“Okay, but make it quick.”
She smiled at me and asked, “Have you met me?”
“Uh-”
She pushed me. “Get out now, and let me get ready.”
I got out of her bedroom and went to the kitchen where Jerry had made coffee.
“Thought we’d have breakfast out,” he said, “but this’ll get us started.”
We sat at the table, had a cup each, and then another, while we waited, like many directors and costars and crew had waited in the past, for Marilyn Monroe.
After we got on 10 we told Marilyn where we were going and why.
“So you really do think I’m in danger?” she asked.
“Don’t sound so relieved,” I said.
“It’s just … nobody has ever believed me before,” she said. “I mean … not about much of anything. Especially not when I say I’m sick, or that I’m being watched, or followed. Nothing.” When she said “nothing” she shrugged her shoulders and her voice went way up at the end, almost like Betty Boop’s.
Marilyn was in the back and I was turned in the passenger seat so I could talk to her. The wind was blowing her hair, but she told us not to put the top up.
“Does Frank know we’re coming?” she asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “We’re gonna stop along the way and call. If he tells us not to come-”
“He won’t,” she said.
She seemed positive, even though their relationship had ended some time ago and Frank had since moved on to Juliet Prowse.
“I’m gonna pull up at this service station for gas,” Jerry said. “You can use the phone here.”
“Good.”
“I can call him,” Marilyn said.
“No,” I said, “I’ll do it.” I thought having her call would be pushing it.
While I went to the phone Marilyn stayed in the backseat and Jerry stood outside the car, leaning against it with his arms folded. He never took his eyes off the highway. He wanted to see if we were being followed. I promised Marilyn I’d bring her a Coke.
George Jacobs answered on the fourth ring. He had been Frank’s “man” for many years. We’d met but I didn’t know if he’d remember.
“George, this is Eddie Gianelli. I, uh, work at the Sands-”
“I know who you are, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to Frank.”
“What is it about?”
“Marilyn Monroe.”
“Mr. Gianelli, Mr. Sinatra ended that romantic entanglement-”
“This isn’t about romance,” I said. “It’s about life and death.” A little dramatic, maybe, but I thought it would do the trick.
“Please wait,” George said.
I waited. After a few minutes Frank came on the line.
“Hey, Eddie! Sorry, man, I’m supervising the construction, ya know? For Jack’s visit? Hey, where are ya?”
“On 10, halfway between L.A. and Palm Springs, Frank. I’ve got Marilyn and Jerry with me.”
“Jerry? Lewis?”
“Epstein.”
“Oh, Big Jerry. Yeah, George told me you said something about Marilyn. You know, Eddie, bringin’ her here, that’s gonna be uncomfortable …”
“I would’ve taken her to Dino’s, but I don’t think he’s home, and Jeannie, she probably wouldn’t-”
“What’s goin’ on, Eddie?”
I told Frank that Marilyn was bring watched-we had proof of that-and that Danny had disappeared.
“And this has something to do with Marilyn?”
“It has to.”
“So she really is being watched?”
“And probably followed.”
“The poor kid,” Frank said. “Yeah, Eddie, bring her here. By all means. I hope the noise doesn’t bother her but, yeah, I’ll have George get a room ready for her.”
“Okay, Frank. Thanks.”
“You and Jerry, you’ll stay for some spaghetti?” he asked hopefully. Frank really liked playing the role of host.
My first instinct was to say no, we had to turn right around and go back, but I knew Jerry would kill me.
“Sure, Frank. Sounds good. Thanks.”
“See ya soon, Eddie.”
When I got back to the car I handed Marilyn her bottle of Coke and went to stand by Jerry.
“Whataya think?”
“I don’t see nobody,” Jerry said. “Didn’t see nobody in the rearview mirror, either.”
“You think we got away from L.A. without bein’ followed?” I asked.
“Either that,” Jerry said, “or they’re really, really good at it. What did Mr. S. say?”
“He said bring her.”
“I told you he would,” Marilyn said, drinking from the straw stuck in the bottle.
I looked at her. “We should be there in about half an hour. Frank said he hoped the construction won’t bother you.”
“It won’t.”
“You get gas?” I asked Jerry. “All done.”
“Let’s go, then.”
We got back into the car.
“You didn’t want a Coke, did you?” I asked Jerry.
“No.”
He started the car and I turned in my seat to see if any of the customers at the pumps were paying us any attention.
“Is everything all right, Eddie?” Marilyn asked, putting her hand on my shoulder. There was a look of concern on her face that I wanted to wipe away. Sometimes, when she looked at me with those eyes, that was all I wanted to do.
“So far,” I said, patting her hand, “everything’s fine.”
But Jerry was right about one thing. Suddenly Marilyn was like a kid sister.
I hated me, too.
Twenty-eight
Frank was spending thousands. He was building an additional wing of guest suites, installing extra telephones and-as Dean had told me earlier-had put in a helipad. Somehow Frank had gotten it into his head that his house would become the Western White House.
