You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (3 page)

“Was it a tough shoot?” The film had been out almost a year, but I hadn’t seen it yet.

“Very tough. He insisted on doing his own stunts, even though he was sick.”

“Did everyone on the movie know he was sick?”

“No,” she said, “he kept it to himself. Even John Huston, the director, didn’t know.”

“So?”

“He suffered two heart attacks, and the second one killed him,” she said. Then she released my hands and covered her face. “They said it was all the stress on the set that killed him … that because I made him wait and wait … that I was responsible.”

Jesus, I thought, what a thing for her to have to live with.

I crouched in front of her again, took her in my arms to soothe her. There I was with everybody’s sex symbol and I felt like I was holding a child. If someone had told me even yesterday that I could hold Marilyn Monroe in my arms and not be aroused I’d have called them a liar. But all I could think was, this poor kid …

“Marilyn, come on … you just told me how hard a shoot it was.”

“Yes,” she said, “but the newspapers didn’t talk about that, didn’t talk about what John Huston had put him through … didn’t mention that he smoked three packs a day … or that
he’d lost forty pounds in a hurry to do the movie. No, it was all about me….”

“But you know that wasn’t true.”

“But it was,” she said, sitting back and dropping her hands. Tears made her face glisten, her eyes were wide with … with what? Fright? “He was like a father to me on that film, Eddie, and yet I made him wait and wait for me to get to the set … do you think I was trying to punish my father?”

Well, now it was clear that Marilyn had been under
some
sort of analysis, because a shrink had to have put that thought in her head.

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”

She made an
O
with her beautiful mouth and then said, “You don’t?”

Okay,
now
I was excited.

I got back into my chair and crossed my legs.

“Marilyn, do you think maybe it’s reporters following you?”

“It could be,” she said, “but they come right at me with flash-bulbs going off. Oh, some of them hide behind trees, try to catch me sun bathing in the nude, or swimming, you know … but this is different.” She looked horrified then and added, “This is …
sinister!”

I studied her face for a few moments, no hardship while I did some quick thinking. What was it Dean thought I could do for her? See if she was being tailed?

“Are you planning to stop in Reno, or Vegas?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “I have no reason to go to Reno, and I—I don’t like Vegas. Frank just said I could stay here for a while, to … to get away.”

“And do you think you were followed here?”

She looked down.

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, Eddie.”

“I don’t think that, Marilyn.”

“I felt there was someone on the plane with me, and then at
the airport. Since I got here two days ago I haven’t gone out … I haven’t even gone near the windows, so … I don’t know if anyone is … out there.”

I resisted the urge to go and look out the window.

“How much longer will you be here?” I asked.

“A couple of days,” she said. “I—I have to get back, I’m buying a house.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

She didn’t answer, but rushed across the room and came back with a script, which she handed me.

“And I’m reading this,” she said. “I’m supposed to make it with Dean, and Cyd Charisse.”

Yikes, I thought, Cyd Charisse and Marilyn in the same movie? Where’s a guy supposed to look? I checked out the title page:
Something’s Got to Give
. It had screenplay by Arnold Shulman and Nunnally Johnson printed on it.

“It’s being rewritten again, but it’s a remake of the Cary Grant and Irene Dunne film
My Favorite Wife.”

I vaguely recalled the film. I’ve never understood the necessity of remakes. Wasn’t there enough new stuff out there waiting to be made?

“Anyway,” she said, taking the script back, “I didn’t want to do it, but I owe the studio a picture, and I’ll get to work with George again.”

I found out later that “George” was George Cukor, with whom she’d worked once before. I also found out that she’d been talked into doing the movie by the same people who talked her into buying a house alone. Marilyn could be talked into things.

She could probably also be talked out of things, like the idea she was being watched. But first I had to make sure she wasn’t.

“Eddie,” she asked, after putting the script back where she’d gotten it from, “can you help me?”

What could I say?

I stood up.

“Let me see what I can find out, Marilyn,” I said. “Meanwhile, you relax here and read your script. Keep doing what you’ve been doing. Don’t go out and don’t go near the windows.”

