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288 pages, Hardcover
First published June 2, 2015
David —the scoundrel, the liar, the thief— wasn’t beautiful by any means. He had a large nose, flaccid cheeks (always by 5:00 p.m.), and beady eyes. Somehow all this ugliness came together in its own interesting and gruesome way, distinguishing him from the rest of the ugly powerful men he ran with. He was tall, and his height, coupled with immaculate tailoring, helped to hide his protruding belly. His shoes were hand sewn in Italy, his shirts made to order in London and shipped in boxes from Bond Street every six months, and his suits custom tailored at one of the most expensive Park Avenue ateliers. He loved only the best, most expensive things for himself, and he lived like a sheikh on what he earned, borrowed, and stole.
What did we all see in David? I include myself along with Freddie Fields, Judy, Lee Begelman, and a legion of showbiz friends. We were all so blinded by a little charm that we couldn’t see the truth: He was no good. In fact he was worse than that. He was toxic, fatal for all his wives, but most of all for Judy. He took aim and leveled a shot across her bow that filled her with his poison and overwhelmed her. His was the charm of a psychopathic personality: totally flamboyant, witty, intelligent, and intellectual on the one side; a liar, a cheat, a complete fraud, irresponsible, and self-destructive on the other.
He was a snake. He didn’t know how to tell the truth, and it amused him to show me how outrageous a liar he could get away with being.
He didn’t seem to care one iota about his wife, and he told everyone that Judy also meant nothing to him — boisterously proclaiming to the fellas at Danny’s Hideaway, ‘A ragpicker wouldn’t throw a hook into her!’ And this was the man Judy Garland adored. He was a pig.
After working with him for two years, however, it was apparent to me that David was more than just a pig: He was a sick pig. I thought David needed psychiatric help. He was always setting himself up to be punished. And no matter how bad the punishment, David raised the ante so that the next punishment would be worse.
..
David didn’t have a decent instinct ever, ever, ever. He had already hurt me, hurt Judy, hurt Lee, and hurt many others he worked with. He stole from Judy to get the money he needed for his and Lee’s very lavish lifestyle. He used that money to settle his gambling debts, debts that he would have created with money borrowed in casinos using Judy’s name, and paid for with Judy’s earnings, for no matter how much David made—and he has to have made millions over the long haul—he never had enough. He was always deeply in debt.
I don’t find it strange that all three of David’s wives died of cancer, especially if there’s any truth to the mind-body-connection theories. David brought misery to all the lives that he touched in a personal way, most notably Judy’s.
He brought misery as well to most of the lives he touched in a professional way, and it cost him. He lost most of his friends. He could send three, four, or more studio executives to bed believing they had a deal with him only to find out the next morning that not only didn’t they have a deal, the deal they thought they were negotiating was no more than a figment of David’s imagination. He persuaded himself that people didn’t talk to one another, and he could say whatever he pleased.
The executives in New York and LA knew he was a scoundrel, but he was their scoundrel. For a long time they closed ranks around him because of the important stars he represented (like Newman and Streisand), even when he put their backs up against the wall by making deals that were too tough—because when he finally did make a deal, he went for the kill. It wasn’t necessary. The stars knew he was a bastard, but he was their bastard. So they, too, put up with him until they couldn’t, until they caught him in lies or broken promises.
The executives in New York and LA knew he was a scoundrel, but he was their scoundrel. For a long time they closed ranks around him because of the important stars he represented (like Newman and Streisand), even when he put their backs up against the wall by making deals that were too tough—because when he finally did make a deal, he went for the kill. It wasn’t necessary. The stars knew he was a bastard, but he was their bastard. So they, too, put up with him until they couldn’t, until they caught him in lies or broken promises.
Excerpts From: Chapter 10. Love or Something Like It.
Judy & Liza & Robert & Freddie & David & Sue & Me...
By Stevie Phillips