You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Twenty-seven

In the morning we got Jerry’s suitcase from the guesthouse and mine from the car. Marilyn objected to being woken up so early. She was definitely not a morning person, which was probably why she had a reputation for being late to the set.

“Where are we going so early?” she kept demanding.

“We’ll tell you later,” I said. “Let’s just get going.”

“I have to shower,” she said, “and do my makeup and hair.”

“Okay, but make it quick.”

She smiled at me and asked, “Have you met me?”

“Uh-”

She pushed me. “Get out now, and let me get ready.”

I got out of her bedroom and went to the kitchen where Jerry had made coffee.

“Thought we’d have breakfast out,” he said, “but this’ll get us started.”

We sat at the table, had a cup each, and then another, while we waited, like many directors and costars and crew had waited in the past, for Marilyn Monroe.

After we got on 10 we told Marilyn where we were going and why.

“So you really do think I’m in danger?” she asked.

“Don’t sound so relieved,” I said.

“It’s just … nobody has ever believed me before,” she said. “I mean … not about much of anything. Especially not when I say I’m sick, or that I’m being watched, or followed. Nothing.” When she said “nothing” she shrugged her shoulders and her voice went way up at the end, almost like Betty Boop’s.

Marilyn was in the back and I was turned in the passenger seat so I could talk to her. The wind was blowing her hair, but she told us not to put the top up.

“Does Frank know we’re coming?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “We’re gonna stop along the way and call. If he tells us not to come-”

“He won’t,” she said.

She seemed positive, even though their relationship had ended some time ago and Frank had since moved on to Juliet Prowse.

“I’m gonna pull up at this service station for gas,” Jerry said. “You can use the phone here.”

“Good.”

“I can call him,” Marilyn said.

“No,” I said, “I’ll do it.” I thought having her call would be pushing it.

While I went to the phone Marilyn stayed in the backseat and Jerry stood outside the car, leaning against it with his arms folded. He never took his eyes off the highway. He wanted to see if we were being followed. I promised Marilyn I’d bring her a Coke.

George Jacobs answered on the fourth ring. He had been Frank’s “man” for many years. We’d met but I didn’t know if he’d remember.

“George, this is Eddie Gianelli. I, uh, work at the Sands-”

“I know who you are, Mr. Gianelli,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to Frank.”

“What is it about?”

“Marilyn Monroe.”

“Mr. Gianelli, Mr. Sinatra ended that romantic entanglement-”

“This isn’t about romance,” I said. “It’s about life and death.” A little dramatic, maybe, but I thought it would do the trick.

“Please wait,” George said.

I waited. After a few minutes Frank came on the line.

“Hey, Eddie! Sorry, man, I’m supervising the construction, ya know? For Jack’s visit? Hey, where are ya?”

“On 10, halfway between L.A. and Palm Springs, Frank. I’ve got Marilyn and Jerry with me.”

“Jerry? Lewis?”

“Epstein.”

“Oh, Big Jerry. Yeah, George told me you said something about Marilyn. You know, Eddie, bringin’ her here, that’s gonna be uncomfortable …”

“I would’ve taken her to Dino’s, but I don’t think he’s home, and Jeannie, she probably wouldn’t-”

“What’s goin’ on, Eddie?”

I told Frank that Marilyn was bring watched-we had proof of that-and that Danny had disappeared.

“And this has something to do with Marilyn?”

“It has to.”

“So she really is being watched?”

“And probably followed.”

“The poor kid,” Frank said. “Yeah, Eddie, bring her here. By all means. I hope the noise doesn’t bother her but, yeah, I’ll have George get a room ready for her.”

“Okay, Frank. Thanks.”

“You and Jerry, you’ll stay for some spaghetti?” he asked hopefully. Frank really liked playing the role of host.

My first instinct was to say no, we had to turn right around and go back, but I knew Jerry would kill me.

“Sure, Frank. Sounds good. Thanks.”

“See ya soon, Eddie.”

When I got back to the car I handed Marilyn her bottle of Coke and went to stand by Jerry.

“Whataya think?”

“I don’t see nobody,” Jerry said. “Didn’t see nobody in the rearview mirror, either.”

“You think we got away from L.A. without bein’ followed?” I asked.

“Either that,” Jerry said, “or they’re really, really good at it. What did Mr. S. say?”

“He said bring her.”

“I told you he would,” Marilyn said, drinking from the straw stuck in the bottle.

I looked at her. “We should be there in about half an hour. Frank said he hoped the construction won’t bother you.”

“It won’t.”

“You get gas?” I asked Jerry. “All done.”

“Let’s go, then.”

We got back into the car.

“You didn’t want a Coke, did you?” I asked Jerry.

“No.”

He started the car and I turned in my seat to see if any of the customers at the pumps were paying us any attention.

“Is everything all right, Eddie?” Marilyn asked, putting her hand on my shoulder. There was a look of concern on her face that I wanted to wipe away. Sometimes, when she looked at me with those eyes, that was all I wanted to do.

“So far,” I said, patting her hand, “everything’s fine.”

But Jerry was right about one thing. Suddenly Marilyn was like a kid sister.

I hated me, too.