moments, she would shake her head and say that Hollywood was full of wolves in sheep’s clothing, and this woman was the wolfiest of them all.
