‘So she’s a drunk?’
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but I think her problems go further than just drying out.’
‘You try to talk to her about it?’
‘I called her a couple of times, but we got into fights,’ he said. ‘But if I could see her face to face . . . maybe I could get her to open up.’ He looked at me. ‘Or maybe you can.’
‘Me? She doesn’t even know me.’
‘I think I mentioned you to her once or twice,’ he said. ‘And you’re good with people, Eddie. You’re real good. Look what you did for Marilyn.’
‘I got there too late,’ I said. In answer to her call I’d driven the night she died from Vegas to L.A. to see Marilyn but there were cops all over there when I arrived.
‘We were all too late for Marilyn, Eddie,’ Frank said. ‘Too little, or too late. But I don’t want that to be the case with Ava.’
‘I understand, Frank,’ I said. ‘I’ll do what I can. I promise.’
‘Thanks, Eddie,’ he said. ‘Thanks a lot.’
TEN
When I got to the airport in L.A. I met with security man Ben Hoff, he of the gruff voice, a big, beefy guy in his thirties who pumped my hand enthusiastically. He had black hair that was soaked with Brylcreem.
‘Glad to meet ya, Eddie,’ he said. ‘Real glad.’
‘Did you find me a cab driver, Ben?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I found the guy who picked her up,’ he said. ‘Come on. When you called me from McCarran I got ahold of him and made him wait in the security office. He’s a little pissed off, but I told him it would be worth his while.’
‘How worth his while?’
‘Fifty should do it.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’
Maybe I should have taken some expense money from Frank, after all.
Hoff walked me to the security office where a small, middle-aged man was sitting on a stool, his knees bouncing up and down with anxiety.
‘Hey, Ben,’ he said, popping to his feet when he saw Hoff, ‘come on, I gotta make a livin’.’
‘Take it easy, Larry,’ Hoff said, ‘this is the fella I was tellin’ you about. Wants ta talk to you.’
‘My name’s Eddie Gianelli, Larry,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to find Ava Gardner. Ben tells me she was in your cab this morning.’
Larry’s eyes narrowed and took on a crafty glint in his eyes.
‘She mighta been,’ he said. ‘I get lots of broads in my cab.’
‘Yeah, well this one you’d remember, wouldn’t you?’ I asked.
I looked at Ben Hoff, who nodded at me.
I took a fifty from my wallet and held it out to Larry.
‘That’s all I get?’ the cab driver asked.
‘Take it, Larry,’ Hoff snapped.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Larry said, snatching the bill from my hand, ‘so she was in my cab.’
‘Where did you take her?’
He hesitated.
‘Larry!’ Hoff said.
‘I drove her to the Beverly Hills Hotel.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘take me there.’
‘For how much?’
‘The going rate,’ I said, ‘plus twenty bucks.’
‘I’m your man,’ Larry said. He grabbed my suitcase from my hand. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Thanks, Ben,’ I said, shaking the security man’s hand.
‘Anytime, Eddie.’
‘See you in Vegas,’ I said, and followed the cabbie.
Larry stopped his cab in front of the hotel and hesitated before getting out.
‘Did you wait to see her walk in?’ I asked.
‘Well . . . I watched her walk, if that’s what ya mean,’ Larry said. ‘Come on, it’s Ava Gardner, right? So yeah, I saw her go in.’
‘OK.’ I grabbed my suitcase and started to get out.
‘You want me to wait?’ he asked. ‘You’re gonna need wheels, right?’
‘Yeah, I might,’ I said. I paid the fare, gave him the extra twenty, and then another ten. ‘OK, wait. And keep the meter running.’
‘Sure thing!’
I got out of the cab, hesitated, then decided to leave my overnight bag. Even if Larry took off on me, there wasn’t anything of value in there anyway.
I walked up to the front door and entered, crossed the lobby to the front desk.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ a polite, impeccably dressed desk clerk asked.
‘Yes, could you tell me what room or bungalow Miss Ava Gardner is in?’
