Archives for posts with tag: Richard Gere

This is a reworking of an earlier blog:

So that I don’t break any rules I have removed the names of those I am presently being accused of Attempted Extortion.

Extortion is either threatening to reveal a secret or a crime unless money is paid.  It usually accompanies threats of violence.

I allegedly threatened to blog about a man ripping me off.   That’s what I have been charged with.  Threatening, in the land of the free, the land of the first amendment, to have an opinion about a man who ripped me off.

No wonder my  fellow Brits are outraged.

Firstly, this is a civil matter and The State of California should not be wasting millions of tax payers dollars going through the public courts.

Secondly, the law was obviously written to protect people who had committed crimes or had secrets from being violently blackmailed.

Of course it is hard luck when, in life, one gets fucked over.   In America being fucked over is a daily challenge and those who manage to successfully do the fucking over are hailed as the winners.  Just look at the Wall Street ‘winners’ rewarded for fucking over the entire nation.

Unlike most people who get fucked over, who cannot fight back…I have this blog.

It has proved to be one of the most effective fog horns in the world.

Let’s talk?  Just you and me?  Can I confide in you?

In 2007, after 35 years, I sold my beautiful house in Whitstable Kent.  I started avidly house hunting all over Los Angeles for another home.  I met CN from a well-known realty company.  We looked at hundreds of houses, none of which I liked.

I was a US property virgin trusting that realtors in the USA would behave as I had learned from estate agents in the UK…with honesty and accountability.

Months into our search I had still not found a house I liked.

My recently deceased friend Jean Perramon lived in Malibu and walking his neighborhood I chanced upon my present home.

Two acres of lush, semi tropical gardens.  Bananas, citrus, plums.  Stone paths weaving through the landscape.  A post and beam family home divided into two apartments.  I met the owner KM and he agreed to let me rent the property with a view to buying it.

I told CN about the house and he introduced me to CC the sellers agent.

Well, we scarcely needed introducing as I had, on more than one occasion let CC suck my cock.  But as with most of the power gays in town he had quickly heard my back story and with disapproving, judgmental aplomb…stopped returning my calls.

After our dating disaster I bumped into him again at the Barry Diller pre-Oscar party.  We sat together at lunch and I met his bejeweled Russian friend Diana who claimed to be the wife of some oligarch and her euro trash monster entourage.

People like CC, Diana and their ilk gossip interminably about their celebrity friends…Elton this…Cher that…relating their upcoming agenda in lieu of any meaningful conversation.  Squealing about their yachts, their diamonds, their homes and their spurious charities.

Listen, let’s face it…CC has done very well for himself.  He comes from a humble Malibu family, his darling mother is often seen eating lunch in the garden at Cross Creek.  His fireman father is dead.  He sells more real estate than any other broker in the USA.  For a man who is scarcely literate…he has done very well for himself.

This is what he writes about himself on his very own website:

“Yes, CC’s name is everywhere in Malibu, because that’s what happens when you’re “The King.”  It was actually the Bravo TV program Million Dollar Listing, in which CC was profiled among several other L.A.-area top-producing agents, that coined the term “The King of Malibu”. Perhaps it was his incredible production that earned him the title. Perhaps it owes to the type of clientele he often serves, namely some of the biggest names in entertainment and business.”

As gay royalty goes, CC is certainly the King…the King of the Cock Suckers.  He has a very regal, hungry mouth.

Being a gay man has impacted well on his life.  He tells the story with relish, how he met Barry Diller with whom he allegedly had an affair and in turn introduced him to the gay mafia who claim to run the world.

CC was a handsome Richard Gere type of guy.  Not so much now.  He has sailed the recessionary wave.

The last time I saw him was at the 7.30am Wednesday morning celebrity Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting in Brentwood.

He looked at me in total horror, not because he was at an SAA meeting but because by that time he had colluded with CN and others to defraud me.

Information that now causes me to write this revelatory blog.

After seeing him at the meeting I wrote a sweet email welcoming him to SAA.  It is very hard to admit you have a problem like sex addiction.  I wanted him to feel safe when he returned.

After renting the Malibu house for a few weeks I asked CN to write-up an offer.

The house had been on the market for many months.

I live in a country where houses languish on the market for a very long time, it did not occur to me that a house that had been on the market for a few months may be problematic.

It did not occur to me that I was working with a couple of realtors who were determined, at any cost, to sell me a doozy.   The ex told the police that he thought I was ‘dark and creepy’ and needed to be taught a lesson.  My soppy, inexperienced realtor just wanted his commission and was sick of showing me endless properties.

We had written offers before but they had not been accepted.  I had never ordered an inspection.

With the inspection…or lack of it…the active deception began…knowing how green I was they deliberately failed (using a fake geologist) to disclose the following:

The problem with the house?  During the past ten years there had been landslides on either side of the property and on the property.  That there was un-permitted and illegal construction work in the garden including retaining walls and water tanks degrading the land and making it more liable to land slide.

Neither the seller nor CC disclosed this information.  Information that, by law, they were required to reveal.

Knowing that I would not want to buy the house if I knew the truth, they presented me with an expensive and thorough geological report conducted in 2004 which they persuaded me was adequate for my purposes, advising me that I should have a verbal report from another geologist to confirm that nothing had happened subsequent to the 2004 report.

They assured me that a ‘verbal’ report was perfectly normal.  Amongst other anomalies they also told me that I had to pay their 6% commission.  Also, within two months of the purchase the seller also demanded a further $200,000 that he claimed I had told him I would pay him after the sale.

