Behind the Candelabra: My Life With Liberace (11 page)

It struck me that Heller was jealous of his privileged, influential position in the Liberace camp. His thirty-year employment had been interrupted only once, in the early sixties, when, according to Lee, Angie had temporarily taken over his job. The experience must have made Heller insecure. Businesslike and pragmatic, Heller made the ideal foil for Lee. Heller played hardball when negotiating contracts, while Lee played the smiling, agreeable, “anything goes” entertainer.

But when he carried his role too far Lee admonished him, saying, “Put the hatchet away, Seymour!”

Ray Arnett, Lee’s production manager, was Heller’s opposite, a jovial pixie liked by everyone. I felt as comfortable in his company as I felt uncomfortable around Heller. Arnett was also part of Lee’s old guard. After joining the act in the fifties he’d quickly become indispensable. Arnett was a real talent with the imagination and flair of a Busby Berkeley. He and Lee made a terrific team. Between them, they dreamed up the outrageous ideas that audiences had come to expect of a Liberace show, and then Arnett saw to their staging.

Lee played a variety of dates, from the luxurious rooms of Vegas, Tahoe, and Miami Beach to theaters in the round and enormous stadiums. Arnett was in charge of tailoring the act to suit each site, choosing the props that would work within the physical limitations of the differing locations. Well-equipped stages like those at the Hilton or the Sahara got the full Liberace treatment, from the mirrored Rolls to the “dancing waters” and the Chinese Acrobats. Theaters in the round got a streamlined version of the act. When Lee played stadiums with limited facilities he simply used a piano, a candelabra, and a couple of costume changes, just like the old days.

Arnett functioned as a focal point for Liberace’s entourage and he handled his taxing, multifaceted job with dedication and good humor. He was completely devoted to Lee and described him as the easiest of bosses, a man who seldom lost his temper or threw his weight around. Lee knew mishaps could derail the best plans and he never complained when things went awry. On the road, he was a total professional, as undemanding and hardworking as any neophyte performer. Arnett backed and supported Lee all the way, reflecting Lee’s style and grace as a performer.

Liberace’s musical support group consisted of Bo Ayars, his conductor; Chuck Hughes, the drummer; and Ralph Enrico, who played bass and guitar. These three men, all heterosexual, were never admitted into Lee’s inner circle. The entourage also included Lee’s dresser; Jerry’s dresser; and Jerry himself, whom I’d come to regard as a major problem. In the past Jerry had always traveled with Lee in first class. After my appearance he was relegated to flying coach with the musicians and dressers. It didn’t improve his attitude.

Others who worked for Lee on a regular basis but didn’t travel with him included his attorney, Joel Strote, a relative newcomer to Lee’s employ; Lucille Cunningham, his accountant; Bob Lindner, who designed Lee’s jewelry; Anna Nateece, his furrier; and Michael Travis, who made his costumes. In addition, Lee kept domestic staffs in each of his several homes.

Lee played the Sahara Tahoe for several weeks every year. During our stay we lived in the hotel’s “entertainment house,” the luxurious quarters the Sahara kept for VIPs, complete with a chef and housekeeper. The rest of the entourage stayed in the hotel proper. When we were alone, free from the dual burdens of Jerry’s anger and Carlucci’s interference, I got to know a new and thoroughly delightful Lee, a man with a corny sense of humor who loved to be teased, to have me make fun of his superior status. At night when he prepared for his performance, I joked that he was better dressed than Queen Elizabeth.

“But I am an old queen,” he quipped back. Lee had a good sense of humor and could tell off-color jokes by the hour.

Our quarters overlooked the lake and we spent many quiet, relaxed hours on the patio. Lee would sit staring at me, just as he had when we first met. It made me uneasy until he explained that he couldn’t get enough of looking at me. “I’m memorizing your face,” he said, “so I can picture it perfectly when we’re not together.”

Lee needn’t have bothered: we were together all the time. Afternoons we sailed Lake Tahoe’s beautiful turquoise waters. During those early autumn weeks we shared everything, exchanging information about our unhappy childhoods as well as talking about our hopes for the future. Lee said he wanted to make me a part of the act, having me drive the cars he used for his entrances and exits. “I want you with me all the time,” he said, “onstage and off.”