“Oh, Eddie,” she gasped. She hugged me, laying her head against my chest. I put my arms around her. The scent of her filled my nostrils. I felt like a sinner and a saint at the same time. Millions of men would have willingly changed places with me at that moment.

“It’ll be okay, kid,” I said.

“I know,” she said, squeezing me tightly. “I feel as safe with you as I did with Robert Mitchum in the Canadian Rockies when we were shooting
River of No Return.”

Huh, I thought, Robert Mitchum. I guess it could’ve been worse.

“You bastard,” I said to Dean when I got back in the car.

“I told you,” he said.

“You still could’ve warned me.”

“I had to let you see for yourself,” he said. “She’s more than just a hot broad, isn’t she? She’s more than just Marilyn Monroe.”

“Yeah,” I said, “she’s more—a helluva lot more. Now let’s get back to Vegas. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

“My man, Eddie G!” Dean said happily. “You’re gonna help her?”

“I’m gonna help her,” I said, “but first I gotta take a cold shower.”

B
ACK IN VEGAS, DRIVING
from McCarron Airport to the Sands, I asked Dean about his relationship with Marilyn.

“I met her before Joe DiMaggio, and before Frank did. It was back in ‘53, when I was still making films with Jerry. She was a sweet kid. She’s still a sweet kid, Eddie, but there’s something … broken about her. She’s been taken advantage of … a lot! I’ll really appreciate it if you can help her. Even if you just ease her mind some.”

“What about this new picture she’s supposed to make with you?” I asked.
“Something’s Got to Give?”

“Jesus, what a mess,” he said, shaking his head. He lit a cigarette, let the smoke drift out his nose, then held the cigarette between the first two fingers of his right hand. “I’d love to make a film with Marilyn and Cyd, but this one’s a mess. We’re on our second producer and third writer. Everybody involved with this film feels trapped.”

“Including you?”

“Hell, not me, pally,” he said, picking a piece of tobacco from his tongue, “I don’t even think it’s gonna get made.”

“Why not?”

“Because as soon as they try to replace Marilyn,” he said, “I’m gonna walk.”

When we reached the Sands, Dean went to see if the guys had checked in.

“You gonna rehearse?” I asked.

He laughed. “Pally, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that. And don’t forget, we’re havin’ dinner tonight with Frank and Sammy. Nine sharp. Be out front, we’ll pick you up in a limo.”

In the lobby of the Sands we split up. I didn’t have an office of my own, so whenever I needed to sit down and use a phone I’d go to Marcia Clarkson’s office. Marcy—which was what her friends called her—made sure everybody at the Sands got paid.

As I entered her office, she pointed without looking and said, “Use that desk over there.”

“What makes you think I need—”

She looked up at me and smiled. She was pretty, with frizzy hair and thick glasses. We’d dated a few times and, when she was dressed for the evening, she was downright beautiful. We never clicked romantically, but stayed friends—even after I introduced her to my buddy, Danny Bardini. He was a bigger player than I was and had the added cachet of being a private eye.
77 Sunset Strip, Peter Gunn
and
Hawaiian Eye
had made private eyes cool and romantic.

“Eddie, you never come to my office just to say hello, do you?”

“Well … no, but I’ll start.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, “right after today.”

I stopped to kiss the top of her head and then went to the desk she’d offered. Dialing Danny Bardini’s number, I reminded myself to keep my voice down. Even though she’d stayed friends with me, Marcy’s opinion of Danny wasn’t very high. That was
because he’d slept with her before deciding to move on. I keep telling myself it pays to be a gentleman.

“Bardini Investigations,” Penny O’Grady answered.

“You haven’t quit on him yet?” I asked.

“Have you got a job for me at the Sands?”

“Of course.”

“One where I don’t have to wear fishnets?”

“Well …”

“What do you need, Eddie?”

“The man, if he’s there.”

“Hold on.”

After a click Danny said, “Hey, buddy, what’s shakin’?”

“I’m gonna tell you, Danny, but you’ve got to promise you won’t go off the deep end.”

“Uh-oh,” he said, “one of your big stars in trouble again?”

“Maybe.”

“And you need ol’ Danny Boy to help clean it up,” he said. “I’m there, ol’ buddy. Which one we talkin’ about? Frank? Dino?”

