You Make Me Feel So Dead

by Robert Randisi

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my part.’

  The waitress came with our platters and set them down.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ Danny said. ‘I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, but right now I’m pretty hungry.’

  I nodded in agreement and repeated, ‘Let’s eat.’

  SEVEN

  I decided I needed Jerry.

  One job I can handle but when it comes to two or more, Jerry’s my guy. He hated being called a torpedo, but that was basically the job he performed in Brooklyn. Part of the reason we got along was that we were both from Brooklyn. He worked for Frank sometimes, and for mafia boss Momo Giancana, but in the four years I’d known him I’d come to depend on the fact that when I called him, he responded. Even if it meant getting on a plane at short notice, he came.

  I went to the Sands and used an office phone to call him.

  ‘You know I’ll be there, Mr G.,’ he said, after I’d explained. ‘I like that Penny chick. She’s too good for your friend the dick.’ I knew he didn’t mean that. He actually liked Danny.

  ‘Jerry, I might use you on the Elvis thing, instead,’ I said.

  ‘That’s fine with me if it’s OK with him, Mr G. I wouldn’t mind meetin’ Elvis. I’ll jump on the first plane.’

  ‘I need you here in a couple of days, Jerry,’ I told him. ‘See if you can get a reasonably priced ticket. I’ll cover it—’

  ‘Hey,’ Jerry said, ‘don’t sweat it, Mr G. I got it covered. I know how to get cheap tickets.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘let me know when you’re landing. I’ll pick you up if I can.’

  ‘In the Caddy?’

  ‘Yep,’ I said, ‘in the Caddy.’

  ‘OK, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘I’ll be seein’ ya soon.’

  I hung up the phone, looked up from the empty desk I was sitting at and saw Jack Entratter watching me.

  ‘You’ll cover the ticket?’ he asked.

  ‘Well … you, me, it’s all the same, Jack, when we’re doing favors for the guys, right?’

  He shook his head helplessly and walked to his own office.

  I didn’t want to follow him because his girl always gave me disapproving looks when I went in there. After all these years I still don’t know what I’d ever done to her.

  I left the offices to head for the elevator when Jack’s girl stuck her head out and said, ‘Mr Gianelli?’

  I turned. ‘Yes.’ I rarely – if ever – heard her use my name.

  ‘You have a call.’

  ‘Really?’ I turned. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘He says,’ she replied, ‘that he’s Elvis Presley …’

  Well, it was Elvis Presley.

  I had never expected my favor for Frank to take me to Memphis, and Graceland, and yet there I was, in front of the main gate.

  As the limo I was in drove through the iron gates and up the long, winding driveway of Graceland, I ran the conversation through my mind, again …

  ‘You want me to come there?’ I asked. ‘To Graceland?’

  ‘That’s right.’ I don’t know how Jack’s girl could have doubted it. I recognized his voice. I was talking to Elvis Goddamn Presley! ‘I’m more comfortable meeting new folks in a familiar environment. I’ll send my plane for you, and then we can fly back to Vegas together.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Please, Mr Gianelli,’ Elvis said. ‘The Colonel says you’re friends with Mr Sinatra. I like to think I’m friends with him, too. I wanna meet you as soon as possible, and this seems to be the quickest way. Besides, you’ll have a good time.’

  What could I say …

  EIGHT

  I rang the doorbell. It was opened by a big, beefy looking guy with red hair on his head and arms. I could hear music playing from somewhere inside.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Eddie Gianelli,’ I said. ‘Elvis asked—’

  ‘Come on in,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

  He closed the door, turned to face me and stuck out his hand.

  ‘Red West.’

  ‘Eddie Gianelli,’ I said. ‘Or Eddie G.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘Eddie G. This way. Elvis is waitin’ on you.’

  He walked me through the house, which was full of people, a lot of them pretty girls in various states of undress. It was a party, all right, and in full swing, but there was no sign of Elvis.

  To my right as I entered was the living room, dominated by a fifteen-foot white sofa. Beyond that double glass doors – with etched peacocks on them – led to the music room. I could see both a television set, and a baby grand piano.