He spoke of his love for children and how saddened he was at never having his own. He even talked about adopting me, a topic that he’d bring up many times in the years to come. “I want to be everything to you,” Lee said, “father, brother, lover, best friend.”

If I so much as frowned, he would be by my side instantly, asking what was wrong. He had an even temperament while I was a little like my mother, unhappy one minute and smiling the next. If I seemed at all dissatisfied Lee said, “Please don’t be depressed. When you’re sad I’m sad.”

It was overwhelming stuff for a kid who’d spent his life unwanted by anyone. I loved Lee for caring that much. He filled an enormous void in my life. When he asked me to cut all my ties with the past, I did it gladly. I’d have done anything in the world to make him happy.

Lee and I discovered a mutual love of cooking. He planned all our menus and, when we had time, dismissed the chef so we could prepare our own meals. Lee liked simple food made with the best ingredients. He taught me to make a killer of a spaghetti sauce that included Italian sausage that he made himself. I still make the sauce for my friends today.

Basically, despite the glitz of his lifestyle, Lee was just an ordinary guy who enjoyed everyday pleasures. He was a big movie fan who liked to relax in front of the television with a big bowl of popcorn. In Tahoe he screened many of his television shows for me, laughing when I thoughtlessly commented on how the years had changed him. “You make me young again,” he said happily.

We saw very little of Lee’s people during that Tahoe stay. Lee wanted our time alone to be uninterrupted. He did, however, agree to join Jerry and the valet one evening when they were going to see Lawrence Welk’s show. Although I didn’t care for the idea, Lee insisted I accompany him. As I feared, it proved to be a bizarre outing. Jerry seemed to be flaunting his friendship with the valet, perhaps in an effort to make Lee jealous. But Lee acted as if he was oblivious of any of the undercurrents flowing around him.

Another night Lee took me to meet his brother George, who was working locally as a lounge act. Although we were in Tahoe for several weeks, it was the only time they saw one another. The playboard advertising George’s appearance billed him as “george
LIBERACE.”
Seeing it really upset Lee. “Hell,” he fumed, “I made the name what it is, and now they all take advantage of it.”

It was my first exposure to Lee’s complicated and often contradictory relationship with his family. I couldn’t help wondering how George felt, playing a small lounge when his younger brother was so successful. When I met him after his performance George proved to be a quiet, gentle man who walked softly in his brother’s shadow. Lee told me George had made a small fortune in his lifetime, but that his many wives had taken it all. The brothers treated each other with a distant, uncomfortable politeness, and the evening turned out to be far from a joyous reunion. It gave me some insight into the complexities of Lee’s relationships and how little I really knew him. I would later come to know most of the Liberace family quite well. Like all families, they had their share of problems getting along with each other. However, despite Lee’s often voiced complaints about this one or that one, I found all of them to be devoted to him. They did their best to protect him and his reputation, right up until the day he died.

While we stayed in the entertainment house I couldn’t help worrying about how our relationship would be perceived, not realizing that Lee’s homosexuality was an open secret in the show-business world. Like other gay entertainers, he was protected by the people who worked for him or with him. They would never risk their lucrative jobs by talking to the press. Even if they did, the press wouldn’t publish their stories. The entertainment world is a closed fraternity—and the media are as much a part of it as the stars.

Back then I was scared to death the staff would catch us in a private moment. Lee didn’t share my concern. His sex drive was at an all-time high and it made him reckless. He had a dread of growing old and ill and insisted that contact with me made him feel young again. He’d suffered an impotence problem before we met and had a silicone implant that made him semierect all the time. Lee never admitted his problem to anyone, not even to me—and I never questioned him. I felt it was a sensitive issue that he would discuss if and when he felt the time was right. But various members of his inner circle had learned about the surgery. They whispered and giggled, assuming it had been done to enlarge Lee rather than to deal with a legitimate medical problem. Sadly, Lee preferred to leave people to draw that sick conclusion rather than tell them the truth.

In our first months together Lee’s weaknesses and faults made me feel even closer to him. He wasn’t a vain man in the usual sense. He didn’t regard himself as a musical genius and he wasn’t in love with his own appearance. But he was very protective of the Liberace image and would go to any lengths to maintain and perpetuate it. A major part of that image was his full head of thick, curly hair.

