Tallulah Bankhead Slept Here

by Sam Lollar

  “Is there anything you need from me right now?” I asked.

  “Um, I can think of lots. But there’s nothing you need to do around here right now. Why don’t you walk around the motel and figure out where the rooms and things are located.”

  I left the lobby and wandered around the motel parking lot. After a while, I returned to the lobby, where a man was registering. He had his new ’67 GTO parked under the porte cochere. I figured I’d get a tip if I showed him to his room, so I dashed inside. Scott said, “Ah, here’s our bellboy now. Aaron? Please show Mr. McRae to room 231.”

  “Sure thing,” I said in my most professional-sounding voice. “If you’ll follow me in your car, I’ll show you where you can park close to the stairway.”

  I held the door for him. He exited and got in his car, following me to his room. After he parked, I asked if he needed help with his bags.

  “Yeah, I do, thanks. Why don’t you take these two on up while I get the other one.”

  “Sure thing,” I said. I was setting them down in his room when he came in behind me to put the other one down. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes. Can you cool this place down? I’m dying of heat stroke in here.”

  “Of course. I’ll just kick on the air conditioner for you”—which I did. He gave me a nice tip, and I retreated back to the lobby.

  “Did you get any money from him?” Scott asked as I entered.

  “Yeah, he gave me a dollar.”

  “I’m surprised. I didn’t think he’d give you anything. He demanded the cheapest price we have for the room.”

  “You mean you have different prices for rooms?”

  “Oh, sure. What we have over here is our ‘rack rate,’ what we post as the current rate,” he said, showing me the rack where all the room cards were located. “But the rack rate is inflated quite a bit, so there’s lots of leeway in the pricing. Essentially what we do is charge whatever the market will bear. He noticed that we’re not especially busy, so he bargained with me for the room. It happens all the time. I just thought he was going to be a cheap bastard and stiff you for the tip.”

  “Stiff me?”

  “I’m not going to say it, I’m just not,” he said mostly to himself while he chuckled, I was sure, at my expense. “Uh, when somebody ‘stiffs’ you, that means they don’t give you a tip.”

  “Oh, I see. I didn’t know there was a name for that, I guess.”

  “That’s all right, Aaron. You’ll pick up the lingo quickly enough. Why don’t you come back here, and I’ll show you how to use the cash register and how to register guests if any more ever come by.”

  The register wasn’t as complicated as they are today. Back then, it was almost all mechanical; I just pushed down the numbers and they printed out on a strip of paper. Eventually another customer did drive up. She was in a gorgeous new ’67 Ford Fairlane hardtop coupe, blue with white vinyl top.

  *

  “I’m amazed you can remember all these cars, Dad,” Junior said to me.

  Most of my memories of those years were punctuated by the cars people drove. It was a heady time in my life—coming of age, living more or less independently, having my own transportation. “Of course I can remember them. They were spectacular. I didn’t find out until much later that the reason the cars were mostly new was because they were rentals. I thought all the cars were owned by rich people. A lot of people staying at the motel flew into town and rented cars at the airport.”

  We stopped at a rest stop where we got out to stretch our legs. “You want me to drive, Dad?” Junior asked.

  “Sure. I could use a break.”

  “So could I,” Three piped up. “A break from your driving. You drive like an old man.”

  “I am an old man, Number Three. And if you don’t watch your mouth, you’ll never get to be one.”

  He chuckled as we piled back in the SUV and continued on our trip.

  *

  That evening at the Rancho, I was again exhausted. I began to realize people didn’t stop at motels until after six. Then they just poured in. I was running almost constantly all evening. Around nine thirty, I came back into the lobby and told Scott I was about to faint, I was so hungry.

  “My God, have you eaten at all today? Why didn’t you say something? Go sit down in the business office, and I’ll get you something. Is there any kind of Oriental food you particularly like?”

  “Maybe sweet and sour pork? Are you really going to go get me something to eat?”