  To the left was the dining room, with a large table and not one, but two hutches. A large television set sat against one wall.

  There was a stairway leading up, but we didn’t go near it.

  ‘Where is he?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s on the firing range with some of the boys.’

  ‘But … what about his party?’

  Red grinned and asked, ‘What party?’

  I followed Red down a hall, past a small kitchen where two women were apparently cooking a lot of food. On a far counter was a TV set, this one turned on.

  The house was huge. I didn’t know how many rooms there were, but it had to be over twenty. (I learned later there were twenty-three.) He had purchased it in 1957 when he was twenty-two, and paid $100,000. It had already bore the name Graceland, and Elvis liked it and kept it.

  Red led me down a flight of steps and out a door into the backyard. It was there I first heard the gunshots.

  ‘Elvis likes guns,’ Red told me. ‘He set up a shooting range back here so he could practice.’

  I followed him until I saw a group of men laughing and brandishing guns. Elvis was in the center of them, firing at something. They were all laughing and shouting. I hoped they weren’t drunk. I hated the thought of being around drunks with guns.

  Elvis’ hair was a mess as he fired and then whirled about for their approval. He was wearing a blue polo shirt, white chinos and shiny white shoes which I later discovered were patent leather.

  One of the men looked enough like Red West to be his brother. I figured this was his cousin, Sonny.

  ‘E!’ Red shouted.

  Elvis stopped whirling around and looked at us.

  ‘He’s here.’

  Elvis held the gun in his right hand, pointed his left at me.

  ‘Eddie G., right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, come on over here, son, and shake my hand.’

  As I approached, he transferred the gun to his left hand and stuck out his right and then I shook hands with the King of Rock and Roll.

  ‘These here are my boys,’ he said, waving at the others. ‘That there’s Sonny West, Billy Smith, Lamar Fike and Marty Lacker. You already met Red.’

  ‘I did,’ I said. ‘It’s a real pleasure to meet you – all of you.’

  ‘We were just blowing off some steam,’ he said. ‘You want to take a shot?’

  I looked at the target, which was the figure of a man on a wooden board, with concentric circles inside it. A crude rendition of what you’d see on a police range, I supposed.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘Red, you wanna take this?’ Elvis handed over his gun, which looked a lot like one of Jerry’s .45s. ‘Me and Eddie are gonna walk over by the pool and have a talk.’

  ‘Sure thing, E.’ Red took the gun.

  ‘You boys keep shootin’,’ he called out. ‘I’ll catch up later.’ He put his arm around my shoulder and said, ‘Come on, Eddie.’

  He walked me a short way to a good-sized swimming pool. The water was clean, and there was no one using it at the moment.

  ‘Is it OK if I call you Eddie? Or Eddie G.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘why not?’

  ‘And you call me Elvis, OK?’

  ‘OK, Elvis.’

  ‘I really appreciate you comin’ out here.’

  ‘W
ell, you sent a plane for me,’ I said. ‘Kind of hard to refuse.’

  ‘I chartered that plane,’ he said. ‘Someday I’m gonna buy me one.’

  ‘I’m wondering why you wanted me here badly enough to do that, Elvis.’

  ‘I told you on the phone, Eddie,’ he said. ‘I like to meet folks face-to-face. When the Colonel told me about you I didn’t want to wait until I got to Vegas. I thought if I brought you to my home we’d get to know each other better. Is that OK?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Fine with me. This is a real pleasure, to meet you and see your place.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘I do need to get myself a hotel room, though. I’ll just have to—’

  ‘Oh, na, na, na,’ Elvis said, cutting me off, ‘no hotel, Eddie. You’re stayin’ right here.’

  ‘I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘You ain’t imposin’,’ Elvis said. ‘Hell, son, I invited you, didn’t I? And we got plenty of room.’

  ‘Really? I know it’s a big house, but with all your, uh, buddies—’

  ‘Oh, those guys are always here,’ he said, ‘but they don’t live here. They got their own homes. Only my father, Vernon, lives with me. And he ain’t here this week. He’s visitin’ some relatives. So we got the run of the whole house.’

