Mark Griffin (55 page)

A month earlier, Minnelli had attended an even glitzier event in his honor at the Palm Springs Desert Museum, which was presenting a retrospective of Vincente’s films along with an exhibition of his artwork. At $1,000 per
person, the swanky affair seemed to have taken MGM’s philosophy to heart: “Do it big, do it right, and give it class.” Artist Frances Balcomb was tasked with transforming the museum’s Annenberg Wing into the Maxim’s of
Gigi
. Frank Sinatra, Kirk Douglas, Gregory Peck, and Lucille Ball looked on as Liza serenaded her father with a medley of her mother’s songs from
Meet Me in St. Louis
. “Tonight was the first time I could get through it,” she admitted, having choked up during rehearsals.
¹⁰

Vincente escorts fourth wife Lee Anderson to an industry event. Before they tied the knot in 1980, Minnelli wasn’t exactly eager to marry again: “Why ruin a beautiful friendship?” PHOTO COURTESY OF PHOTOFEST

The evening’s most poignant moment came when Liza brought her father on stage and persuaded him to perform “Embraceable You,” the winsome Gershwin tune that Vincente had been known to sing during intimate gatherings with friends. As Vincente performed the song in his own inimitable style (and in his unmistakable voice), Liza sat before him cross-legged and completely enraptured. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. As honorary chair Leonore Annenberg observed, “You’ll never see anything like that again, it was such a show of love.”
¹¹

BY THE SUMMER OF 1986, Vincente’s health was rapidly deteriorating. For nearly a year, he had been in and out of the hospital, battling emphysema, pneumonia, and what would now be recognized as Alzheimer’s disease. In June, Liza postponed a series of concerts in Indianapolis to be at her father’s
bedside at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. The press began providing daily updates on his condition, and there was an outpouring of support and get-well wishes from the Hollywood community.

In late July, Vincente and Liza shared another two days together before she flew to France for a concert engagement. After Liza’s departure on Friday, July 25, Lee prepared Vincente’s favorite dinner (baby scallops with tomato and fresh basil sauce). Minnelli, now gravely ill, barely touched a bite. “He didn’t eat much and that surprised me,” Lee told reporters, adding that she phoned for an ambulance after Vincente fell asleep as she “didn’t like the color of his face.”
¹²
Minnelli went to sleep and never woke up. At 6:30 P.M., the director was rushed from his Crescent Drive home to Cedars-Sinai, where he was pronounced dead on arrival. Within hours, the news of Vincente’s passing hit the wires. When Frank Sinatra heard the reports, he contacted the airport in Nice so that Liza could receive the news of her father’s death from a family friend instead of the paparazzi. After speaking with Sinatra, Liza reboarded and headed back to Los Angeles.

The same consideration and sensitivity that Sinatra had shown Liza was not extended to Minnelli’s other daughter, Tina Nina. Tina, who resided in Mexico with Vincente’s grandchildren, Vincente and Xeminia, would receive the news of her father’s death from her stepfather, who happened to catch an announcement on the radio.

In his will, Minnelli had requested that there be no funeral service, but there certainly was one, and it was the kind of high-profile, star-studded event that Louis B. Mayer would have been proud of. “The King of Pop,” Michael Jackson, escorted Liza and Lee Anderson into the Wee Kirk o’ the Heather chapel. After Father George O’Brien performed a brief Catholic service, Minnelli was eulogized by Kirk Douglas and Gregory Peck.

“Goodbyes don’t always have to be sad,” Kirk Douglas said. “Because Vincente left us with much to be happy about . . . adventures in love, laughter and wonderment.” The actor also talked about the man he knew—or at least attempted to know. “I loved Vincente but I found that he was a difficult man to know. . . . He was a man of mystery; the mystery unfolds in his work, in the vivid memories he has given the world for generations to come.” Peck honored Minnelli as “a man who literally gave his life to reach for the distant star, to create works that 100 years later will glow with life and power.”
¹³

The Douglas and Peck tributes were piped over loud speakers outside the chapel for the benefit of the news media. This drew large crowds that lingered. Many admitted that they didn’t really know who Minnelli was. They were there to ogle such celebrities as Jimmy Stewart, Kenny Rogers, and
Bob Hope. As mourners filed out of the chapel, the organist played “Embraceable You.”