  “Sure, we always get food at the Oriental Blossoms and eat here on busy nights. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I sat down in the desk chair in the office. Before long, I heard someone enter the lobby, so I went out to the desk.

  “Hi, young man. I’d like a room, please,” a very pleasant elderly man said.

  “Yes, sir. The manager’s just stepped out for a moment, but if you’ll wait a bit, I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll do just that.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the gorgeous ’65 brown vinyl over beige Lincoln Continental in the drive. “That’s a beautiful car you have.”

  “Thanks, my wife and I like it. We’ve driven in from Albuquerque today. And driving that Lincoln on the highway is like a dream.”

  “We have a ’62 Lincoln for the motel, but it’s not as pretty as that one. Ours is all black.”

  “I bet that makes for a real hot drive.”

  Scott walked in and suggested I eat in the office while he got the man registered.

  The next several days continued pretty much the same. Each evening I worked either with Bob or Scott. On occasion, Mrs. Schuster would come down and do desk duty. Bob told me she usually sat at the desk in the mornings, so if she did evening desk duty, that meant she and Scott had had an argument, and she came down to escape from his rantings.

  After a week or so, I had the job down pat. I had even begun to register guests when Scott or Bob was around. When Mrs. Schuster was there, both Scott and Bob had told me not to use the register. I guess Mrs. Schuster wouldn’t have approved.

  Chapter Four

  The 1966 Blue Buick

  I think it was during the second week of my employment, I was agog when I saw a blue Buick sedan pull up to the restaurant. Inside was Jayne Mansfield. I couldn’t believe it. I yelled at Bob to come have a look. “She’s been here before,” Bob said. “Big knockers, huh? Didn’t Scott tell you? We often have TV and movie stars come in, either to stay or to eat. The motel’s really close to the border, and many people come here on their way to their quickie weddings, I suppose. A lot of them stop here on the way in or out. Why don’t you go help her out of the car?” Bob said. At the time, I thought he was serious, but I found out later that he had been joking.

  “Okay.” And I was off, Bob right behind me. I ran out the door and reached Miss Mansfield’s door just as she was stepping out. She was having trouble getting her large handbag out of the car door, so I reached around her and grabbed the handle.

  “Let go of that,” she snapped.

  Just then, the bag came unstuck. We both let go of it at the same time, and it went soaring across the parking lot.

  “What’s the idea?” she said to me.

  “Uh, uh…I was…uh…”

  Bob had come up behind me, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Miss Mansfield. The boy was just trying to help you. He’s a big fan.”

  “Well, tell him to leave me alone.”

  “Aaron, apologize to the lady.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Mansfield. Wow. Jayne Mansfield.”

  She must not have been too angry, because she gave me a radiant smile as her driver retrieved her handbag. “Thanks, sugar. That was really nice of you.” She kissed my cheek, and I almost fainted.

  Bob grabbed me under my arm and guided me into the lobby, where I sat in a daze. Jayne Mansfield had kissed me. Wow. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Bob. She kissed me. Jayne Mansf
ield kissed me.”

  “Yes, Aaron, I was there. Settle down. Why don’t you go walk around back and cool off a bit?”

  “Wow,” was all I could say.

  *

  “You know, guys, that was the trip Jayne Mansfield was taking when she was killed in that accident in Mississippi. She was driving from California to, I think, New Orleans and Mississippi to do a show. I’ll always remember how sweet she was.”

  “Wow. You were one of the last people to see her, then.”

  “Well, at least one of the last ones to see her in El Paso.”

  *

  Throughout the summer I saw many people at the Rancho that I recognized. I showed them to their rooms, agog over being so near famous people. Occasionally, one of them would ask me to drive their car to the room and bring the bags up for them while they went to the restaurant. I was in heaven when that happened. It was great fun when not-so-famous people allowed me to drive as well, but not quite the same thing as when a real live Hollywood movie star did. I actually drove Joanie Sommers’s blue Camaro and the lieutenant governor’s rented Chevy.

