Behind the Candelabra: My Life With Liberace (17 page)

After a particularly nasty interview session Bankhead insisted on escorting the frustrated reporter to the elevator. When the doors whooshed open, in the full hearing of an elevator crowded with onlookers, she said in her unforgettable husky tones, “Thank you so much for coming over, daahling. But I
never
kiss on the first date.” That biting wit served the actress well. But gossip about her sexual preference may well have cost her any hope of getting the coveted female role of the thirties—that of Scarlett O’Hara—for which Bankhead was quickly rejected.

Greta Garbo remains one of the greatest stars produced by MGM’s efficient star machine—and one of the biggest enigmas. The personal discovery of Louis B. Mayer, the classically beautiful Garbo was the daughter of a Swedish laborer. Despite her heavily accented English, her career successfully spanned silent movies and talkies. Garbo left a brilliant career behind when she left Hollywood for good. In
Grand Hotel
she uttered her most famous line, “I want to be alone.” Garbo, who never married, seemed to spend her life alone. But there were constant rumors about her romantic relationships and the Hollywood gay community always regarded her as one of their own.

A recently published book written by Joan Crawford’s daughter disclosed the bisexual behavior of the screen goddess. The star is described in
Mommy Dearest
—written by her daughter Christina—as having a clandestine affair with one of their household maids. Fortunately, the story wasn’t made public during Crawford’s long reign as a leading lady.

A famous English actor suffered a similar fate in the 1950s when Hollywood gossips questioned his sexuality. Michael Wilding was a distinguished-looking, mild-mannered man who had been married to Elizabeth Taylor and seemed to inherit the kind of roles earlier played by Walter Pidgeon. But rumors about Wilding’s alleged affair with another actor cooled studio ardor for his services. Coincidentally, Pidgeon is also regarded by the gay community as one of their own.

Perhaps the most successful homosexual in the history of Hollywood was a small, ambitious brunette whose short, straight bangs and horn-rimmed glasses became well-known trademarks. Edith Head was a costume designer with a genius for self-promotion that helped her win eight Oscars. Head’s lesbianism was so well known that for years Hollywood insiders joked, “Head gives good gowns.”

The list of names of homosexuals and bisexuals who have found a home in the entertainment industry could go on and on. But those whose careers aren’t the focus of public attention seldom suffer the trauma that plagues homosexual stars. George Hopkins, the set decorator who was given the task of getting rid of evidence in the William Desmond Taylor case, went on to work in the industry for many years, winning three Oscars along the way. Noted hairdressers and makeup artists were also able to enjoy long and lucrative employment, despite being gay, free of the fears that plagued the stars.

The 1950s are memorable for the number of gays who achieved stardom or became celebrities. Aside from Liberace and Rock Hudson, Sal Mineo and Montgomery Clift made their mark during that decade. But their brief careers ended tragically. Clift took his own life while Mineo was murdered in West Hollywood in a manner reminiscent of the Novarro killing.

Jim Nabors of “Gomer Pyle” fame is another performer who climbed the precarious path to success during the fifties. But his brief fling with stardom didn’t survive the rumors of his marriage to Rock Hudson, rumors that had been started by a group of gay men who, as a joke, sent out invitations to the event. One of the phony invitations fell into the hands of a columnist and from there the story took wing. Hudson was already a superstar, so handsome that women everywhere adored him, while Nabors was a funny-looking guy whose comic talent didn’t seem half so humorous in the light of his supposed sexual preference. After stories of the so-called wedding circulated nationwide, Nabors’s ratings dropped and “Gomer Pyle” was canceled. But Hudson, protected by a powerful studio and his equally powerful appearance of unassailable masculinity, survived the mess.

According to Lee, throughout the fifties Henry Willson was a prime mover on the gay scene as well as one of the most successful agents in the business, a man with an uncanny knack for picking future stars. Willson was also famous for giving his protégés catchy names like Rock or Tab or Troy. Many of the young men he represented were gay, but Hollywood gossip suggests that those who were not suffered because of their association with Willson. Of all Willson’s promising young clients, Hudson alone achieved lasting success.