“Well, Dino asked me to help a friend of his.”

“He’s the coolest cat on earth,” Danny said. “Count me in. Who’s the pal?”

I hesitated. Did I really want Danny in on this? That was the question. The answer was, who else could I trust?

“Marilyn Monroe.”

Silence on the other end.

“Danny?”

“I’m here,” he said, “I’m just tryin’ to think if I heard you right.”

“You did.”

“I get to meet her?”

“If you’re professional about it,” I said. I used Dean’s word. “She’s pretty fragile.”

“She remember you from last year?” he asked. I’d told him about my one meeting with her.

“That’s why Dean called me in,” I said.

“What’s his relationship with her?”

“He’s known her a long time,” I said. “They’re friends.”

“And not like Frank and she were friends, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, kiddo, fill me in.”

I told him about my meeting with Marilyn that morning, and about the promises I made.

“Doesn’t sound like you promised much more than that you’d try,” Danny said. “She okay with that?”

“She was when I left her,” I said.

“Okay, where do you want me? Vegas, or Tahoe?”

“Tahoe,” I said. “Nose around, see if anybody’s watching her cottage. I’ll check the airport here, see if anyone was on her when she came in.”

He knew my contacts at the airport were as good as his, maybe better, so he agreed.

“I’ll get right on it, kid,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks, Danny.”

“You’ll get my bill.”

“Yeah, right.”

I wish he
would
bill me when he helped. I’d have the Sands pay him.

I broke the connection without hanging up, then called somebody I knew in security at McCarron Airport. I explained what I needed from him.

“Well, there sure were a bunch of folks watching that broad walk through the airport, Eddie,” Ted Silver said. “I don’t know how we could tell which one was followin’ her.”

“Do me a big favor, Teddy,” I said. “I’d check with the cabbies myself but I’m jugglin’ a lot of stuff here.”

“I’m pretty busy, too, Eddie.”

“Come on, be a pal,” I said. “We’ve got a new blackjack dealer I think you might be able to handle.”

“And I get the name after I do you this favor?”

“And tickets to a show, if you want.”

“Sammy Davis this week?”

“I think I can do that. Actually, all three of them are here this week.”

“Them other two guys are okay, but that Sammy. He’s the best, and I ain’t never seen him live.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

“Okay, Eddie,” he said, “lemme see what I can scare up for ya.”

“Great, Teddy. Thanks.”

I hung up and saw Marcy looking at me like I was crazy. I guess my voice must have gotten louder during the conversation.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you nuts?”

“Why?”

“You’re gonna trust Danny Bardini around Marilyn Monroe?”

“Hey,” I said, “if he couldn’t handle you, he’s not going to be able to handle her.”

“Me?”

I walked behind her desk and leaned down to gather her into my arms.

“I’ve been alone in a room with Marilyn, and alone in a room with you,” I whispered in her ear. “You’ve got it all over her.”

“Me?”

“You.”

I kissed her cheek. She blushed scarlet.

“Get out of here, Eddie,” she said.

I
STOPPED AT JACK
Entratter’s office to check in. His girl gave me a nod and told me to go ahead. She had never liked me and still didn’t. I had learned to live with the disappointment.

“Eddie,” Jack said, from behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

I sat and asked, “Your nephew get in okay?”

“Yeah, the boy’s here,” he said. “He’s visiting with my mother right now. What’s goin’ on with you and Dean?”

“Dean took me to Tahoe to see a friend of his.”

He held up his hand before I could continue.

“And you’re not gonna tell me who the friend is, are you?”

Dean hadn’t told me not to, but it had become a habit with me to keep the Rat Pack’s business to myself—even with Entratter. Besides, it had been my experience Jack always knew more than he was letting on.

“No, sir.”

“You know, Eddie,” he said. “This is about the only time I don’t admire your loyalty.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood up. “I’ve got some things to do, so—”

“Sit down, Eddie,” Entratter said. “I’ve got somethin’ to talk to you about.”

I sat back down.

“What’s up, Jack?”

“You got a call while you were out,” he said. “I took it.”

“So?”

“It was from Brooklyn.”