Behind the Candelabra: My Life With Liberace (28 page)

Less than one month after I’d been tossed out of the home Lee and I shared, Schmerin told me that he and Strote had reached an accord, a meeting of the minds. Before Schmerin spelled out the terms of the proposal they had agreed on, he made sure I understood that I would not get my property, not one shirt or sock, not one thin dime, until I signed an agreement.

In anybody’s book, withholding someone’s property, especially when it’s done to force them to do something, is illegal. In criminal cases it’s called
extortion
; in civil cases,
conversion
. Although the legal document was twelve pages long and carefully couched in lawyer’s mumbo-jumbo, the intent was simple. I was to get $75,000, three of my six cars, three dogs, and my clothes. I would be permitted to return to Vegas briefly to pick up my personal possessions. Seymour Heller would personally guarantee my safety and escort me through my house so I could pack my clothes.

In return for the money, the cars, the dogs, the return of my personal property, I would be required to sign over to Lee the title to my house on Larrimore, currently worth $200,000, and give its contents, which I estimated to have a value in excess of $50,000, to him as well. In addition, I would be required to sign over to Lee title to three cars, my Chevrolet van, an antique Cadillac, and an Auburn.

True, some of these things had been gifts from Lee. But they had been given to me freely. I held clear and legal title to them. There had never been any mention of the fact that they would continue to be mine only as long as Lee cared for me.

The agreement also specified that I would give up any other claims against Liberace—of any nature. I believe that was included in the text to ensure that I wouldn’t sue for assault and battery or, more important, for palimony. Last but far from least, the document included a clause that prohibited me from revealing the true nature of my relationship with Lee.

The offer shortchanged me by about a quarter of a million dollars. But I was playing by Lee’s rules and they were simple: I signed or I wouldn’t get a thing. The agreement actually spelled out the extortion or conversion in subparagraph 6, where it said that Liberace would “tender to Thorson, as soon as practical after the date hereof, all the clothes and personal belongings now in the possession or control of Liberace.” By admitting, in a legal document, that my personal belongings were in Lee’s control and wouldn’t be returned until I signed, Lee unwittingly admitted to the
conversion
of my property.

As we drove to Strote’s Beverly Hills offices on April 22, 1982, Schmerin told me it was the best deal I could hope to get, that my drug addiction would make me a very unsympathetic witness should my dispute with Lee wind up in court. He talked about Lee’s power, his money, his ability to carry on a legal battle no matter what the cost.

Back in 1982, I was desperate for money. I owed for drugs, and no one had to tell me what would happen if I didn’t pay those debts. I had no place to live, few clothes, no car, no job. The agreement, in effect, was a legal gun held to my head. If I wanted any of my property returned, including my paychecks and all my personal documents and memorabilia, I would have to sign. I had no chance of beginning my life over until I did. So I walked into Strote’s office and signed, even though I felt the document was unfair. I scribbled my signature and took that check from Strote’s hand and thanked God I finally had some money again.

To my surprise the check was made out to both me and Schmerin. Since I didn’t have a local bank account, Schmerin suggested that we drive to his bank to make the deposit. He said he’d give me my share of the proceeds when the check cleared. He’d been working under a contingency agreement and was to receive one third of the settlement, while I got the remaining two thirds.

A few days after the meeting in Strote’s offices, I returned to Vegas and went through the house on Larrimore, accompanied by Seymour Heller, only to discover that many of my personal belongings had already disappeared. When I asked if there might have been a burglary, despite a newly installed security system, Heller nodded in agreement. In reality, later testimony would show that Lee had asked Gladys to pack my things immediately following our breakup. What happen to them after that is anybody’s guess.

I came away from Vegas angry and upset, knowing I’d been ripped off, wanting to lash out and hurt Lee in any way I could. The period from Rose Carracappa’s death to my return to Vegas seemed like a waking nightmare. Lee was at the center of it all. I’d loved him, trusted him, even at the very end. Now he had failed to live up to the terms of an agreement he himself insisted I sign. It had never occurred to me that he would withhold some of my prized possessions: a valuable collection of porcelain flowers, a bronze sculpture, a television set, a favorite ring that commemorated our meeting. These were never returned. Apparently the papers we’d signed didn’t mean a damn thing to Lee. As far as I was concerned the whole thing had been a con and I was the world’s biggest chump for falling for it.

