***
When I got back to the hotel there was a message waiting for me at the desk.
“A lady, sir,” the clerk said. “She came in about an hour ago, said she’d be in the bar for some time, waiting.”
“Did she leave a name?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, thanks.”
It couldn’t be my divorcee, Fiona since she’d been with me on the beach. I decided to see who it was even before going to my room to shower and change. After all, she’d already been waiting a long time. It would be rude to keep her any longer.
I entered the Bleau Bar and saw her immediately. I was surprised. At first, I thought it was Marilyn Taylor, but then I realized it had to be June. When she spotted me she waved and I walked over.
“Mr. Gianelli?” she said, standing. “I’m June Taylor.”
“I know who you are, Miss Taylor,” I said. “Please, sit.”
“How did you know?” she asked.
I seated myself across from her. “Well, let’s say I guessed. I met your sister last night, and I can see the resemblance.”
“Marilyn’s the beautiful one,” she said. I could tell she meant it and wasn’t being modest, but I thought she was quite pretty, as well.
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” I said, ”but I don’t think that’s the subject you came here to discuss.”
“No, it’s not. Would you like a drink?” she asked, as a waiter came over.
She had what looked like a Manhattan in front of her, which I would never touch with a ten-foot pole. “A gin martini,” I told him, completely unmindful at that moment that I’d consumed several Marguerita’s with my new divorcee friend.
“Right away, sir.”
She smiled across the table at me and said, “This is odd.”
“Is it? Why?”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“From who?”
“Through the grapevine,” she said. “The celebrity
grapevine. People who have been on Jackie’s show, some have been to Vegas and met you. A little from Frank. A little here and there. Eddie G. is the guy to go to in Vegas if you have trouble.”
“The ‘go-to guy,’” I said, quoting Frank.
“Exactly!”
“And is that why you’re here, June?” I asked. “You need the go-to guy?”
“I need somebody,” she said, sipping her drink.
“And you don’t want to go to the police?” In my experience, very few celebrities want to go to the police with their personal matters.
“I’m not really sure it’s a police matter, to tell you the truth.”
I was not only a ‘go-to’ guy in my view, but a ‘Vegas’ guy. I didn’t know what I could do for June in Miami, but I thought I ought to at least listen to what she had to say.
“Well then,” I said, “I’m all ears. Let’s see if I can help.”
SIX
She toyed with her glass, making interlocking wet circles on the table.
“I’m not sure where to start, or how to say it,” she said.
“The beginning usually works.”
“It’s about my sister,” June said. “I think she may be in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“See, that’s where I lose credibility,” she said. “I’m not sure.”
“Not sure she’s in trouble, or not sure what kind it is?” I asked. I was trying to be helpful, but maybe I was just making the situation worse. I decided to sip my drink and just listen.
“I suppose you know that she and Jackie are ... seeing each other?” she asked.
“I’d heard that.”
“And you know he’s still married?”
“Heard that, too.”
“Genevieve is such a devout Catholic she refuses to grant Jackie a divorce, even though they legally separated in nineteen fifty-four.”
This time I just nodded, to indicate I was listening.
“My sister has told me that lately, she feels like she’s being followed.”
“When?”
“Whenever she leaves rehearsal,” June said.
“Do you leave rehearsals together?”
“No,” June said. “When the dancers are done I stay behind to work on routines, do paperwork. They are, after all, the June Taylor Dancers. I have a lot more work to do when they’re finished.”
“Have you ever left rehearsal together?”
“Oh, yes, on occasion.”
“And on those occasions, did you ever feel you and Marilyn were being followed?”
“No.”
“So she’s only mentioned that she’s being followed when she’s alone,” I concluded.
“Yes.”
“Has she told the police?”
“Oh, no,” June said, “mostly Marilyn feels she’s being silly. She doesn’t want to involve the police. Besides, that might be embarrassing for Jackie, if it’s got something to do with Genevieve.”
“So does Marilyn think it’s Genevieve who’s having her followed?”
“She can’t imagine who else it would be.”
“And has she told Jackie?”
“No,” June said, “just me. And she has sworn me to secrecy.”
“And yet you’re telling me.”
“Well,” she said, hedging, “she’s made me swear not to tell Jackie.”
“So what would you like me to do?”
She sat back in her chair, dropped her hands away from her drink, and shrugged helplessly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I just wanted to talk to somebody.”
I thought it was odd she’d want to talk to a stranger, a man she hadn’t even met yet, but had only heard about from the “celebrity grapevine.” I always knew there was a grapevine, but I didn’t realize that I was on it. Apparently, my efforts on behalf of Dino, Frank and the guys over the past few years had afforded me a reputation that stretched even beyond Vegas. After all, I had also gone to Chicago to talk with Sam Giancana, and to L.A. on behalf of both Ava Gardner and Marilyn Monroe. Not to mention Graceland in Memphis to see Elvis. So maybe it wasn’t so odd in June’s mind for her to ask me to help with a Miami Beach problem.
“When’s your next rehearsal?” I asked.