Lee was terribly aware of the history of gay entertainers and of the danger he faced if his private life should be exposed to intense public scrutiny. Keeping the secret placed an almost intolerable burden on him and on our relationship. It explained his need for seclusion, his almost paranoid desire to hold the entire world at arm’s length. I understood what motivated Lee’s behavior, but understanding it didn’t make it easier to live with. At fifty-eight and fifty-nine, Lee had done all the partying he wanted to do. He was more than content to stay home when he wasn’t working. But staying home all the time doesn’t cut it for an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old.

When I complained Lee called me a kvetch and said he intended to keep his private life private. The only time his reserve broke down was when he drank and then it was “Nellie Bar the Door,” anything goes. Lee was the world’s happiest, most amorous drunk. Since he almost always drank too much when we flew home at the end of a tour, I often found myself having to fend off his advances on the plane. We’d made a pact that I would treat him like a superstar in public but that was a little hard to do when he got high and started patting my leg and calling me “Boober” in front of some wide-eyed stewardess. It was embarrassing and humiliating. I’m not ashamed of being gay, but I hated being groped in public. At the same time, I couldn’t help laughing. We must have been quite a sight.

When we first met I mistakenly assumed that Lee’s enormous luxurious homes would be the sites of fabulous parties. He even boasted that the Cloisters’ huge garages, with their finished walls and floors, could easily be converted to a ballroom. But after that first brunch where Black and I were his guests, Lee didn’t entertain again for months, not until the Christmas dinner. Our socializing consisted of talking to salespeople in the various stores we frequented. When Lee wasn’t working he hated getting dressed and often spent the entire day unshaven, lounging around the house in an old terry-cloth robe so worn it was full of holes. Since he demanded my constant companionship, I felt completely cut off from the rest of the world.

Lee preferred living like a hermit. We might as well have been stranded on another planet instead of living just blocks from the glittering, twenty-four-hour-a-day world that is Vegas. It didn’t make sense. Lee knew everyone, all the celebrities, and everyone knew him. Other stars frequently came to see his show, yet he rarely returned the courtesy. Away from the stage the two of us existed in a vacuum. All that isolation drove me up a wall.

I’m gregarious by nature and the lack of social contact made me very unhappy. Lee and I operated by different rules. He felt compelled to keep secrets, to isolate himself from society; I’d spent my short lifetime reaching out to other people, looking for friends to replace the family I didn’t have. No matter how much I cared for and about Lee, I couldn’t accept the solitude of his lifestyle.

Since Lee wouldn’t let me go out without him I began asking, then nagging him to go out with me. At first Lee felt hurt. “Any other boy in the world would be thrilled to be in your position,” he said. “No matter how much I give you, you’re never satisfied.” At first, Lee responded to my desire for some kind of social life by buying more presents for me in the mistaken belief that happiness, mine or anyone else’s, could be bought and paid for.

Lee couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t want another fur coat or another car; I just wanted to go out at night, talk to people, and have some fun. It took a while but Lee finally relented and agreed to go see an occasional show when he wasn’t working. On one of our early outings we went to see Jim Nabors and Dom De Luise, who were appearing at the Riviera. During the show De Luise had the maître d’ deliver a note to our table. It was an invitation to join him for dinner after the performance. Lee barely knew De Luise so the invitation came as a surprise, but I urged Lee to accept.

When the show ended we drove to De Luise’s rented house. Even from the outside, the noise level told me a party was in full swing.

De Luise was in rare form that night, a funny, genial host who kept plying us with drinks. When we finally went to the dinner table Lee was seated at one end, next to a very good-looking guy, and De Luise asked me to sit next to him. That proved to be one of the most uncomfortable meals I’ve ever had. I kept on watching Lee at the other end of the table, wondering if he was attracted to his handsome companion and feeling a little jealous.

Larry Gatlin appeared in Las Vegas once or twice a year and Lee and I met him a number of times. One night, when one of my female cousins happened to be in town for a visit, Gatlin called and asked me if I’d like to come up to a party in his hotel suite. Lee wasn’t around and, thinking I’d really impress my cousin, I accepted at once. Fifteen minutes later we stood outside of the suite as I knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” Gatlin called out.

“It’s me, Scott,” I replied. The door flew open and there stood Gatlin. Over his shoulder I could see a room full of men and women, half clothed and partying like crazy. I think I said something stupid like, “Thanks but no thanks,” before pulling my cousin away from the incredible scene. I must say, she was
impressed
! To this day I have no idea why Gatlin called me that particular night unless it was because he assumed that my being gay ensured my participation in such a party.