Lee had brushed me aside as easily and as thoughtlessly as he swatted a housefly. Like Jerry O’Rourke before me, I’d ceased to exist where Lee was concerned. But, unlike Jerry, I made up my mind not to take what Lee dished out without a fight. He wasn’t going to be rid of me that easily.

On October 14, 1982, I filed suit against Liberace in Los Angeles County Superior Court. Much has been written about that suit, most of it inaccurate. It was usually described as a palimony suit, with all the overtones of a juicy sex scandal that such a suit implies. In fact, palimony was only one of thirteen causes of action. Most important was the cause of action based on extortion and conversion of my property.

The lawyers debate the legalities of my case far better than I can. But there was one unlisted cause of action, the most important one in my mind, that drove me into court. Six months after being thrown out of the penthouse I still hadn’t stopped caring for Lee. I missed him in so many ways, like a child longing for a lost parent, a lover yearning for a loved one, a lonely man longing to see a friend. My entire life had been wrapped up in Lee; I couldn’t figure out how to go on without him. While Lee and I lived together I had no idea how emotionally dependent on him I’d become. But I felt like a cripple without him.

I sued because it was the only way I could continue to be a part of his life, the only way I could ensure that he wouldn’t forget me. Like a kid who prefers negative attention to
no
attention, I didn’t care if the suit made Lee hate me, just so long as he didn’t forget me. Anyone who has ever been rejected by someone they still love will understand my motivation. I just wasn’t able to let go.

There were, of course, financial considerations as well. Lee had promised, time and again and in front of witnesses, to care for me for life, to have an exclusive and loving relationship with me. The fact that I’d been tossed aside for a younger man, a kid who looked much like me before my plastic surgery, infuriated me. I really wanted to hurt Lee. Anyone who says you can’t love and hate a person at the same time is wrong. I loved and hated Lee in 1982 and I still feel the same way. Not a day passes when I don’t think about him, sometimes with anger—more often with affection.

When I brought suit against Lee I was represented by another—my third—attorney, Michael Rosenthal. Rosenthal specializes in personal injury cases, not exactly the expertise needed for my problem, but I’d met Rosenthal through friends and he seemed to wholeheartedly believe in me and the merits of my case. We got along quite well.

My search for a competent, ethical, morally upright legal counsel reminded me of Diogenes’s search for an honest man, and was to prove just as difficult. Rosenthal seemed to have my interests at heart rather than his own. He proved to be ambitious and energetic on my behalf, even if I occasionally disagreed with his strategies. After we had a series of interviews he concluded that the best way to get Lee’s attention was through the press.

Lee went to great lengths during his lifetime to conceal his sexual preference from the public. Now, Rosenthal decided to blow the lid off the situation by notifying the media that he was about to file a multimillion-dollar suit on my behalf against my former lover—Liberace. Not unexpectedly, the ladies and gentlemen of the press were at the courthouse in force when I arrived with Rosenthal. Cameras clicked frantically, television lights blazed, and eager reporters begged for a statement as we walked into the courthouse. Being courted by the press felt wonderful after being ignored, for so many months, by the man I cared for. I felt important for the first time in a long time. It was virtually the first satisfying moment I’d had in the six months Lee and I had been apart. It would also be the last.

As it turned out, Rosenthal hadn’t bargained for Lee’s popularity and power. The torrent of publicity we received that day soon generated what I think of as the “war in the tabloids,” a war that we had no chance of winning even though we struck the first blow. Rosenthal intended to use negative publicity to bring Lee to his knees and have him begging to settle the case.

After filing the suit his next move was to place a call to the
National Enquirer
offering them my exclusive story—for a fee, of course. Rosenthal negotiated a $32,000 deal, half of which he would collect for his services. The November 2, 1982, edition of the
Enquirer
, with a picture of Lee and me on the cover, bore the banner headline: “LIBERACE BOMBSHELL—BOYFRIEND TELLS ALL.”