As we turned into the drive an expensive red sports car coming the other way almost hit us. Only Jerry’s reflexes avoided the collision. I saw a woman driving, thought I recognized her.
We drove up through the construction and saw George waving to us. Jerry pulled up right in front of George, who made a stopping gesture with both hands. Then he ran over and opened the back door for Marilyn.
“Hello, Miss Monroe. Welcome back.” He spoke loudly because of the jackhammering that was going on. The air was thick with dust.
“Hello, Georgie,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
I guess I should have figured that she’d been there before, but this was the first time I was sure of it.
“I have a room ready for you,” George said. “Your suitcase?”
“In the trunk,” she said. “I have three.”
And that was only because I wouldn’t let her bring two others.
“I’ll get the bags,” Jerry said.
I hung back so I could carry one. By the time we caught up, Frank was embracing Marilyn rather awkwardly.
“Hey, kid,” Frank said, “how ya doin’?”
“I’m okay, Frank.”
“George fixed up a room,” he said. “Why don’t you go and freshen up? Then we’ll eat.”
“Okay.”
“I can take that,” George said, grabbing the bag I was holding. He led Marilyn into the house and Jerry followed with the other two bags.
Behind me the hammering suddenly stopped. Up here by the main house the dust wasn’t as thick.
“What a mess, huh?” Frank asked. “I had to cover the pool to keep the dust outta the water. Whataya think of the place?”
“It looks great, Frank.”
“Come ‘ere,” he said, pulling me over to the other side of the deck. “See it?”
From there I could see the concrete helipad.
“Impressive. Hey, was that Ava Gardner I saw tearin’ out of here in a red sports car?”
“Oh, yeah
,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Ava was here when you called.”
“She looked pretty mad,” I said. “She almost hit us. Are you … gettin’ back together? What happened to Juliet?”
“Juliet is still in the picture,” Frank said, “but me and Ava, we’re always gonna be in each other’s lives. We can’t live without each other, but we also can’t live together.”
“So what was she so mad about?”
“Marilyn,” Frank said. “I told her you were bringin’ Marilyn. She flipped.”
“I didn’t know, Frank,” I said. “I’m sorry. You should’ve told me on the phone.”
“Don’t sweat it, Eddie. The kid needs help and I’m gonna give it to her. Ava’ll have to get over it.”
“And Juliet?”
He laughed.
“What Juliet don’t know won’t hurt her. Now, come on. We got spaghetti to eat.”
Twenty-nine
Marilyn watched in awe as Jerry ate more spaghetti than the three of us combined.
“Oh, my God, Jerry,” she said.
He looked up at her puzzled, then sheepish. “I, um, was hungry, Miss M.”
“And this was only lunch,” she said, looking at Frank, and then me. “What’s he going to do for dinner?”
“I’ll have to worry about that back in L.A.,” I said.
“Do you have to drive right back?” Frank asked. “I have plenty of rooms. You can break in the building.”
“JFK’s wing?” I asked.
“It’s not his until he gets here.”
“When is he coming?” Marilyn asked.
“Not for a few weeks,” Frank said. “I’ve got to get all the work done before he comes.”
“Well,” I said, “we can’t stay. We have to find out what happened to Danny.”
“Do you need any other help?” Frank asked.
I jerked my head at Frank, signaling him to follow me away from the table, leaving Marilyn to watch Jerry eat.
“Frank, I just need you to keep Marilyn safe. I don’t think we were followed, but I don’t know who we’re dealin’ with.”
“I’ve got a couple of bodyguards on full time, Eddie, but I’ll add a few more.”
“Good. I hope it won’t take too long, but-”
“But you really don’t know what you’re doin’,” Frank finished.
“I’m not a detective, Frank, and Jerry, well, he’s …”
“Jerry.”
“Right.”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Wait here.”
He went off somewhere into the house, came back and handed me a business card.
“Fred Otash?” I asked. “I know that name.”
“They call him the Hollywood PI,” Frank said.
“Okay, yeah,” I said. “I remember now. I heard Dean mention him once.”
“He’s supposed to be good,” Frank said. “I haven’t used him, but somebody gave me his card at a party, or something and I threw it in a drawer. I don’t remember who gave it to me.”
I didn’t totally believe that. If he’d tossed it in a drawer when somebody gave it to him, how would he have been able to find it so quickly? But if he didn’t want to tell me something, that was his business.
“Okay,” I said, “if I decide I need help I’ll give him a call.”
“And keep in touch. Lemme know what’s happening.”
“You’ve got enough going on here, Frank.”
“You said it. I just want it to be perfect for Jack, ya know?” he said. “But I do need a distraction once in a while.”
I wondered if that was why Ava had been there, as a distraction.
We went back to the table and I said, “Hey, Jerry, you done?”
“Done,” he said, then added, “for now. Thanks for the spaghetti, Mr. S.”
“Sure thing, Big Jer.”
He and Frank headed for the door. I hung back and took Marilyn’s hand. We walked to the door slowly.
“You’ll be okay here for a while,” I said. “It may be awkward with Frank-”
“It’s okay, Eddie,” she said. “I know Frank is done with me.”
