I'm Not Dead... Yet! (17 page)

And then one day:

it happened!

Wow!

(Yes, that too...)

We were on stage, I was about to sing, and my heart, like an on/off switch, jumped to 200 beats per minute—and I could barely catch my breath, let alone sing. So I made the audience laugh… but all I kept thinking was:

Help me! I can’t breathe!

I—can’t—slow—my—heart—down!

I—can’t—sing! I—can’t—breathe!

WHERE? IS! THE! FREE! AIR?

Madly in love or not, over 2 million Americans suffer from arrhythmia. Mine was called tachycardia; this kind of arrhythmia is a rapid heartbeat (controlled by the heart’s flow of electrical impulses) which obstructs the heart muscle’s ability to contract appropriately. Mine would come with no warning and go on and off like a light switch. Be careful: it can be brought on by caffeine. I took Excedrin for migraines and drank strong black tea before each show, which no doubt exacerbated the symptoms. Applying pressure to the artery under your jaw and grunting (as if you are constipated) can sometimes stop the racing and put your heart back in sync with itself.

It’s very hard to hide on stage, but if you’ve been acting long enough, there are ways to turn this dilemma into a ‘bit’ and no one will ever know you are a victim of tachycardia, which in extreme cases, caused by an underlying condition, can lead to sudden cardiac death. (They didn’t have Google then—so what did I know?!)

There are many ways to treat arrhythmia. Check out the link below:

Arrhythmia

Some of us are born with a morsel of talent;
stuck in the Peloton of creative mediocrity. I recognize my shortcomings and work like mad (Work ethic! Discipline! ‘Old School!’) to make the most out of the modest talent I have.

Karla, on the other hand, was born with a
gift
. It’s as if someone in the heavens tapped her with a special wand and proclaimed, ‘You will be an extraordinary singer.’

This is me:

a manufactured falsification; an impostor with good slight-of-hand; in other words, a
fake
in a business of fakes.

And this is Karla:

So few are gifted like Karla—genuine; legitimate. Being around Karla, I felt like I could survive anything!

I had to spend my life with this woman, even if it took:

a miracle!

My heart was hers and hers alone.

Hear the song I wrote for Karla, a duet (sung by the amazing Stan Brown and Karla DeVito):

(Corny but no regrets.

That director was right: for a gypsy, I wasn’t authentic.

For a romantic, I’m your guy.)

Karla and I only had a few months
together in
The Pirates of Penzance
.

Karla had gone to the head of CBS records, Walter Yetnikov, to plead her case for accepting the lead in
Pirates
instead of committing to a summer tour with Meat Loaf (which she knew would not happen). Karla’s debut album,
Is This A Cool World Or What?!
, had a November release date, and Epic/CBS International Records wanted her music videos to be shot in London.

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s first wife Sarah had ‘discovered’ Karla, bringing her stellar performance in
Pirates
to the attention of Lloyd Webber who was looking for the perfect woman to star in a film version of his musical
Evita
. Karla was called to meet both the Lloyd Webbers at MCA studios in New York and sang in a small practice room with Andrew accompanying her. He immediately called director Ken Russell to set up a screen test for her in London. Singing “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” Karla moved everyone to tears at her two screen tests at Pinewood Studios (except the lyricist, who had hopes for his lover to star). Karla was Russell’s first choice for the role until the film fell apart, and he wrote about her performance in his autobiography,
Altered States
.

I met Ken Russell in 2007 when he was being honored with a Lifetime Achievement Award at the Asheville Film Festival where I was a judge. When he saw Karla, he held out his arms exclaiming, “My Evita!”

After Karla left
Pirates
I was devastated. Although we were crazy about each other, Karla was hesitant to take the next step.

One of the millions of reasons I loved her was because she was very sensible and never dated musicians or actors. Cool. My kind of woman. My kind of person! She was so smart and sexy without ever trying to be sexy—that was a new one in my business. And she was funny! Funny! Looking back, she held the fact that I was starring in films against me. I had faced that many times. People think you make movies so you must be a superficial jerk. I couldn’t hold that against Karla. As a matter of fact, I admired her for it. It meant that she was waiting to see how Hollywood I was—how narcissistic, how self-absorbed. Who can blame her? Not me. These qualities made me respect her even more.

Pirates
moved from the Uris (now the Gershwin) to the Minskoff Theatre on August 9th. Between shows on the first matinee day, I found Karla on a pay phone near the stage-left landing, and before she could move away, I had to tell her something that if it stayed inside of my heart and soul one more second, then I would be a hypocrite.

I went up to her when she finished the phone call and no matter what else was happening in the world, she had to know the most important thing that ever had happened to me: “I love you.”