And I did.

The
Enquirer
article covered our homosexual love affair, the plastic surgery, the promises of lifetime support and the proposed adoption, Lee’s new relationship with Cary James, and my subsequent eviction from the penthouse and from Lee’s life. The story, which ran in two issues, was guaranteed to get Lee’s attention. We expected him to ask for a settlement immediately. But we’d made a classic tactical mistake, that of using our best weapon first—full public disclosure—instead of holding it in reserve.

The night the story broke, Lee was appearing somewhere in the Midwest. Friends later told me that he was scared to death to go onstage, afraid his fans would hiss and boo now that they knew the truth. But Lee needn’t have been concerned. When he walked out to face the audience they gave him a standing ovation. Either they hadn’t believed the things I’d said in the
Enquirer
article or they could forgive Lee anything—including having sex with young men. That ovation brought tears to Lee’s eyes and gave him the strength to face everything that lay ahead.

Predictably, he came out of his corner fighting. Looking back, everything he did after publication of the
Enquirer
articles was inevitable in view of his track record. I should have been smart enough to realize that Lee wouldn’t take quietly being publicly branded a homosexual, that he’d fight my allegations with every weapon in his arsenal. He used the press to strike the next blow and, from then on, I was at his mercy in the media. By the time Lee finished with me I don’t think anyone believed my story except my attorney.

Lee retaliated by giving an exclusive interview to another major tabloid, the
Globe.
Their November 2, 1982, front page bore the headline: “GAYS OUT TO ASSASSINATE ME, SAYS LIBERACE.” The page-nine story began: “These vicious Lies—It’s nuts, says star as gay sues him for $113 million.” Lee was quoted as follows: “‘This man is a former disgruntled employee. He was fired in 1982 because of excessive use of drugs and alcohol, because he carried firearms.

“‘This is an outrageous [Lee’s favorite word] and vicious attempt to assassinate my character.

“‘We will fight this fully in the court. We will show that all of this is a fraud.’”

The article continued: “A source close to the superstar, who often speaks on his behalf [I suppose this was Seymour Heller’s contribution to Lee’s defense] says this is not the first time Liberace has been the victim of slander at the hands of the gays.

“‘It’s a battle he has had to fight throughout his career. Every time it’s happened before, we’ve fought it and won. And we’ll win this time—and every other time—too.’”

This quotation epitomizes the kind of thinking that prevailed throughout Lee’s life. He simply refused to admit his sexual preference, even if by refusing he found himself slandering the very group of men who were closest to him,
gay men
. In my opinion his inability to deal openly and frankly with his own sexuality was a personal tragedy. Lee continued his pathetic charade right up to the grave, and then his people, Heller and Strote, continued the battle for him.

Back in 1982 the
Globe
article was a masterpiece of half-truths. The story detailed how well Liberace had treated me, saying, “Liberace gave him the best clothes, the best cars and spending money that was just out of sight.” The reporter who wrote the article never questioned why Lee would have done all that for a mere chauffeur. The article closed with an interview with a hypnotist who claimed he’d been employed by Lee to help Lee overcome the pain of a broken love affair. The implication is the love affair had been with a woman; reality is, it was with me. According to the hypnotist, Lee had said: “When negative people are around me, I say to them kvetch, kvetch, kvetch—and they usually snap out of it. If they don’t, I avoid them in the future and keep them out of my life.”

I can almost hear Lee saying those words. They certainly represented his philosophy. He would go to any lengths to put what he called “negative people” or “negative incidents” behind him. He’d done it with Vince Cardel, he’d done it when his mother died, and now he was determined to do it with me. Lee had made up his mind to bury me and he had the power and the influence to do it.

A major player in the next battle of the tabloid wars was Dirk Summers. He claimed to be a descendant of the Drew family that produced all the Barrymores. His biographical sketch also says that he was an associate producer on television’s prestigious “Hallmark Hall of Fame,” a producer for Sammy Davis, Jr., and the producer of sixty-five television shows and eleven motion pictures. And he was rumored to be screen actress June Allyson’s former husband. It sounds impressive. But, in 1982, Summers’s career as a television writer and producer had sagged.