Although Minnelli had stipulated that his remains be cremated, he was instead buried in Glendale’s Forest Lawn Memorial Park. Vincente had often joked that he wanted his tombstone to read, “Here Lies Vincente Minnelli. He Died of Hard Work.” But instead the epitaph would read:

A WEEK AFTER VINCENTE’S DEATH, the details of his will (dated March 25, 1982) were made public. The bulk of Minnelli’s $1.1 million estate (including artwork, jewelry, house furnishings, and memorabilia) was left to Liza. Wife Lee Anderson would receive $100,000. Under the conditions of the will, Lee would be allowed to reside in the Crescent Drive mansion for as long as she wanted. Tina Nina was bequeathed the comparatively modest sum of $5,000. A note from Minnelli explained that he knew that his youngest daughter was “already well provided for” (presumably by Georgette’s immediate family—her Aunt Christiane, the former Miss Universe, was now married to an affluent businessman).
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Eventually Tina Nina would contest the will on the grounds that Liza had “exercised undue influence” over the ailing Vincente and that her father was of unsound mind when he prepared the document. While some rushed to Liza’s defense—she had made mortgage payments on her father’s Crescent Drive house and always footed the bill for Vincente and Lee’s travel expenses—others believed Tina Nina had a legitimate complaint. After all, wasn’t it Georgette—Tina’s mother—who had arranged Vincente’s MGM pension for him? And, according to Tina Nina, Vincente had always stressed that he wanted her to receive her fair share. Tina told writer Wendy Leigh: “I didn’t question the will for the money. I questioned it because I wanted to do what daddy wanted. And he always wanted Liza and me to share the house. Many times, my father told me, ‘I want you to know that in my will, the house will be half for you and half for Liza.’ . . . He knew I was in financial need and
that Liza didn’t need money and that my children were his only grandchildren.” Eventually, Tina Nina’s lawsuit was resolved through an out-of-court settlement and her two children were named beneficiaries. Although the legal wrangling was over, the sibling rivalry remained. “There was always a power struggle between us,” Tina Nina would say of her relationship with her older sister. “Liza was always jealous of me because all her life she has wanted to be Vincente Minnelli’s only daughter.”
¹⁶

MAY 1987. CARNEGIE HALL. In a series of sold-out performances, Liza Minnelli captivated her audiences with powerhouse renditions of some of her trademark tunes—“New York, New York,” “Cabaret,” and “Ring Them Bells.” At one point, in between the high-voltage hits, she turned the volume down and performed a lovely though obscure song called “Lonely Feet.” It had been written by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II for a forgotten 1934 musical entitled
Three Sisters
. Only the most erudite musical theater buffs might recognize the tune, and yet Liza had included it as a tribute to her father.

“He taught me this song when I was six,” she explained. “It was not a very well-known song but he just loved it. So, I would like to sing it . . . for him.”
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The wistful ballad, which concerned a wallflower’s romantic longings, seemed like a mini Minnelli movie set to music:

Was it any wonder that the song was one of Vincente’s favorites? It was told from the point of view of a character envisioning those lonely feet out on the dance floor . . . fantasizing about being partnered . . . imagining one’s deepest dreams taking flight. The sentiment behind the song was something Vincente understood all too well.

“Liza told me about this time she took him to see a show,” Tina Nina remembered. “When they came out, he suddenly stopped, clutched Liza’s arm, looked at her and said, ‘You know, I live inside myself.’”
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Even in an advanced
state of Alzheimer’s, it was as though Vincente had experienced a moment of genuine revelation. He had suddenly figured out what everyone else had long suspected—that Vincente Minnelli had always been living two lives. There was the life that everyone could see, in which he directed Oscar-winning movies, married glamorous women, and attended all the right parties. Then there was the other life—the more important one—that he lived “inside himself.” It was by far the more important existence, and though most people (who didn’t know any better) would dismiss this as a fantasy life, it was actually the more authentic one.