  Chapter Five

  The Titty Pink 1967 Mustang

  After a while, the job became pretty routine. I sat in the lobby with whoever was at the desk and answered the phones or showed people to their rooms. One day, I noticed a new Mustang drive very slowly under the porte cochere. I noticed an older woman behind the wheel, a white scarf wrapped around her huge hairdo. Enormous sunglasses tipped me off to the fact that she must be Someone Famous. I had seen a lot of famous people hiding behind large sunglasses over the weeks and was getting good at recognizing the telltale signs of fame.

  “Here comes another one,” I announced to Bob as the woman exited the Mustang.

  “Another what?” He didn’t look up from the racing form in front of him.

  “A movie star or celebrity of some kind. And in a brand-new Mustang.”

  “Jeez. When I was in the military, we called that titty pink.” He laughed as he looked out the glass doors. “Yeah, she’s someone all right. An old broad in a titty pink Mustang hiding behind those glasses must be someone.”

  “Do you recognize her?”

  “No. I don’t think…wait. She must be one of those gals from those B movies of the forties or fifties, but I can’t be sure.”

  *

  “You know, I was never actually told who she was, but I came to realize over the years that it was Tallulah Bankhead. Our trip to California might have been more interesting if I had really known who she was.”

  “You went to California with a movie star?” Three was impressed by that, even if he didn’t know who she was.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Junior asked, “Did she smoke all the time? I know how you hate that. That was one of her trademarks, I always heard.”

  “Everyone smoked back then. I don’t think I noticed it if she did. You just got used to it.”

  “And didn’t she live in New York? Not Los Angeles?”

  “Yeah, but she sure knew a lot of people in Hollywood. We actually called her LuLu.”

  *

  Anyway, we could see that “Tallulah” had dark red hair teased high on her head with ample makeup on her face. She grandly removed an enormous handbag and a tiny white dog from the car’s backseat. Standing upright as though she were striking a pose for the cameras, she threw her shoulders back and marched into the lobby. She looked imperiously about the room. I got up from the booth and started toward her. “Can I help you with your bag, ma’am?”

  “What? Oh…no, not just yet, sonny.” She looked a bit confused and continued to glance around the lobby. I could see her focus her attention on a black velvet matador portrait hanging over the newspaper stand. Those kinds of paintings were really popular with the tourists back then. She raised her sunglasses and walked closer to the picture.

  “How absolutely ghastly,” she noted to no one in particular. “This is the El Rancho Sonora motor hotel, is it not?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is,” Bob said. “Have you heard of us?”

  “Yes, dahling, I’ve heard of your charming establishment from a dear friend. I’m in need of some privacy, and I understand there’s a lot of that to be had here. I spoke with Madame Schuster earlier. Where is she? I’ll speak with her now, if you please.”

  “Mrs. Schuster is out for dinner right now,” Bob said.

  “By ‘out,’ do you mean she’s not in the lobby or not at the motel?” she cut in crisply.

  “Well, she generally dines in her apartment upstairs,” he said, trying to be gracious, which for Bob was not always easy. Or successful.

  “So I assume she has a phone? Call her and let her know that I’m here and want to speak with her.”

  “She really doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

  “If she wants to rent the suite for the next six months, I’d suggest she get disturbed,” the woman responded with a skyward flourish of her arm. “I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting by an…innkeeper.”

  “One moment, I’ll phone her.” Bob turned toward the switchboard and rang Mrs. Schuster’s apartment.

  This grand woman turned to me and said, “Sonny, Pookie is thirsty. Go fetch him a dish of iced water with a slice of lemon in it.”

  I was stunned as much by the instructions for preparing a dog’s water as I was by her choice of terminology. “Fetch?” Was I now supposed to do the fetching for dogs?

  “Don’t stand there like a statue, I said fetch Pookie’s water, or are you one of those Mexican persons who doesn’t speak English? How do they say it? Habla usted English?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I speak English. I’ll be back in a minute with the water.”