“Like I said, it’ll only be for a while. But do me a favor, will you?”
“What?”
“Don’t call anybody, don’t tell anybody where you are.”
“Not even my agent?”
“Call your agent once, tell him you’re okay and you’ll be in touch,” I explained. “Don’t make any other calls. Not to anyone!”
“You think somebody may be … listening?” she asked. “You think Frank’s being … bugged?”
Actually, I was afraid she was being bugged-her house, her agent-but given Frank’s involvement with JFK she might have a point.
“No matter who’s listening … just don’t call anyone, and don’t talk to anyone on the phone but me … or Jerry.”
“Jerry’s so sweet.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “he’s just a great big teddy bear.”
At the door she gave the great big teddy bear a hug and a kiss, then kissed me and whispered in my ear, “Thank you.”
Thirty
What do you think about hiring a PI?” I asked Jerry.
“For what?”
“To help find Danny.”
We were on Route 111, heading for 10. The ride back to L.A. gave us time to talk about the situation.
“You wanna hire a PI to find a PI?” Jerry asked. “That don’t seem outta line.”
“No?”
“Mr. G.,” he said, “you ain’t a PI, and I don’t know nothin’ about L.A. We need help.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“But who you gonna get?”
“Well, if Penny was in Danny’s office we’d ask her who he uses here,” I said.
“I guess we shoulda looked while we was there.”
“Frank gave me a business card for Fred Otash.”
“Hey, I know that name.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of famous out here,” I said.
“No,” he said, “there’s a newspaper in the backseat. I took it from Miss. M.’s place.”
I reached back on the seat and brought it up front.
“There’s an ad in there, someplace.”
I started leafing through the pages and found what he was talking about.
The top line said: “It is important to choose your investigator with as much care as you choose your doctor or lawyer.”
“Do we want somebody that famous?” Jerry asked.
I closed the newspaper and tossed it back onto the rear seat.
“We don’t know who we’re dealin’ with, Jerry. Secret Service, FBI, Mafia-”
“You think Mr. Giancana is buggin’ Miss M.? Why?” he asked, quick to defend.
“My point is we don’t know, Jerry,” I said. “What we need is somebody who can find out, somebody connected, and if he happens to be famous I guess we’ll have to live with that.”
Jerry shrugged. “It’s up to you, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m just here to back you up.”
“You do more than that, Jerry, believe me.”
He took a quick look away from the traffic and at me.
“Thanks, Mr. G.”
“Sure.”
We drove for a while, then stopped for gas again near West Covina because Jerry didn’t like to let the needle go below the halfway point. He said that was the way dirt got into the lines.
While we stood there waiting for the attendant to fill the tank I said, “Let’s go back to that motel first. Maybe we’ll find that clerk, or the maid, and learn something from them.”
“Fine with me,” Jerry said. “You find me that clerk and I’ll make him talk.”
“That I’d like to see, Jerry,” I said, “especially after that man looked right through me and lied about ever meeting me.”
“We’ll get the truth out of him, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “I guarantee it.”
I paid for the gas while Jerry got back in the car. When I tur
ned to get in I saw something familiar. After I’d slammed the door Jerry said, “I saw it, too.”
“Blue Chrysler?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Looks like two men in the front seat. It’s been behind us since we got on this highway-what is it, 10?”
“They didn’t follow us from L.A.?”
“No.”
“Then how the hell did they get onto us comin’ back?”
“I don’t know,” Jerry said. “Maybe at Mr. S.’s?”
“Shit, I hope not,” I said. “That means we’ll have to go back and get Marilyn.”
“Mr. S. has construction guys, bodyguards, and George there all the time,” Jerry pointed out. “She’ll be safe.”
“Yeah, and so far all they’ve been doin’ is watchin’ her-whoever they are.”
“So what do we do?”
I looked at him and said, “Let’s find out who these bastards are.”
Thirty-one
Jerry made sure the blue Chrylser didn’t lose us on 10. When we got on to 405 to go to Brentwood I started wondering where we could take those guys.
On San Vicente I told Jerry, “Bypass Marilyn’s.”
“Where we goin’?”
“To the country club.”
“Oh, goody.”
The Brentwood Country Club was always busy. The beautiful people needed their recreation. But you couldn’t just drive in, you had to stop at the guard’s gate and identify yourself. When we pulled in, there were two cars ahead of us. Our tail didn’t know where we were going so they turned in to follow. Before they knew it they were in line, a car in front and a car behind.
“Come on,” Jerry said.
He was out of the car with his.45 in his fist before I could stop him. I ran after him, hoping that the two guys in the car weren’t cops.
Jerry got to the car before they could react. He opened the driver’s side and yanked the guy out, showed the passenger his gun.
“Don’t!” he said, in case the second guy was planning to pull a gun.
I got to the passenger side just as the guy put his hands up. I did a quick frisk-as I had seen done plenty of times in the movies-and came up with a gun.
“One here, too,” Jerry said, releasing the driver so abruptly he staggered. He tossed the guy’s gun into the backseat, so I did the same.
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