Thursday, Dec. 19, 1996 | 11:59 a.m.
The trademark crystal candelabras are gone. There's not a mirrored piano or sequined cape to be had.
Still, it's apparent to whom the sprawling abode -- curiously tucked away in an aging neighborhood at 4982 Shirley St. -- once belonged.
This place has Liberace written all over it. At least, the mirrored wet bars do: They're etched with his famous looping monogram.
There's a picture of "Mr. Showmanship" hanging by the front door, and another in the main salon.
But the massive master bathroom's ceiling is the real giveaway: A hand-painted Liberace likeness -- bright-white toothy grin and all -- flanked by a host of chunky cherubs, peers down from a pastel-clouded sky.
Welcome to the Las Vegas Villa, one of seven homes the late entertainer maintained around the West before his death in 1987.
There was also a Hollywood penthouse, a beach-front retreat in Malibu, Calif., a 32-room Los Angeles mansion, a Reno getaway, and "the Cloisters," a Palm Springs, Calif., motel that he transformed into a home.
But, despite the fact that all of Liberace's possessions were auctioned off or placed in the nearby Liberace Museum on Tropicana Avenue nearly a decade ago, the Villa remains a showcase in and of itself.
Originally two tract homes, Liberace spent $5.5 million joining them in the mid-'70s to create one 15,000-square-foot home featuring five fireplaces, two kitchens and no fewer than seven bathrooms.
It's also a treasure-trove of antiques. From the 100-year-old Italian iron gates out front to the 2,000-year-old Grecian marble pillars in the hall, the home exudes an offbeat elegance that's surprisingly ungaudy -- at least by Liberace standards.
Then there's the master bedroom.
Grab a piece of plush carpet in the large, dimly lit room and look up. Painted on the ceiling is a $1.5 million interpretation of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel masterpiece, created by artists Stefano Falk and Michelangelo Buonarroti.
Just when you think you've seen everything ...
See it again and again in the "Eternal Hallway," which features floor-to-ceiling wall mirrors, decorated with antique Baccarat wall sconces.
How about taking a dip? No, not in the pool, but the $65,000 custom-designed marble bathtub. Look familiar? It was the site of the famous "Bubble Bath" scene Liberace used to open his TV show.
"The house is pretty flamboyant, I guess you could say," says Tom Fagan, who manages the house, which was purchased by Atlanta insurance mogul V.T. Turner shortly after Liberace's death.
Turner "originally bought it as a second home," Fagan says. These days, the Villa is rented out as a venue for large-scale private and corporate parties. Clients have included Paramount Studios, Phil Donahue and Newsweek.
An appropriate fate for a home that, in its heyday, hosted more famous guests and galas than anyone can count.
Not even Gladys Luckie, who served as Liberace's personal cook and "confidante" for 40 years.
"He loved staying home, having his parties," recalls Luckie, 85. Guest lists often read like a Hollywood who's who: Caesar Romero, Johnny Mathis, Eve Arden, the Gabor Sisters, Cary Grant.
Luckie began working for Liberace in 1950, and she traveled to all of his homes to plan and cater his parties.
Upon his request -- and the offer of a fully furnished home not far from the Villa -- Luckie moved to Las Vegas in '78 to oversee things at the house. She stayed through the year following his death.
"The first Christmas I was here, he presented me with a beautiful mink coat. He took good care of me. He always referred to me to everybody as his second mother," she says.
"When he worked at the (Las Vegas) Hilton, I'd be up every night to give him his dinner," she recalls. "Sometimes it would be 3 o'clock and I'd sit up until 7 or 8 in the morning listening to him unwind. I was his sounding board."
And vice versa.
It was Luckie's idea to enclose the upstairs terrace. After the help went home at night, "I stayed here alone, and it would rain, and I'd have to bring in all of the lovely furniture that was out there," she says.
"He came home one day and I said, 'Lee (his nickname), you've got to do something about this room.'" And he did, by having a glass ceiling, complete with tiny white Tivoli lights, built over the top.
He also spent $200,000 having iridescent copper-colored tile imported from Morocco installed on the walls and fireplace. The solarium, now called the "Moroccan Room," was then duplicated at his Hollywood penthouse.
"He went all out," Luckie says with a chuckle. "It was beautiful."
In fact, the entire house was filled with "beautiful stuff. He'd go shopping and he'd say, 'Oh, this was just waiting for me.' He'd find an excuse to buy things and he never complained about the prices," she says.
"When he was here, there wasn't a vacant spot. We had no space," she says, scanning the now sparsely furnished salon. Besides the flocked Christmas tree in the corner, only a white grand piano and a living room set remain.
"He had gorgeous pieces that you wouldn't find anyplace else. I was very sad to see that they didn't try to sell the furniture to the people who bought the house, because it was really something."
"It's actually to our benefit not to have a lot of the stuff that was here because we couldn't utilize the house as we do," Fagan explains. "It'd be a museum and everything would be roped off. We're not in competition with the museum."
The playroom
Luckie's favorite room in the house, the blue-hued game room, was adjacent to the salon.
At the time, Liberace held one of only three private gaming licenses in the state (Frank Sinatra and Howard Hughes had the others) and brought in a slew of slots and table games.
"His mother loved to play the slots," Luckie says. Once, "She had hit the three 7s, which was $600, but there was no money in (the machine). She said, 'Go get Lee,' and told him, 'Write me a check right now. I just won that money.' He gave it to her.
"He was a generous person," especially around the holidays. "He gave beautiful gifts to everyone," Luckie says. "Every Christmas, we'd have 200 to 300 people" over to the house. "He never worked on the holidays, no matter how much money they offered him."
Luckie admits she misses those days terribly. Visiting the Villa for the first time after Liberace's death "was very sad. I had to sit there and get my composure. I could see him walking in that door like he always did," she says.
Eventually, "I reconciled with the fact that these things happen and you have to get over it." These days, visits are "a pleasure, because I feel like he's near."
She often attends parties at the Villa, offering guests the chance to flip through her Liberace scrapbooks.
"This is what he would have liked," Luckie says, "for people to enjoy his home. That's what he always wished."
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