  I went down the hall to the Oriental Blossoms. “Hi, Li,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. “Some ‘old broad’ came in and wants a dish of ice water for her dog. And she wants a lemon slice in it. Can I get a lemon from you?”

  Being in one of his rare good moods, he chuckled at the lunacy of it and gave me a lemon slice from one of the refrigerators. I went the back way through the utility room, filled a bowl with ice from the machine, and put some water and the slice of lemon in it.

  Mrs. Schuster came through the back door as I finished preparing the water bowl, asking who wanted to see her so badly. I told her about the woman, the dog, and everything else. She sighed and smiled as we entered the lobby.

  Seeing the woman standing near the front desk, she walked up to her, behind the counter, and said “I’m Mrs. Schuster. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, Madame.” the woman began. “I’m Ruby’s friend from Hollywood, LuLu Bank…uh…LuLu Smith.”

  “Yes, dear, of course. I’m pleased to meet you. Why don’t you come back here into the office? Aaron, take care of the dog, please.”

  “Oh, no, Madame.” The woman clutched Pookie close to her chest. “I simply must keep Pookie with me. Just have him give me the water dish. Pookie is so thirsty.”

  Odd, I thought, how her accent kept changing every time she spoke. Sometimes it sounded French, other times it was British. Looking resigned to the inevitable, Mrs. Schuster smiled at me and escorted “Miss LuLu” into the private office.

  “What’s that all about?” I asked Bob, who also witnessed the scene.

  “Oh, some of these old gals get kind of wacko. They think their mutts are their children. Dollie’s allergic to dogs, you know. This must really be big shit for her to put up with a dog and an interrupted meal. Damn. She left the Mustang blocking the drive,” he said.

  “Great. Let me drive it.” I cried, eager to get behind the wheel of the new car.

  “Go see if she left the keys in it. If she did, pull it over there by the pool.”

  I dashed out to the car, but unfortunately, the keys were not there. “No keys,” I said to Bob as I reentered the lobby.

  “Shit.” Bob dialed up the office and asked Mrs. Schuster if Miss LuLu could move her car or give me the keys so I could move it. After a
moment, Bob said, “Go on back there and get the keys.”

  As I knocked on the door to the office, Mrs. Schuster opened the door a crack. I heard Miss LuLu’s voice rise in horror. “Wait. Let me get my sunglasses on.”

  “It’s all right, dear,” Mrs. Schuster said to her. “He’s not coming in.” She handed me the keys, rolling her eyes skyward as she did, winking at me while she shut the door.

  I was getting to drive a brand-new Mustang! I dashed outside and jumped behind the wheel of the car. Wow. White vinyl roof over pink. White vinyl interior. Automatic. Air. Radio. 289 engine. I was in love. I slowly drove the car to its new parking space, saddened that the whole process had taken less than a minute.

  As I brought the keys in for Bob to hang on to, Scott walked into the lobby from the utility room.

  “Christ, it’s hot out there,” he complained as the door closed behind him. “I don’t know how you can stand to live here.”

  Since I had not lived anywhere else, I didn’t see anything wrong with it.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Bob said. “The more you stay out in the sun, and the less you stay inside where it’s air conditioned, the more you’ll get used to it.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Scott, you keep your room cold enough to freeze ice cream,” Bob said. “You never open the curtains, you never even let Lupe in there to clean. No wonder you can’t get used to the heat. Tell me something, what the hell do you do in there? And how do you keep your tan?” Bob knew Scott would never tell him, but he had fun quizzing him because he knew it would make Scott mad.

  “None of your business.” Scott snapped. “Give me some money, I’m going downtown.”

  “No, Scott. You’re not taking any money from the till. We won’t have any change for the rest of the day if you do that.” Taking money out of the cash register was a favorite pastime of Scott’s, particularly when I was the only one around.

  “Shit on you, then. Where’s Dollie?”