CN, the Beverly Hills realtor, told me that he could not find a local geologist so hired a geologist recommended by CC…the sellers agent.

The young, good-looking geologist sat uncomfortably with us, CC at his side.  He held the 2004 geological report and I asked him if anything had happened since that report was written.  Anything I should know that would influence the sale of the house.

You know what I’m like!  I asked him many, many questions.  I’m a pedant!  I needed to know everything before I invested my hard-earned $500,000.

Without looking into my eyes the young geologist  told me that the house had a “reasonable half an inch of ‘creep’”  but failed to tell me about either of the land slides or the illegality of the un-permitted work.

The last time I heard from the geologist…or the man who claimed he was the geologist…he had turned to Jesus.  He told me that CN/CC had told him not to mention the slide as he wanted me to buy the house.  The ‘geologist’ felt guilty.  He told me that it plagued his conscience.

After we signed contracts, after escrow, CC came up to me and with spiteful eyes told me that I would, “Own that house for a very long time.”  It was rather baffling.  I thought he was just being a bitch because I came in his face rather than his mouth.

Only after I tried selling the house did I learn what he meant.

Watching others go through the process of buying a house I realize now how duped I had been by both CC and CN.

When I spoke to CN recently he said, “I knew this would come back to haunt me.”

Yes, you’re right CN, it’s going to haunt you until I have been paid the money I put down to buy this house.

The $500,000 I put down as a deposit on this house.

I wrote to CC letting him know ahead of time what I was going to do.  That I would write a blog and give him some time to either do the right thing and find a solution that included a ‘fair and equitable’ settlement…or I would start a campaign against him…including paid advertisements in local newspapers, national news articles.  At no time did I ever threaten to out him as a sex addict.  I didn’t need to, I had already referred to him in earlier blogs as a sex addict.

As for my fair and equitable arrangement, the arrangement that he scoffed at last time we were in court.  They pay me back the $500,000…they get the house.  They can rent it, sell it, do what ever they like.  I just want my money back.

BTW There are very public court transcripts for those who want to read them.

When we subpoenaed the geologist…a completely different man (in his 50′s and morbidly obese) arrived at the court house…a man I had never seen.  He really didn’t want to be there, he tried to wriggle out of it.  I was delighted!  It was proof positive that I had indeed been conned by two unscrupulous realtors.

We will, in good time, get to the bottom of this mess, we will expose those who sought to defraud this proud British Citizen then cynically used the LAPD to turn the tables on me.

We will find out who kept  me in jail even though there was no reason to do so.  Eventually, when all is revealed, heads will roll.

CC thought he might have gotten away with his meticulously executed plan.

Never expecting to see my ugly mug listen to him say, “MY NAME’S CC AND I AM A SEX ADDICT”  or , for that matter, their accomplice turn to Jesus Christ.

This story is so damned…American.

Yesterday was unquestionably productive.

The morning spent in airless, 19th floor, mid-town offices.  Obama in town, the city still snagged with traffic.  The sidewalks choked with Ahmadinejad protestors and Palestinian hating zionists.

My foot feels much better.  Walking normally until Midday then it swells a little and I have to rest.

Fleas on the dog, Petco remedy.

Read script by new, young writer.  Charming boys.  Flawed script.

Met Zach for dinner on 10th Street then art event on Lower East Side.  Seemed to have a William Burroughs theme.  The curator was super cute.  I mean…fucking gorgeous.

You know that Burroughs came to my 21st birthday party?  Did I ever mention that?  He arrived with Princess Selima Guirey a descendant of Genghis Khan.  I think both Scott Crolla and I were kind of amazed.

After a very spirited performance by a well endowed, naked man covered in glitter I stood on the street in the humid night chatting with an incredibly knowledgeable boy wearing an out sized base-ball cap who invited me to a Courtney Love party.  I didn’t go.

We quite randomly discussed Herbert Huncke who I had seen read poetry on St Mark’s Place in that church there with Richard Gere who, for a short time, was an acquaintance of mine.  I don’t think many people know this but Gere supported Huncke in his latter years.   He died in 1996.

If you don’t know Huncke…google him.  It’s worth your time to get acquainted with the man known as the ‘Mayor of 42nd Street’.

I first met the very young and very beautiful Richard Gere with Christina Monet-Palaci in Paris when I was Lord Rendlesham.  Lady Jane Wellesley reintroduced me to him several years later in the late 80′s whilst making the ill-fated Baron in The Trees with Marc Warren.

Gere is a huge Italo Calvino fan so we had lots to talk about.   Ah, those were the days.

I wonder if Tim remembers us having dinner at his house with Jane and Jean Paul Gautier?

Have you read City of Quartz by Mike Davis?   We discussed that too, on the hot New York street, late last night.

I left the dog with Z and T and their huge black pit bulls.  The Little Dog loves their bitch Lucy.

Home by midnight.  Asleep by one, up at 6.30am.

Next week I am in LA for The Pacific Standard Time art event and Art Platform inaugural fair.

As for my novel?  My novel has shape shifted from a dark, murderous, self-conscious meander into a funny, adroit tale of kidnap and mayhem.  It’s not high art but it is very readable.

Finally, DADT was repealed.  For the small number of people this affects directly…I congratulate you.

This morning the web is alive with video images of Republican Presidential candidates berating Commader in Chief Obama for liberating gay service men and women from keeping secrets.

The right-wing audience revealing their gay hate by booing a gay soldier, screaming with joy when the repugnant candidates promised reinstatement of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.

Obama has finally left New York.  This morning the traffic is once again traveling freely up 8th Avenue.

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