Lee had started balding in his thirties. By his fifties he’d lost almost all his hair. The first time I saw him getting out of the shower without a wig, I hardly recognized him. He looked like a nice, middle-aged man with a too-big nose, an ingratiating smile, and a bald head. Lee had a paranoid fear when it came to letting anyone see him that way. He didn’t even swim, although all his homes had pools, because he was afraid his wig might come off underwater. When Lee turned the care of his many hairpieces over to me, it was the ultimate compliment. It signaled that he now trusted me with his life.

By the time we left Tahoe, Lee and I were well on our way to a very solid relationship. He confided that he felt he was getting too old to start over again, that he wanted ours to be the final relationship of his life. “I saved the best for last,” he said.

After three weeks in Tahoe we returned to the chaos of our strange Vegas household. It seemed we’d no sooner walked in the door than Carlucci picked up where he’d left off: trying to be a part of every facet of Lee’s life. The size and scope of Jerry’s bouts of anger escalated. He and his roommate, the valet, continued to make me feel ill at ease.

Lee faced a three-month hiatus before his next booking and I made up my mind to use the time to sort out our lives. I’ve been told I was the only one of Lee’s lovers to insist on playing more than a passive role in his life. But I wanted him to be happy, and I didn’t see how that was possible unless I changed the way we lived. Gays have no choice when it comes to their sexual preference. We are what God, or fate, or our environment, or whatever higher power you hold dear has made us. But we do have a choice when it comes to the life we lead and the people we associate with. I felt that our present lifestyle was intolerable and unhealthy, that having so many men living under one roof would lead to serious trouble. Yet Lee continued to tolerate what seemed to me to be an intolerable state of affairs. He turned a seemingly deaf ear to all my pleas to change the status quo.

I was disgusted, baffled, angry, afraid Lee still cared for Jerry enough to want to keep him around. All I knew was that I couldn’t continue sharing a home with my lover’s protégé—and the protégé’s roommate. It was just too bizarre. Once again I told Lee I’d have to leave and once again he broke down and wept, but I was beginning to be leery of tears that came so easily and conveniently. Lee was a consummate actor and Camille his favorite role. He played the part again and again during our years together. I never did learn to ignore his tears; knowing my weakness, he cried when he couldn’t get what he wanted any other way.

Jerry, however, seemed immune to all Lee’s blandishments. Tears, anger, coldness, had no effect on him. Saying he had no place to go, Jerry simply stayed on in the Vegas house on Shirley Street. So Lee did what he always did when he needed someone to play the heavy. He called in Seymour Heller. Their discussion foreshadowed future discussions they would one day have about me. According to Lee, they agreed that Jerry must be made to understand the jeopardy of his position. Lee didn’t want to risk rejecting Jerry and having him take his revenge by telling the world that Lee was a homosexual. In the past Lee had gone to great lengths to protect his name and his reputation, to keep the secrets of his homosexuality from the world. He was prepared to do so again—and he wanted to be sure Jerry knew it.

Carlucci was given a leading role in the plan to get Jerry to move. First, Carlucci and Lee found a house for Jerry and, according to Lee, secretly made a deposit on it. Then Carlucci, acting under Lee’s orders, packed Jerry’s belongings. Jerry came home one afternoon to find his bag and baggage neatly stacked outside by the front door.

Carlucci had the responsibility of asking Jerry to leave. Lee, who had been through this particular situation in the past, arranged to be out of the house when it happened. He seemed to be afraid to deal with Jerry face to face. But Carlucci suffered no such fear. Matter-of-factly, he told Jerry he had two choices: he could leave the house under his own steam, or be removed bodily. Anyone who knew Lee knew he had some dangerous friends. Jerry did the sensible thing and left quietly.

By then four months had passed since my arrival in Las Vegas. Lee had been brooding the entire time, trying to figure out how to rid himself of his live-in protégé. When Jerry finally departed it happened so quickly and completely that I felt as if someone had waved a magic wand. Once he’d gone Lee went about systematically removing all traces of the life he and Jerry had shared. He stripped Jerry’s bedroom and bath down to the bare walls, disposing of the furniture and repainting and papering. He went through the house, gathering every item they’d bought together so Carlucci could get rid of them. Clearly, Lee wanted no reminder of Jerry in the home we now shared. It was a frightening display of Lee’s ability to shut the door on unhappy memories. A voice in my head warned that one day I might receive the same treatment, but I blithely managed to ignore it.