“This evening.”
“When do you shoot the show that Dino’s doing?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So this is the final rehearsal before the actual show?”
“Yes.”
“Has Marilyn had this feeling before or has it only been during rehearsals for this show?”
“She’s only mentioned it to me since we started rehearsing for the Dino episode.”
Now it was my turn to sit back, which pulled her forward in her chair.
“Are you thinking this has to do with Mr. Martin being on the show?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just trying to connect the dots you’re giving me.”
“I’m not giving you all that many.”
“That’s the problem.”
She sat back again.
“I’m sorry to bother you with this,” she said. “I just didn’t know what to do.”
“Well,” I said, “you could start by inviting me to rehearsal tonight.”
SEVEN
Okay, so I had managed to get myself in a bind.
We didn’t have lunch. June said she had to get to rehearsal, which would be going on most of the afternoon. The bind was that I had just promised to come to rehearsal, but I was also supposed to go to Frank’s opening.
I was going to have to figure this out.
I paid the bill—I insisted and she finally relented—and then walked out to the lobby with her. June’s dancer’s bearing attracted a lot of male glances along the way.
“I’ll see you at rehearsal,” I said, “I just don’t know what time.”
“Shall I tell Marilyn you’re coming?”
“No,” I said, “don’t say anything to her j
ust yet. If it comes up, just say that Jackie told me I could come and watch the famous June Taylor Dancers rehearse.”
“All right.” She touched my arm. “Thank you so much, Eddie.”
“You can thank me if I decide I can do something, June.”
The doorman got her a cab and I heard her give the driver the address of the theater.
***
The first thing I had to do was apologize to my new divorcee friend that I wouldn’t be able to take her to Frank’s show, after all. I went to my room and called her from there.
“Eddie, is this because we didn’t end up spending the afternoon in bed?” Fiona asked. “You could’ve just said something, you know.”
“No, this isn’t because of that,” I told her, “but that’s good to know.”
I told her I’d still leave her a ticket for the show, and a backstage pass, and that I might show up later on. Either way, I’d let Frank know she was my friend, and he’d look after her.
Next, I called Frank to tell him what I’d be doing that night, possibly instead of coming to his show.
“I’ll try to make it if I can, of course, but—“
“Don’t worry about it, Pally,” he said, cutting me off. “You go and help June if you can. Jackie would want you to do that. And take the car and driver.”
I told him about Fiona, that she’d be at his show if he left her a ticket and a backstage pass.
“I’ll take care of your lady, Eddie,” he promised. “You take care of whatever June’s dealin’ with.”
“Okay, Frank. Thanks.”
I hung up, and went to take a shower.
***
The Jackie Gleason Show broadcasted from the Miami Beach Theater of Performing Arts at 17th and Washington Streets. June said she’d leave my name at the door so they’d allow me to enter during rehearsals. True to her word, I told the guard who I was and he waved me inside.
June must have been watching for me, because she came running over and took hold of my arm.
“Thanks for coming, Eddie.”
“Sure,” I said. “Have you told anyone?”
“Yes,” she said, “but I only told them you were coming to watch rehearsals, that Frank had gotten Jackie to okay it.”
“Is Jackie here?”
”No,” she said. “Neither Jackie or Dean are here. We have stand-ins for them. But there’s somebody who is here.”
I turned, saw a pleasant looking man in his mid-40’s approaching us with a half-smile on his face.
“Who’s that?” I asked, before he reached us.
“That’s Frank Fontaine.”
“Crazy Guggenheim?” I asked. “He doesn’t look anything like him.”
“I know,” she said, “it’s the hat, and then he screws up his face...”
At that point Fontaine reached us and she stopped talking.
“Hey, June,” he said.
“Frank,” she greeted him. “I want you to meet a friend of ... of Jackie’s. This is Eddie Gianelli.”
“Mr. Gianelli,” he said, extending his hand. I took it and we shook briefly. “How do you know Jackie?”
“Through Frank Sinatra,” I said.
“Ah, how is Frank?”
“He’s good,” I said. “He’s in town to perform at the Fountainbleu.”
“Good, good,” Fontaine said. “I know he and Jackie are close. So, if you have any questions, just let me know if I can help.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “Thanks, Mr. Fontaine.”
“Frank,” he said, “just call me Frank.” Suddenly, he screwed up his face and he was somebody else, entirely. “Or call me Crazy!” he said, in Guggenheim’s voice. Then he gave that crazy laugh, slapped me on the shoulder and moved on.
“Come on,” she said, “I’ll show you where you can watch rehearsals from.”
She led me to a place down front in the theater from where I could watch all the action.
“I’ll want to walk around a bit back stage, too,” I said. “Is that okay?”
“Everybody’s been told you’re a good friend of Jackie’s,” she informed me. “That means you’ve pretty much got the run of the place.”
“Okay, June, thanks,” I said. And where’s your sister? Where’s Marilyn?”
“She’s with the other girls,” June said. “We’ll be rehearsing a number any minute. She may be my sister, but she has to toe the line like all the other dancers.”