  ‘Is that why you’re havin’ the party?’

  ‘What party?’ he asked.

  That’s what Red had said, too.

  ‘The people in the house …’

  ‘Oh, that’s not a party,’ Elvis said. ‘I just like having folks around. That’s why one of my cooks is always in the kitchen.’

  I wondered what the house looked like when there was a party going on?

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘take some shots with the boys. I want them to get to know you, too.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said, ‘why not? Let’s shoot.’

  ‘All right.’ He slapped me on the back and beamed like a little boy. I’d made Elvis happy.

  He turned and hurried back to the firing range, and I rushed to keep up.

  ‘Lemme have that .45 for Eddie, Red!’ he called out.

  NINE

  We shot targets for what seemed like most of the afternoon. Before long the Memphis Mafia was slapping me on the back and kidding around. The only one who never cracked a smile was Red West. In fact, I had the feeling Red didn’t ever look happy. He appeared to be a few years older than Elvis, a burly guy with a marine crew cut that hinted at the reason he was called ‘Red’, and a bulldog face.

  When we were done Elvis and the guys collected spent cartridges from the ground.

  ‘While we clean up, Red’ll show you where your room is, Eddie. You can get cleaned up and then Red’ll bring you back down.’

  ‘OK, Elvis.’

  ‘You hear, Red?’ he said.

  ‘Sure thing, E.,’ Red said. He looked at me. ‘Come on.’

  I followed Red back into the house, through the party that wasn’t a party, to the staircase, and up to the second floor.

  ‘E. don’t usually let nobody up here,’ Red told me.

  ‘I’m honored.’

  ‘You should be.’

  When we got upstairs away from the noise I asked, ‘What do you have against me, Red?’

  ‘I ain’t got nothin’ against you,’ Red said. ‘I just don’t like folks moochin’ offa Elvis.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m mooching off him?’

  ‘You flew in his plane, didn’tcha? Gonna be sleepin’ in his house tonight? Eatin’ his food?’

  ‘And none of that was my idea,’ I informed him. ‘I was invited here, Red.’

  ‘So were all those moochers downstairs. This is your room.’

  We stopped in front of the open door. I saw my suitcase on the double bed.

  ‘So you mean all those folks downstairs, and me, are moochers,’ I said, ‘unlike you and the rest of the Memphis crew.’

  He bristled at that, his face glowing red, and said, ‘We’re his friends.’ He glared at me. ‘I’ll come and get ya when Elvis tells me to.’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  He turned and left, his shoulders hunched. He probably wanted to pummel me, but Elvis wouldn’t have liked it. I wondered how many of the Memphis Mafia were like Red West?

  My room had its own bathroom, so I was able to clean myself up and change into a fresh shirt. As I was buttoning it up there was a knock on the door. It was Red.

  ‘Elvis wants you.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Lead the way.’

  We went down the hall and as we reached the stairway I became aware of the quiet.

  ‘Everybody gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘Elvis told them to go home. It’s just gonna be the fellas tonight.’

  We went past the kitchen, where a cook – a middle-aged woman – was moving around, tending to pots and pans on the stove. I could hear something sizzling in a pan, and the smells coming from there made my stomach growl.

  ‘Where we going?’ I asked.

  ‘E.’s in the TV room.’

  ‘There’s a TV room?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  I followed him down toward the basement. When we got to the bottom of the stairs I saw a pool table off to the right, where four of the guys were shooting a game. Red turned left and I followed him.

  Red went into the room first, blocking my view. It wasn’t until I actually entered that I saw Elvis sitting on a sofa in front of three television sets, all of which were turned on, with a different station on each.

  Elvis was holding a half-eaten banana and peanut butter sandwich in one hand, and silver-plated gun in the other. On the coffee table in front of him was a bowl of assorted fruits, a plate of what looked like fudge cookies, and a box of cigars, El Producto Diamond Tips.

  ‘Eddie.’ Elvis stood up, but waited for me to approach him so we could shake hands again. He had changed, but was still wearing white pants and a polo shirt, this one pale yellow with a high collar.

  I looked at the televisions to see what he was watching. Three different news shows blared on.