‘Sir?’
‘Ava Gardner.’
‘I don’t believe Miss Gardner is in the hotel, sir,’ the man said.
‘I think she is,’ I said. ‘I just spoke to a cab driver who brought her here from the airport.’
‘Sir,’ the clerk said, ‘even if she was here it’s against hotel policy—’
I was tempted to invoke Frank’s name, but five minutes after I spoke it, it probably would have made it into the newspaper.
If Ava was registered under an assumed name, and I knew that name, maybe that would have gotten me further.
‘OK,’ I said, ‘thanks.’
I searched the lobby and found the public phones. I called Jack Entratter in Vegas.
‘You in trouble already?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I just need you to ask Frank something for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If Ava used an assumed name to register at a hotel, what does he think it would be?’
‘That’s what you want to know?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Beverly Hills Hotel, but I’m on a pay phone. Here’s the number.’
‘I’ll call you back the minute I find out somethin’,’ he said.
‘OK. I’m gonna check the bungalows, but I should be in the lobby or the bar when the phone rings.’
‘Frank’s in the building,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be long.’
‘Thanks Jack.’
ELEVEN
My plan had been to go out to the bungalows and look around, but that could have gotten me arrested as a peeping tom.
Instead, I decided to go into the bar, have a drink, and wait. But first I went back out to the cab.
‘I’m gonna be longer than I thought,’ I told Larry. ‘You want to come in and have a drink in the bar?’
‘In there?’ he asked. ‘Where the movie stars drink? Sure thing!’
‘OK,’ I said, as he got out of his cab, ‘but turn off the meter.’
‘Aw, Mr Gianelli,’ he said, ‘you didn’t think I’d leave it runnin’, didja?’
‘No, of course not,’ I said, ‘and my name’s Eddie G., Larry.’
‘OK, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
We went into the building, entered the Polo Lounge and sat at the bar. Right off the bat I spotted Debbie Reynolds having lunch with somebody. Howard Duff and Ida Lupino were at a corner table, Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme in a booth. I had to keep Larry rooted to his stool so he didn’t charge anybody.
‘You’re a cab driver in Hollywood,’ I said. ‘I would think this was old hat to you.’
‘You kiddin’?’ he asked. ‘A star’s a star, man.’
‘Eddie?’
I turned and saw Joey Bishop walking toward me. There was a woman behind him, but all I could see was blonde hair and a shapely figure.
‘Hey, Eddie G.,’ he said. ‘What’re you doin’ out of Vegas?’
I got off my stool and shook hands with him.
‘They let me out once in a while, Joe.’
‘What are ya doin’ here?’ he asked.
‘I’m here on some Sands business, Joe,’ I said.
‘Trackin’ down some bad debts?’
‘You got it. Oh, this is my friend, Larry.’
‘Hey, Larry,’ Joey said, shaking hands. He stepped aside so we could see the woman behind him. I found myself looking at the second most beautiful overbite I’d ever seen this side of G
ene Tierney.
‘This is my TV wife, Abby Dalton. We were just gonna have lunch. Honey, this is Eddie Gianelli, and his friend, Larry.’
‘Geez,’ Larry said, staring at Abby.
‘The famous Eddie G.,’ Abby said, with a dazzling smile. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Miss Dalton—’
‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘any friend of my TV husband’s is a friend of mine. You call me Abby. In fact, you can call me any time you want.’
‘Hey, hey,’ Joey said, ‘no fair flirtin’ right in front of your husband.’
Joey pulled Abby away from me.
‘Can you have a bite with us?’ she asked.
‘I’m sorry, no,’ I said. ‘I’m, uh, waiting for somebody.’
‘It was good to see you, Eddie.’
‘You too, Joey,’ I said. ‘Hey, Abby, if you ever get to Vegas—’
‘I was born in Vegas, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Next time I come to see my folks I’ll look you up.’
‘You do that.’
As they walked away to a table Larry said, ‘Damn, that babe was comin’ on to ya. That happen a lot?’