Years later, I felt sorry after I was told that Gatlin had been going through a difficult period in his life; that drugs and liquor had been in control of his behavior. I soon learned that it’s a common show-business problem. Sudden stardom can be hard to handle. Once people can afford anything they want, they tend to think they can
do
anything they want. Their confusion is aggravated by the fact that fans tend to put them up on pedestals. A few celebrities begin to believe that they can do no wrong. And so they start experimenting with sex, booze, drugs—whatever turns them on.

Fortunately, most stars manage to keep their feet firmly planted on the ground. One of the nicest, and a regular on the Vegas scene, is the flamboyant performer Charo. Despite her image as a sexy Latin bombshell, Charo is a real earth mother. Her accent is real, her figure mind-blowing; the rest of her off-the-wall image is carefully cultivated. In private, Charo loves animals, children, cooking, taking care of her family. The first time she came to the house she got down on the floor while our dogs tumbled around her, and there she remained for the rest of her visit.

Charo, who is happily married to a man as nice as she, became a regular guest in our home and never failed to attend my birthday parties. Her first husband, Xavier Cugat, also visited with us when he was in town. Lee and Cugat were close in age and enjoyed reminiscing about their early struggles. Unfortunately, their talks about a past I wasn’t old enough to remember always reminded me of the age difference separating Lee and me.

Although it took a considerable shove to get Lee out of the house and into a social setting, he seemed to have a good time once a party was under way. But he always worked at being Liberace when we were out. He never relaxed, not even at informal gatherings with other celebrities. I think that’s why I liked Charo so much; she was a very genuine person.

Debbie Reynolds is another down-to-earth, warm, funny lady. She often worked the same hotel as Lee and we came to know her quite well. Although Debbie was several years my senior, she had a vitality and sense of the ridiculous that made her seem more like my peer. Reynolds had used Seymour Heller as her agent in the past and I could feel the ice in the air whenever the two of them were in the same room. According to Lee, she’d had a disagreement with Heller, and the one thing she didn’t like about working in the same hotel with Lee was the fact that it meant seeing so much of Heller.

One night after the show she flew into Lee’s dressing room in a rage over a recent encounter with Heller, insisting that Lee tell Heller to stay away from her. Debbie’s open emotion was refreshing compared to the behind-the-scenes maneuvering Lee employed when he was upset or angry with one of his people.

I wasn’t particularly fond of Heller myself, so I sympathized with her. I didn’t blame her for being upset. Poor Lee felt torn between the two of them. Since Heller was present at almost all of Lee’s performances, there seemed to be no way to keep Debbie from running into him. Lee, who avoided confrontations, had no intention of discussing Debbie’s problems with Heller. But he liked Debbie and didn’t want to lose her friendship. So he decided to play peacemaker and invited Debbie to come home with us to talk things over.

The Shirley Street house was lit like a Christmas tree when we arrived and looking its glittering best. As Debbie walked through the mammoth front doors she threw her arms wide, turned to us and said, “I used to live like this before my husbands took all my money.”

From what she told us of her unhappy marriages, she had every reason to be bitter. But Debbie is the kind of person who will always triumph over adversity by laughing at it. That night, after her initial anger cooled, she kicked off her shoes, sat on the kitchen floor, and drank wine with us until sunrise. It turned out to be one of those rare evenings when Lee forgot about being Liberace the legend and allowed himself to be Lee the man.

Tony Orlando was another of my favorite Vegas entertainers. Tony was battling drug addiction in those days, a problem he has since conquered. He also suffered from manic-depression, a disease I knew firsthand from my experiences with my mother. Nevertheless, we spent most of our time laughing. Everything seemed funny when we were together. After seeing Tony’s act a couple of times I told him he looked very pale onstage. Since his mental and physical problems were well known, the last thing he wanted to do was look sick onstage. It made a terrible impression on his audiences. Tony asked me to come over to his house one night to show him how I did my stage makeup. We laughed through the entire process, but Tony reluctantly agreed that the pancake base and blusher I used on him improved his appearance. When I began putting on eyeliner he got hysterical and made me stop.