  ‘How do you like the layout?’

  ‘That’s a whole lot of TVs.’ I said.

  ‘You know, I heard Lyndon Johnson keeps three sets on at all times, watches all the network news shows at once. I figured if it’s good enough for the President, it’s good enough for me.’

  ‘Sounds fair.’

  ‘Have a seat,’ he said, sitting back on the U-shaped green sofa. ‘Have some fruit, or cookies. We’re gonna be eatin’ soon. Want somethin’ to drink? Pepsi? We got orange drinks. Red, we got any beer?’

  ‘I think so,’ Red said.

  ‘Whataya have, Eddie?’ Elvis asked.

  ‘I’ll have what you’re having.’

  ‘Pepsi,’ Elvis said, ‘Red, get Eddie a Pepsi, will you?’

  ‘Sure thing, E.’

  Red exited the room, and I was alone with Elvis, and his gun. He had set the sandwich down on the table to shake hands, but he still gripped the gun in his left hand. I could hear the pool balls clanking in the other room.

  ‘The guys are shootin’ some pool before we eat,’ Elvis said.

  ‘Will they be coming to Vegas?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, ‘most of my boys will be comin’. What about Frank? Is he in Vegas now?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘he says he’s gonna go to your show.’

  ‘Great!’ Elvis said. ‘I’ll introduce him to the crowd. He’s a real star.’

  Elvis calling Frank Sinatra a real star? I wondered what Elvis considered himself to be?

  Red West came back in at that point, carrying a cold can of Pepsi, and handed it to me.

  ‘Cook says the chicken fried steak’s almost ready, E.,’ Red said. ‘And the meat loaf.’

  ‘OK, Red.’

  Elvis leaned forward, picked up a fudge cookie and shoved it into his mouth.

  ‘OK, Eddie,’ he said, ‘sit down and tell me the Edd
ie G. story. How’d you end up in Vegas?’

  ‘I was born in Brooklyn …’

  We talked for a while about how I got to Vegas, learned the city, got it wired, how I had met Frank, Dino and Sammy, and all the while he held onto the gun, sometimes twirling it like a six-shooter. Once or twice he pointed it at the TV, and I thought he was going to pull the trigger.

  ‘You hungry, Eddie?’ he asked, suddenly.

  ‘I could eat,’ I said, although nothing on the coffee table was tempting me.

  ‘Red, tell the cook to bring the food down here, will ya?’

  ‘Sure thing, E.’

  ‘And get some of the boys to help her carry it!’ he called after him. ‘You’re gonna love this food, Eddie. I got the best cooks in Memphis.’

  TEN

  It was Red and his cousin Sonny who brought the food down, plates of it, and another man I hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Hey, Eddie,’ Elvis said, ‘meet my buddy, Nick Adams.’

  Adams turned to me, holding a platter of chicken fried steaks. He was short, blond, not handsome, but with an easy, charming smile. I knew where I’d seen him before. He was TV’s The Rebel, Johnny Yuma.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, extending his hand, ‘nice to meet you.’

  ‘Same here,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen your show.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Adams said, looking at Elvis and grinning, ‘you notice he said he’s seen the show, not that he liked it.’ He set the platter down on the big coffee table in front of the sofa. Red set down a platter of meat loaf right next to it, and Sonny added the vegetables.

  ‘I’ll get some plates and forks and stuff,’ he said, rushing from the room.

  ‘I liked it well enough,’ I said, ‘just not as much as Wanted: Dead or Alive or Have Gun Will Travel.’

  ‘Really good shows,’ Adams said. ‘Hey, I did Hell Is For Heroes with Steve.’

  ‘Bobby Darin, too,’ I said. I looked at Elvis. ‘Bobby’s playing Vegas right now.’

  ‘That’s great, son,’ Elvis said. ‘We can catch his show. Red, tell the guys to come and eat.’

  Red went into the pool room and came back with Billy Smith, Lamar Fike and Marty Lacker. Sonny came in behind them with a stack of dishes and a handful of knives and forks.

  ‘Dig in, boys!’ Elvis said. And – as they say in the South – we commenced to eating.