When the divorce papers arrived at my home, I invited Mom and Dad and eight friends to a party at La Cage aux Folles, the nightclub on La Cienega Boulevard where people went to get super-loaded while watching drag acts. The female impersonators had great fun getting the Knight Rider up on stage and singing Judy Garland songs to him. When I stepped off stage, the maître d’ said, ‘Mr. Hasselhoff, Mr. Liberace would like to buy you a drink.’
I looked over and saw Liberace lit up like a Christmas tree in the middle of a group of young blond men. He waved at me.
‘Ask him if he would like to join our divorce party.’
‘I’m such a big fan, David,’ he said. ‘Who’s getting divorced?’
‘I am.”
‘Well, I’m available — let’s party.’
Liberace was drinking gin and tonic and smoking Carlton cigarettes. He was sixty-seven years old and had had a lot of plastic surgery; he very gracious and very sociable.
‘I can see you are upset about the divorce,’ he said.
‘I’m a little sad.”
‘Oh God, darling, put it behind you — life goes on.’