‘Once in a while,’ I said.
‘Maybe,’ he said, when we had our drinks – a couple of beers – ’we should go look by the pool? Maybe Miss Gardner’s there? Or some other movie stars?’
‘Relax, Larry,’ I said. ‘It’s lunch time. They’ll be flocking in here pretty soon.’
‘I could just go up to Debbie Reynolds and ask—’
‘No,’ I said, ‘leave her alone. She’s doin’ business. Like most of these people.’
‘Hey, Eddie!’
I turned and got a quick kiss on the cheek from Eydie Gorme.
‘We’ve got to run, Eddie,’ Steve Lawrence said, ‘but we wanted to say hi.’
‘Hey, Steve,’ I said, ‘I love Go Away Little Girl.’ He had a number one hit that year with that song.
‘Thanks a lot, Eddie.’
I gave Eydie a squeeze and shook Steve’s hand and they went on their way.
‘Geez, everybody know you?’ Larry asked.
‘No,’ I said, ‘just some.’
I was starting to feel dumb about using the pay phone. There was no guarantee I’d hear it, or that anyone would pick it up when it rang. And if someone did answer it, would they come looking for me? I should have had Jack call me at the front desk. Then they could have paged me, which might have given me some credence with the desk clerk.
‘If a movie star walks in,’ Larry said, ‘maybe they can help ya find her?’
‘You think all movie stars know each other, Larry?’ I asked.
‘Hell, Mr G.,’ he said, ‘Hollywood’s a small town. Yeah, everybody knows everybody. Look how many know you? And you ain’t from here.’
‘Wait here,’ I told Larry. ‘Have another beer. I’m gonna make a phone call.’
‘Sure.’
I put money on the bar to cover the drinks, then went back out into the lobby.
I was walking towards the pay phone to call Jack again when it rang. I stepped in, closed the door and answered.
‘Eddie?’
‘Hey, Jack.’
‘Frank says when Ava was first put under contract the studio wanted to call her Lucy Johnson, but she wouldn’t go for it. She insisted on using her real name. But she uses Johnson sometimes as an alias.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll try that. Listen, if you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes call me at the hotel and have the desk page me.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m just trying to raise my profile here, Jack,’ I said. ‘Being paged in the Polo Lounge will do that.’
‘I didn’t know you went in for that sort of thing, Eddie.’
‘Just call me.’
‘I’ll have my girl do it.’
‘She won’t,’ I said. ‘She hates me.’
‘We’ll take care of it,’ Jack said, and hung up.
TWELVE
‘Who?’ the clerk asked.
‘Lucy Johnson,’ I repeated. ‘Do you have a Lucy Johnson registered?’
The man looked confused.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘It’s not that hard a question to answer.’
‘Um, I’ll check, sir.’
‘You do that.’
He checked his registration records, even though I knew he didn’t have to.
‘Look,’ I said, as he started to sweat, ‘call your manager. I’ll talk to him.’
Relieved, he said, ‘Yes, sir.’
He picked up his phone, dialed three numbers and said, ‘Mr Gentry, I need you out here. Yes, sir, it’s very important.’
He hung up and looked at me.
‘He’s comin’ right out.’
‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ I asked.
‘No, sir,’ he said, ‘but I’m just tryin’ to do my job, sir.’
‘Ain’t we all?’ I asked.
I saw three more celebrities walk through the lobby while we waited for the manager. I knew them by sight, they didn’t know me, at all. One of them was that guy who played in the TV. western Sugarfoot. Will Hutchins, that was it. Another one was the guy with the mustache from Hawaiian Eye. Used to be all you saw in the Beverly Hills Hotel lobby was movie stars. At least, that’s what I heard.
When the Manager appeared he was older and, if possible, more dapper than the desk clerk. It was easy to see this was in the desk clerk’s future.
‘What is it, Leon?’ he asked the clerk.
‘Um, this gent wants to know what room Lucy Johnson is in.’
‘Lucy Johnson?’ The Manager looked at me.