Karla was completely flustered and muttered something like, “Oh, oh...that’s... great, gotta go.” Not the response I had hoped for but it didn’t matter—if this world were to end on that very day, Karla would know I loved her…

She quickly walked down the cement stairs; I wanted to stop her—I had been running the few stairs in this new building, but didn’t think it was my right to tell her anything—I didn’t ‘own her’—I loved her. So I waited at the the door to the staircase. Like me, the ‘stair-runner,’ Karla went down the stairs only to realize we were in a new theatre and this was not an exit. (The cement staircase was a mistake. It went to nowhere. It had no exit.) Karla had to turn around and come right back up past me. I was hoping that in the small time she spent on the stairs, she would say, “I love you, too.” Instead it was, “No exit. Gotta go.”

When it came to love, my heart and true feelings were an unstoppable freight train and Karla was my destination. Up to a point; I despised men who forced themselves on others just to get their way. I knew when to step back—but Karla was the most extraordinary person I had ever met. And to prove it, here is what happened: She said she felt love for me, but also wondered if she had lost her mind.

Karla was in a four year long monogamous relationship with her best friend and manager, Sam Ellis. They met when Karla was hired for the original
Bat out of Hell
tour. Sam managed, designed and held together the theatrical live performances world-wide, propelling the album to historic status. Sam is the ethical compass of all who know him (including me… that shows you what an amazing man he is. I get jealous, and I found it impossible to be jealous of Sam Ellis. He was heroic…) Sam walked away from his share of the management profits for
Bat out of Hell
when he felt they were not doing business fairly. Karla asked Sam to manage her and they chose Winston Simone as their partner. The three of them had great fun guiding her solo career.

Back at the theater, Karla was tortured over the thought of telling Sam how she felt about me—and I had to trust her completely on this one. The very fact that she was loyal, understanding, a true friend and not the kind of girl who jumps from lover to lover (my past relationships… killer… but not Karla). But we fell into the purest love possible. I could hold Karla in my arms for all eternity and be satisfied.

Eventually those feelings were so powerful, so undeniable, Karla and I faced the truth and, as I call it, we went free-falling… and she said…, “I love you, too.”
The greatest day of my life. To this very day, that was the greatest day of my life.

When Sam married
his
soul-mate Valerie Silver in 1987, they invited us and asked Karla to sing and our daughter Lyric (4) to be their flower girl. Sam remains one of our best friends to this day. In many ways, he is a mentor; a teacher—a great man.

In January my stint in
Pirates
was finally over and I returned to L.A. But things were different this time—Karla had decided to take the plunge!

Co-starring with George Burns
in the television film of
Two of a Kind
was an experience that sent my heart into the stratosphere of humility.
I was so honored and fortunate to work with Mr. Burns, who was 86 at the time and still going strong (he lived to 100).

We had a sensitive script, by James Sadwith, a fine director, Roger Young, and a strong supporting cast, with Barbara Barrie, Cliff Robertson, and the adorable Geri Jewell. Karla made her first non-musical screen appearance in a small part as my counselor.

Before shooting started I researched my role, working with ‘Dave,’ a
mentally challenged young man
who selflessly helped me understand life from my character’s perspective.

Wise people have said, ‘Don’t meet your heroes,’ and I have endless sad stories to back up that maxim, but I can shout from rooftops that working with George Burns enhanced my life exponentially. During scenes when we had to sit in a car, he didn’t want to get out while the crew would do the lighting for double coverage (mounting two cameras on the hood). He felt fine just sitting there with me and telling stories. He loved doing his routines for me because he knew I adored him and thought he was a brilliant comedian—and now my new, true friend.

One day he spotted a man in his fifties walking around slowly and complaining. Mr. Burns turned to me and said, “See that young man over there? He’s auditioning.”

“Auditioning for what?” I asked.

“Old age,” he said wryly with perfect timing. “If he keeps acting like that, pretty soon he’ll get the part.”

When
Two of a Kind
first aired on October 9, 1982, our partnership received exceptional ratings and earned two Golden Globe nominations: Best Motion Picture Made for TV and Best Actor (me).

Thank you, Mr. Burns.

The
Two of a Kind
shoot also had my heart ascending
to the heavens because every single day was one day closer to the day Karla and I were to be married.

Unlike any woman I had known, she never dreamed of getting married; she had a negative, visceral reaction to gold, diamonds, and wedding hoopla in general. Wow. We were similar. I believe we spent 189 bucks for both simple wedding bands.

I knew Karla was making an enormous sacrifice moving to California, leaving her New York-based career behind. Working there for eight years, she had no need for a car. As the song said: nobody walks in L.A. I wanted to buy her a new car —but what kind? Karla’s favorite car had been her family’s old ’64 Volkswagen bug. A pure soul deserves German engineering.