You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (15 page)

“Catch him?”

“No, he got away.”

“How’s Marilyn?”

“She was a little shook up, but I convinced her that it had more to do with JFK’s visit than with her,” he said.

“Did she buy it?”

“I think so.”

“Do you buy it?”

“Not sure about that, buddy boy,” he said.

“Okay, I think Jerry and I will take a ride out there so I can talk to her.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “She depends on you a lot, Eddie. And when Marilyn starts depending on you, you’ve really got your hands full. Believe me, I know.”

“Okay, Frank. We should be there in a couple of hours.”

“Plan on eatin’ and spendin’ the night, pal,” Frank said. “No arguments.”

“Sure, Frank,” I said. “No arguments.”

W
HEN WE GOT TO PALM SPRINGS
Marilyn hugged both of us—but I told myself she hugged me longer and harder.

We had cannelloni with her and Frank and then, while Frank took Jerry to see his Oscar, I sat outside by the pool with Marilyn. We weren’t dressed to go swimming. She was wearing jeans with the legs rolled up her shins and a short-sleeved top. I had on a sports shirt and some chinos. We sat facing each other on two lounge chairs.

“Heard you had some excitement last night,” I said.

“Is that why you came back?” she asked. “To see if I was a mess?”

“I came back to see if you were all right, Marilyn.”

“So you don’t have any news?”

“No, not really,” I said, “but we’ve got somebody workin’ on it with us. A professional.”

“Who?”

I didn’t want to tell her his name. She might have heard of Otash, which meant she might have heard some unflattering things.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s somebody who’s gonna work hard for us.”

“What about your friend, Danny? Any sign of him, yet?” she asked.

“No, not yet.”

She put her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

I put my hand over hers. “He’ll turn up,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Well, Frank thinks that the prowler last night had something to do with Jack’s visit.”

“He’s probably right, since that’s no secret to anyone.”

“Has anyone been around my house?”

“Not that we’ve seen,” I said.

“Are you staying in the main house?”

“No, out back.”

“Both of you?” her eyes went wide. “Why, that little house is barely big enough for Jerry. Eddie, you stay in my house.” Then she got excited, as if she’d just thought of something. She literally bounced up and down. “Sleep in my bed, Eddie!”

God, a week ago if someone had told me I’d hear those words from Marilyn Monroe …

“That’s okay, Marilyn—”

“Well, sleep on the sofa, then, it’s nice and big. I often curl up on it to watch TV and end up there all night.”

“I can do that,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her we thought her house was bugged, and that’s why we weren’t using it.

“How are you doin’ with Frank?”

“He’s being very sweet, but he’s real busy with the construction. I can’t believe all the work he’s doing. I hope the president appreciates it.”

“I hope so, too.”

“Eddie”—she moved her hand up and down my leg—”I know you’re doing a lot for me already, but could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course you can.” I put my hand on hers to stop hers from moving. I didn’t think she really knew what she was doing.

“It’s about Clark, and people saying I … I killed him.”

“I thought we talked about that, Marilyn.”

“I know, I know we did, but … could you go and talk to Kay for me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to find out if she blames me … for anything. I don’t care about the newspaper gossips, but I’d hate it if Kay thought badly of me. She and I got along so well on the set. We called Clark ‘our man.’ It would just kill me if she thought I’d ever hurt him.”

“Marilyn, why press it—”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed.

“Please, Eddie. I—I need this. I can’t sleep. I need to know she doesn’t blame me.”

She brought her other hand into play, grabbing mine in both of hers and moving it onto her leg, where she held it tightly.

“All right,” I said, helpless because of the pleading look in her eyes, “all right, I’ll go and talk to her.”

“Oh, Eddie, thank you.”

She threw herself at me, hugging me tightly, knocking me back onto the lounger with her on top of me. Little sister or not, I was very much aware that I had Marilyn Monroe’s braless breasts pressing tightly against me.

“Hey, what goes on out here?” Frank called out.

Marilyn was giggling as she got into a seated position. She adjusted herself and stood up.

“Eddie just made me a very happy woman,” she announced.

Frank looked at me and said, “That didn’t take very long.”

“Screw you, Frank,” I said. It felt good to laugh.