‘That’s right,’ I said.
‘Do you have business with Miss Johnson?’ the Manager asked. ‘You see, we guarantee our guests’ privacy—’
‘I understand that,’ I said, ‘but it’s important I speak with Miss Gardner – I mean, Miss Johnson.’
It wasn’t a slip of the tongue. I just wanted to make sure we all knew who we were really talking about.
‘Are you, uh, from the studio?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said, ‘my business is much more personal than that, if you know what I mean.’
Suddenly, as if a light had been turned on in his head, the Manager smiled.
‘Oh, I understand,’ he said. I could tell by the look on his face that he thought he understood, but I knew he really didn’t. Now I had to decide if I wanted him to keep thinking what I thought he was thinking.
‘Please,’ he said, ‘come with me. I will escort you to her bungalow.’
OK, well, this was what I’d wanted, and it looked like I’d succeeded, so why try to talk him out of it now?
‘Lead on.’
I followed him out to the bungalows, and down a path toward one of them.
‘I was a little confused,’ he said, as we walked, ‘because Miss Johnson usually prefers the company of much younger, um . . .’
‘Men?’ I asked.
‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘I mean, uh, no offense.’
‘None taken,’ I said. ‘I guess everyone needs a little more seasoning once in a while, huh?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, indeed.’
We approached one of the bungalows and he turned to give me a smile that was meant to convey some sort of bond we were sharing.
‘Will you knock,’ he said, ‘or shall I?’
I stepped forward and knocked on the door. We waited, and I realized I was holding my breath. I had never seen Ava Gardner in person.
When the door opened she squinted her eyes against the light, held her hand up for shade. Ava Gardner was sex in a bottle – a wine bottle, still corked. Sexy and beautiful on the outside, but once the cork was popped . . .
Frank said she didn’t like what she saw when she looked in a mirror these days, but when I looked at her it was like a punch in the stomach. She was Venus, Maria Vargas from The Barefoot Contessa, but to me she’d always be Honey Bear Kell
y from Mogambo. Her black hair was cut Honey Bear short, her skin pale and smooth. And the green eyes, oh the green eyes, even squinted and shaded they were amazing . . .
‘Mr Gentry,’ she said, ‘I thought I made it clear I did not want to be disturbed.’
‘Uh, this gentleman asked for you by name, Madam,’ he stammered. ‘I mean, uh, he asked for Lucy Johnson.’
She looked at me for the first time, and I saw Ava, the sexual predator. She looked me up and down and asked, ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I’ve come on behalf of Frank’
She stared at me for a few minutes, then looked at the Manager and said, ‘It’s all right, Mr Gentry.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
She showed him her index finger and added, ‘But no one else, understand?’
‘I understand.’ He actually bowed to her, and backed away.
As he scurried back down the path she looked at me and said, ‘Come on in, you must be Eddie G.’
THIRTEEN
I stepped into the bungalow and closed the door.
Ava Gardner was wearing jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her feet were bare. Just my luck she’d have to be wearing the “Mogambo” look. My chest felt tight. She looked and smelled like sex. Somehow, the cigarette she was holding just added to the look.
I was as nervous as a school boy on prom night.
‘Drink?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thanks,’ I said.
She went to a sidebar and poured out two glasses of something. She walked across the room and handed me a highball glass. It smelled like bourbon. Good bourbon.
‘You know who I am?’ I asked.
‘Eddie G.?’ she said. ‘Yes, I’ve heard Frank talk about you. He likes you.’
‘I’m here because of Frank, Miss Gardner.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said, with a lazy smile, ‘just call me Ava, Eddie.’
I realized then that this wasn’t the first glass of bourbon she’d had that day. Though I couldn’t figure how she’d had time to have too many drinks. She’d flown into Vegas, stopped at the Sands, then flown out of Vegas to L.A., and taken a cab here to the hotel. She’d probably beaten me by a couple of hours. OK, yeah, that was time enough to down quite a few drinks.
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