You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Forty-one

Jerry had a beer in one hand and what looked like bourbon in the other, while Frank held up highballs, one of which had a cherry in it.

“Me and Jerry decided we had to drink to good friends,” Frank said, handing Marilyn the drink with the cherry.

“Here ya go, Mr. G.,” Jerry said, handing me the bourbon.

“Thanks, Jerry,” I said, standing up and accepting the glass.

“There’s nothin’ like good friends,” Frank announced, holding his glass up.

“Here, here,” I said.

After toasting each other we sat and talked for a while. An hour or so later Marilyn decided to turn in. She kissed us each good night, but the kiss on Frank’s cheek could only be described as a peck. She kissed Jerry on the cheek, and hugged him around the neck, not letting him get up. Then she came to me and pressed her silky cheek to mine, then kissed me at the corner of my mouth. After a moment she looked me right in the eyes and said breathily, “Good night, Eddie.”

“Night, kid.”

She went off to bed and we had another drink. Then Jerry announced he was going to turn in.

“Want George to show you the way, Jerry?” Frank asked.

“No, thanks, Mr. S., I can find it. I just gotta walk past the plaque that says ‘President Kennedy Slept Here.’ Night Mr. G.”

“Night, Jerry.”

“Guess I’ll have to move that plaque when Jack sleeps in the new wing,” Frank said. “Want another drink, Eddie?”

“I think I’m done, Frank.”

“Aw, c’mon, one more. I wanna talk to you about a couple of things.”

“Okay, one more.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Frank said, getting up from his lounge chair and quickly going inside. He was back in a few moments with two drinks.

“What do you need, Frank?” I asked.

“This thing with Marilyn,” he said be fallin’ for you.”

“Aw, come on, Frank. I’m not a ballplayer, or a playwright, or … or you.”

“She don’t care about that,” he said. “Right now you’re the man in her life, the one she’s clinging to. I played that role for a while, but I couldn’t cut it. Joe D., he still tries even though they’re divorced. But it’s you, right now. Be careful.”

“Frank, I’m not gonna get involved with her. I mean, I’m not gonna sleep with her.”

He laughed. “How you gonna resist if she throws herself at you?”

“She’s too fragile, Frank,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt her, and I don’t know if I could handle her full time, you know?”

“Believe me, I know. Look, I’m just givin’ you a friendly warning. What you do is your business.”

“I appreciate it, Frank.”

Frank remained standing, looking out over the pool. I didn’t know if he was staring at the construction work, or … just staring.

“Hey, Frank, what happened with that book you were readin’ last year? You were thinkin’ of makin’ it into a movie?” I tried lightening the mood.

“Which one?”

“The detective one.”

“Oh, Miami Mayhem, the one about the private eye, Tony Rome.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Well I’d like to make it, but it’s gonna have to wait. I got a lot of films comin’ up, and I’m readin’ this other book called Von Ryan’s Express that I’d really like to do, but …”

“But what?”

He looked at me.

“I’ve been makin’ movies left and right since From Here to Eternity. Most of them made money, some of them were even good. Guess I was thinkin’ make ‘em while I can, you know? Ya never know when it could all be taken away from you … again.”

I was uncomfortable. I’d never seen Frank anything but confident.

“Lately I’m thinkin’ I should just stick to what I do best, you know? I’m a saloon singer. Maybe I should leave the movies to other guys.”

“You can’t do that, Frank.”

“Why not?”

“People love your films,” I said. “Jesus, Some Came Running, Pal Joey, Johnny Concho-”

“Concho,” Frank said. “Wow, there was a stinker.”

“I like that movie!” I said indignantly.

“Really?”

“What about Guys and Dolls?”

“That was Brando’s movie.”

“High Society?”

“Fluff,” he said, “somebody wanted me and Crosby in a movie together, but who was lookin’ at us when Grace Kelly was on the screen?”

“Okay then, The Man with the Golden Arm. You were great in that!”

“Yeah, okay, that was a good one.”

“See? You gotta keep makin’ movies, Frank.”

“Well, a lot is gonna depend on the one I just finished.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s called The Manchurian Candidate. It’s a little different than anything else I’ve done. It’s got a message.”

He explained the plot to me and, of course, neither of us knew at the time that it would some day make a list of the top one hundred movies of all time.

“Sounds like a classic, Frank.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, laughing. “Like a bum like me could make a classic film.”

“What’s the difference then?” I asked. “You entertain people. You make them happy with your movies, and your records.”

“You’re makin’ me feel good, pally,” he said, laughing again.

“How’s it goin’ with Juliet?”

He looked into his drink. “She’s a sweet kid, but that’s not gonna work out.”

Great, I thought, now I had brought him down … again.

“And how’s Ava?”

“Ava’s Ava,” he said. “Gorgeous, and maddening. Maybe I should just stick to hookers and show girls, Eddie.”

“Frank-”

“Ya know, I think it’s time for me to turn in,” he said. “Thanks for listening, Eddie. You’re aces, ya know that, kid?”

“I should be aces, Frank,” I said, “I’m from Las Vegas.”