J
ERRY HAD A BEER
in one hand and what looked like bourbon in the other, while Frank held up highballs, one of which had a cherry in it.

“Me and Jerry decided we had to drink to good friends,” Frank said, handing Marilyn the drink with the cherry.

“Here ya go, Mr. G.,” Jerry said, handing me the bourbon.

“Thanks, Jerry,” I said, standing up and accepting the glass.

“There’s nothin’ like good friends,” Frank announced, holding his glass up.

“Here, here,” I said.

After toasting each other we sat and talked for a while. An hour or so later Marilyn decided to turn in. She kissed us each good night, but the kiss on Frank’s cheek could only be described as a peck. She kissed Jerry on the cheek, and hugged him around the neck, not letting him get up. Then she came to me and pressed her silky cheek to mine, then kissed me at the corner of my mouth. After a moment she looked me right in the eyes and said breathily, “Good night, Eddie.”

“Night, kid.”

She went off to bed and we had another drink. Then Jerry announced he was going to turn in.

“Want George to show you the way, Jerry?” Frank asked.

“No, thanks, Mr. S., I can find it. I just gotta walk past the plaque that says ‘President Kennedy Slept Here.’ Night Mr. G.”

“Night, Jerry.”

“Guess I’ll have to move that plaque when Jack sleeps in the new wing,” Frank said. “Want another drink, Eddie?”

“I think I’m done, Frank.”

“Aw, c’mon, one more. I wanna talk to you about a couple of things.”

“Okay, one more.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Frank said, getting up from his lounge chair and quickly going inside. He was back in a few moments with two drinks.

“What do you need, Frank?” I asked.

“This thing with Marilyn,” he said be fallin’ for you.”

“Aw, come on, Frank. I’m not a ballplayer, or a playwright, or … or you.”

“She don’t care about that,” he said. “Right now you’re the man in her life, the one she’s clinging to. I played that role for a while, but I couldn’t cut it. Joe D., he still tries even though they’re divorced. But it’s you, right now. Be careful.”

“Frank, I’m not gonna get involved with her. I mean, I’m not gonna sleep with her.”

He laughed. “How you gonna resist if she throws herself at you?”

“She’s too fragile, Frank,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt her, and I don’t know if I could handle her full time, you know?”

“Believe me, I know. Look, I’m just givin’ you a friendly warning. What you do is your business.”

“I appreciate it, Frank.”

Frank remained standing, looking out over the pool. I didn’t
know if he was staring at the construction work, or … just staring.

“Hey, Frank, what happened with that book you were readin’ last year? You were thinkin’ of makin’ it into a movie?” I tried lightening the mood.

“Which one?”

“The detective one.”

“Oh,
Miami Mayhem
, the one about the private eye, Tony Rome.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Well I’d like to make it, but it’s gonna have to wait. I got a lot of films comin’ up, and I’m readin’ this other book called
Von Ryan’s Express
that I’d really like to do, but …”

“But what?”

He looked at me.

“I’ve been makin’ movies left and right since
From Here to Eternity
. Most of them made money, some of them were even good. Guess I was thinkin’ make ‘em while I can, you know? Ya never know when it could all be taken away from you … again.”

I was uncomfortable. I’d never seen Frank anything but confident.

“Lately I’m thinkin’ I should just stick to what I do best, you know? I’m a saloon singer. Maybe I should leave the movies to other guys.”

“You can’t do that, Frank.”

“Why not?”

“People love your films,” I said. “Jesus, Some Came Running, Pal Joey, Johnny Concho—”

“
Concho
,” Frank said. “Wow, there was a stinker.”

“I like that movie!” I said indignantly.

“Really?”

“What about Guys and Dolls?”

“That was Brando’s movie.”

“
High Society
?”

“Fluff,” he said, “somebody wanted me and Crosby in a movie together, but who was lookin’ at us when Grace Kelly was on the screen?”

“Okay then,
The Man with the Golden Arm
. You were great in that!”

“Yeah, okay, that was a good one.”

“See? You gotta keep makin’ movies, Frank.”

“Well, a lot is gonna depend on the one I just finished.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s called
The Manchurian Candidate
. It’s a little different than anything else I’ve done. It’s got a message.”