That sounded fair enough, to me.
“And can anybody else get in here the way I did?” I asked her.
“No,” she said, “nobody else’s name has been left at the door.”
“I’ll keep an eye out, anyway. Have a good rehearsal, June, and try not to worry about anything,” I said. “Let me know when Marilyn is ready to leave.”
“What about Frank’s opening?” she asked.
“I’ve been to plenty of Frank’s openings,” I said. “I’ll go and see him tomorrow night. Tonight, I’m here.”
She squeezed my arm again. “Thank you, Eddie!”
She hurried away to work.
EIGHT
I sat in the front row and watched June put her dancers through their routine, several times. She knew what she wanted, and rehearsed until she was got it. Then I watched as Jackie’s stand-in went through his paces. They did this to get the lighting right, the timing, as well as the marks that everyone else would have to hit around him.
After I watched them work with Dino’s stand-in, I got up and moved backstage. I saw June, Marilyn and a few of the other dancers huddled together, still working on aspects of their routine. The Gleason stand-in was sitting in a chair, smoking a cigarette. And Frank Fontaine was walking around in his Crazy Guggenheim persona. I glanced back to where Marilyn and her sister were, then looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. That was silly. It was a dress rehearsal, and they were all in costume, with lots of flesh showing. Most of the crew was staring at them, and some of the staff. Even the catering guy.
“Finding it interestin’?”
I turned, saw Guggenheim, but Fontaine’s voice was coming out of his mouth.
“Very,” I said, “and a little disconcerting. It’s hard to reconcile that you’re two men.”
He laughed. “I get that a lot. Mostly, it’s the hat.” He took the hat off to illustrate his point, and I got it. Without it he was Frank Fontaine. When he put it back on—boom, Guggenheim.
“Weird,” I said, “but interesting.”
“Where you from, Eddie?” he asked.
“New York, originally,” I said, “but I’m in Vegas, now.”
“Ah, Vegas,” Fontaine said. “Which casino?”
“The Sands.”
“I’ve played Vegas,” Fontaine said, “but never the Sands. I usually played nightclubs rather than hotel/casino showrooms.”
I didn’t remember ever seeing Fontaine’s name on a marquee, but I kept that to myself.
“I don’t do too many dates like that, though,” Fontaine added. “I’ve got nine kids.” Nine at that point, I remember, but he ended up with eleven, eventually.
“Nine? Jesus. How any wives?”
Fontaine laughed. “Just the one.” He stuck the hat back on his head and in his Guggenheim voice said, “I gotta go and do my number.”
“Break a leg,” I said.
Fontaine walked over to the Joe the Bartender set, where Gleason’s stand-in was standing behind the bar.
I decided to take a walk around, see what the Taylor sisters were up to, and look for any uninvited prying eyes.
The Taylors and the other dancers had dispersed. I figured the sisters might be in their dressing rooms—if, indeed, they had dressing rooms. At least June must have had her own. Marilyn probably shared space with the other girls.
I popped my head into a few doors, and in one I caught the dancers is various stages of dress and undress. It reminded me of being in a showgirl dressing room at one of the casinos.
�
��Hey, handsome,” one half-dressed girl greeted me. She was tall, dark haired, showing off a long, lean, lovely frame in a bra and panties. “Come on in,”
“Don’t listen to her,” cried a thin blonde, who was holding a robe up in front of her, “get out of here!”
“Handsome men are always welcome,” another semi-clad girl, this one a redhead, said.
“Sorry, cowboy,” one woman said, approaching the door, “no peeking allowed.” As she pushed me out and closed the door I realized it was Marilyn Taylor. At least I knew where she was, and that she was safe.
I could hear the last echoes of Frank Fontaine’s song from the Joe the Bartender set, and wondered how much longer rehearsals would go on?
Returning to the front of the house I listened to Dino’s stand-in going through the motions for Dean’s spots—a song, and a skit—and then rehearsals seemed to be coming to a close. I checked my watch and saw that I might actually be able to make it to Frank’s opening, depending on when Marilyn Taylor decided to leave the theater.
After determining that the cast would all be leaving by the same door, I decided to go outside, get back into the car and watch from there. If anyone was loitering, waiting to follow Marilyn Taylor, I’d be able to catch sight of them.
“Have you driven Frank before?” I asked the driver, as he opened the door for me.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I drive Mr. Sinatra every time he comes to Miami.”
That was good. Frank’s driver was so used to asking no questions, and he just got into the driver’s seat and waited with me.
It was getting dark when cast members and crew began filing out the door. June had said Marilyn felt that one man was following her. I watched other doorways, corners where the shadows were beginning to form, anywhere a man might lie in wait. I also kept an eye on nearby parked cars. Finally, June and Marilyn came out together. I hoped they wouldn’t both get in the same car, because that might have dissuaded anyone from following. But they kissed, embraced, and walked to two different cars.
[Rat Pack 11] - I Only Have Lies for You Page 3