You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Twenty-six

Jerry made dinner that night.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was festive. Marilyn got a big kick out of the fact that Jerry had managed to throw together a hot dinner using what little food she had in her cupboards and refrigerator. She laughed with delight like a little girl, and I wondered why her life couldn’t be like this every day. Why was there so much sadness and fear in her world when, to the world at large, she seemed to have everything?

But beneath the laughter that night was my concern for Danny and Penny, my confusion about what had happened at the motel.

When Marilyn excused herself to use “the little girl’s room” I asked Jerry, “Did you check the grounds today for any sign that somebody’s been watching the house?”

“I took a walk around,” he said. “I ain’t Daniel Boone but I know what a bunch of cigarette butts behind a tree mean.”

“So there was someone?”

“The butts seemed fresh,” Jerry said. “They haven’t been rained on yet. We could check and see when it rained last, but I’d say somebody’s been in the bushes recently.”

“Somebody who has the resources to make Danny disappear from a motel.”

“According to that one clerk,” Jerry said. “Didn’t you say you paid a maid to let you in the room?”

“That’s right, I did.”

“Seems to me that maid might know somethin’ more than she let on,” Jerry said. “That is, unless she disappeared, too.”

“Okay, so I’ve got to go back to that motel and talk to more employees and the owner. But still, that leaves us asking who these people are who got the clerk to lie?”

“Whoever they are they had to spread a lot of money around that place,” Jerry said. “But since you don’t have as much money to spread, you need me to make the difference.”

“You have to stay with Marilyn.”

“I gotta stay with you, Mr. G.,” Jerry argued. “We can find someplace to stash Marilyn where she’ll be safe. Like you said before, we gotta take her away, put her where they can’t find her.”

“That still doesn’t tell us who they are, or what they did with Danny.”

“Once they can’t find her,” Jerry said, “they’ll come after you.”

“You know,” I said, “she’s been connected to so many people-Johnny Roselli, the Kennedys-”

“Joe DiMaggio,” Jerry said.

“Well, she was married to him, and just recently divorced Arthur Miller.”

“Joe DiMaggio wouldn’t have nothin’ ta do with this,” Jerry said with finality. “Maybe that Miller guy is havin’ her watched because he’s still in love with her.”

But I was thinking about the Kennedy family. Old Joe had suffered a heart attack the year before, right after I’d talked with him at a house in Tahoe. Even though he’d survived, it had put him in a wheelchair, from which he was still running the Kennedy clan.

He never approved of Jack’s friendship with Frank, certainly didn’t approve of his son, the president, having show business friends. Did Joe know about Jack and Marilyn? Did he know about Bobby and Marilyn? Was any of this gossip true?

And if it was, to what lengths would Joe go to keep them apart? Would he use the Secret Service, as he had done last year when I was trying to help Sammy? Or would he use the FBI? No, Hoover would never allow that. Hoover hated the Kennedys.

So to what length would Hoover go to discredit the Kennedys?

Hoover and the Secret Service. They’d have plenty of money to spread around. And they would certainly have a lot more than just money.

“So where are we gonna take her-” Jerry started, but I shushed him.

“What-” he started, then got it when I pointed to my ear.

“Any more of that casserole left?” Marilyn asked, coming back into the kitchen.

“Sure is, Miss Monroe.”

“Jerry, sweetie,” she said, “I asked you to call me Marilyn.”

“I know, Miss Monroe, but … I just can’t.”

He spooned the last of his tuna casserole onto a plate and put it in front of her.

“I know!” she said excitedly. “Could you do for me the same thing you do with Eddie?”

Jerry looked confused.

“Could you call me Miss M.?”

“Sure thing, Miss M.,” he said. “I can do that.”

We all watched TV together until Marilyn announced she was going to bed. She came around and kissed us both good night on the cheek before she went. She smelled so damned good.

“Night, Eddie,” she said. “Night, sweetie.”

“Night Miss M.,” Jerry said.

I wondered when Jerry had become “sweetie” while I was still “Eddie.”

“I think I hate you, Mr. G.,” Jerry said from his supine position on Marilyn Monroe’s sofa.

“Why?”

“I used ta think Marilyn Monroe was the sexiest doll in the world.”

“And now?”

“Now? She’s like my little sister. I hate you for that.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I hate Dean Martin for the same reason.”

“Aw, ya can’t hate Dino.”

“And you,” I said, “can’t hate me. I guess we better turn in, too. Is there a sofa in the guesthouse?”

“Yeah, but you can have the bed.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll take the sofa. I’m smaller.”

“Yeah, you are.”

I stood up and beckoned him to follow me. We went to the front door and stepped outside.

“What are ya thinkin’, Mr. G.?” he asked, going right back to our conversation in the kitchen.

“The Kennedys,” I said. “The Secret Service. Hoover. The FBI?”

He stared at me, and then suddenly a light dawned. “You think somebody might have her house bugged?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Could be,” I said. “Just in case, I don’t want to discuss plans inside.”

“What about the guesthouse?”

“Might be bugged, too. Let’s just talk out here.”

“Okay, we could put her in a hotel.”

“Somebody might recognize her.”

“She could stay with a friend.”

“I get the feeling that’s not an option.”

“Well, who does she trust?” Jerry asked.

“Dino … I guess.”

“Where does he live?”

“Beverly Hills,” I said, “but we don’t know if he’s home.”

“What about Mr. S.?” Jerry asked.

I stared at him. “That’s a damned good idea,” I said. “He lives in Palm Springs, and he’s home because he’s getting the house ready for Jack Kennedy’s visit.”

“Do we want Miss M. to be there with JFK?” Jerry asked.

“No,” I said, “we’ll get her out before he arrives. We just need Frank to keep her safe for a few days.”

“Well, he’s got George,” Jerry said, “and he uses enough bodyguards to keep an army safe.”

“We’ll need to call him first,” I said.

“He’ll say yes.”

“We still need to call him, but not from here.”

“I got his number,” Jerry said. “We can head for Palm Springs and call him on the way.”

“Okay,” I said, “we’ll get Marilyn up early and head out.”

“How far is Palm Springs?”

“About a hundred miles, give or take.”

“In your car we’ll be there and back in a snap. And then we can check out the motel.”

“Good. Now why don’t you turn in?”

“I’m gonna take a walk around the grounds first,” he said.

“And just to be safe,” I said, “I’ll sleep on Marilyn’s couch instead of the one in the guesthouse.”

“Why don’t we all just sleep in the house?” he asked.

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “We’ve already had an unexplained disappearance. Why chance any more?”

“Or we can all disappear at the same time.”

“I could have done without hearing that, Jerry.”

“Sorry, Mr. G.”

He turned to leave and I grabbed his arm.

“Forget about checking the grounds. Let’s go back inside. We’ve got to stay together.”

“But if they’re watchin’-”

“Let ‘em watch,” I said. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”

“Okay.”

As we turned to go in I said, “You’ve got your gun, right?”

He patted his chest and said, “Right here, Mr. G. Right here.”