He explained the plot to me and, of course, neither of us knew at the time that it would some day make a list of the top one hundred movies of all time.

“Sounds like a classic, Frank.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, laughing. “Like a bum like me could make a classic film.”

“What’s the difference then?” I asked. “You entertain people. You make them happy with your movies, and your records.”

“You’re makin’ me feel good, pally,” he said, laughing again.

“How’s it goin’ with Juliet?”

He looked into his drink. “She’s a sweet kid, but that’s not gonna work out.”

Great, I thought, now I had brought him down … again.

“And how’s Ava?”

“Ava’s Ava,” he said. “Gorgeous, and maddening. Maybe I should just stick to hookers and show girls, Eddie.”

“Frank—”

“Ya know, I think it’s time for me to turn in,” he said. “Thanks for listening, Eddie. You’re aces, ya know that, kid?”

“I should be aces, Frank,” I said, “I’m from Las Vegas.”

I
N THE MORNING WE
had breakfast together and, before Jerry and I left, I called Fred Otash’s office. I had to remind his girl who I was before she’d put me through.

“Mr. Gianelli,” he answered without saying hello, “I tried to call you last night.”

“I’m in Palm Springs.”

“Miss Monroe?”

“Yes.”

“Is she all right?”

“For now. Why were you lookin’ for me? Any news?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “just checking in, as I said I would. I have a couple of leads I’m going to follow up today. Will you be in later?”

“Should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll call you then.”

I hung up, told Jerry it was time to leave.

“Hopefully,” I said to Marilyn, “you’ll be able to go home soon.”

“I trust you, Eddie,” she said, hugging me.

As we drove away I hoped that I would end up being worthy of that trust.

“You promised you’d do what?” Jerry asked.

“I told Marilyn I’d go and talk to Clark Gable’s widow to see if she blamed Marilyn for Gable’s death.”

“And you think this woman is gonna agree to talk to you?”

“I don’t know, Jerry,” I said. “But I won’t know until I ask. I hope she will.”

“Well, better you than me,” Jerry said.

“Yeah,” I said, “what if Marilyn had looked at you with those big, beautiful eyes and begged you to help her?”

“Like I said,” Jerry replied, “better you than me.”

When we got on Highway 111 Jerry asked, “Where did Clark Gable live?”

“Encino,” I said. “Marilyn gave me the address.”

“When are we goin’?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I told her I’d do it, I didn’t say when.”

As we got off 405 Jerry asked, “Where is Encino from here?”

“It’s north, past Mulholland Drive. When we get to Ventura Boulevard, we’ll be there. Probably won’t take as long as it did to get from here to Palm Springs.”

“We goin’ now?”

“I’m a little tired of drivin’, aren’t you?”

“This car?” Jerry said. “Hey, I could drive it all day.”

“Usually, I could, too,” I said, “but right now I’m hungry and Otash is gonna give us a call later.”

“There’s a deli,” Jerry said.

“A corned beef sandwich sounds good.”

Jerry pulled over and we went inside. By the time we left we had two bags with sandwiches, fries and some cans of soda and beer. Within ten minutes we were sitting at the table in Marilyn’s guesthouse.

“I wonder if anybody’s been around here while we were gone?” he said.

“That’d be hard to know unless we were Daniel Boone and could read the ground.”

“I was just wonderin’—I mean, if the main house is bugged.”

“Well, either they’d have microphones in the house and a tape recorder nearby or maybe they’d have to come in and collect tapes.”

“I could tell if someone jimmied a lock or a window,” Jerry said.

“Why don’t you take a look, then?” I suggested. “I’ll wait by the phone.”

“Want me to make some coffee first?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll have another cream soda.” The beer was in the fridge for later.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll get to it as soon as I finish my second sandwich. This ain’t New York deli, but it ain’t half bad.”

“No, it isn’t.”

I
SAT ON THE SOFA
in the guesthouse, waiting for the phone to ring. I wasn’t looking forward to driving to Encino to see Kay Gable. It had been many months since Clark’s death, but that still didn’t mean she would easily talk about it. And what if she did blame Marilyn? How would I tell Marilyn that?