Robert Randisi - You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Hopefully, I’d also have time to get some info from Teddy Silver at the airport, and from Danny when he went to Tahoe.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and made it to the casino floor before realizing I had automatically walked to my pit. It was three in the afternoon and even if I was keeping to my regular schedule it wouldn’t be time for me to report in.

I decided I just had a lot on my mind at the moment and was kind of at a loss for something to do.

Or maybe the fact that my mother had died was hitting me harder than I thought it would.

I went to the Silver Queen to get a drink. The bartender was new, aware of who I was, but unaware that this might be early for me to start drinking, so he just smiled and poured, which was good, because I probably would have bitten his head off if he’d gotten chatty.

I was in a foul mood.

I wasn’t mad at Dean for getting me involved with Marilyn’s problems. I wasn’t upset with Marilyn. She couldn’t help herself. I wasn’t even mad at my boss, Jack, for taking the phone call from Brooklyn meant for me.

I guess the one I was mad at was my mother … for dying. And it wasn’t even really for dying. We all have to go sometime. I was pissed because now I had to return to Brooklyn and see my family. Certainly not something I was looking forward to. When I’d left more than fourteen years ago, I’d never looked back.

I didn’t feel I should be put in the position to have to explain myself. As far as I was concerned, I had had no other choice but to walk away-or run.

“‘Nother one?” the bartender asked.

“No, thanks.”

I decided to go home for the rest of the day. I left a message for Dean that he and the guys should pick me up there.

I pulled into the driveway of my little house, turned off the Caddy and sat. I’d been living in that house since I became a pit boss at the Sands. When Jack Entratter bumped me up to the pit this was my only celebration of the promotion and raise. But it had never felt like home to me. The only place that felt like home was the Sands. Some people might think that was sad, but except for a few nights when I really needed to get away from the constant pulse of the strip, that casino was it. Lord knows the house I grew up in never felt like home.

I made a pot of coffee and a sandwich, and had them sitting at the kitchen table. I’d left both the Sands number and my home number with Teddy, but I knew he was right. With the number of people who would have been watching Marilyn in both airports, it’d be hard to tell if somebody was following her.

I doubted that Danny was even in Tahoe yet, so when the phone rang I almost didn’t answer it, thinking it might be someone from Brooklyn. But in spite of myself, I walked to the counter and picked up the receiver.

“Eddie?”

The voice was low, tremulous but I recognized it right away.

“Marilyn?”

“I’m sorry to call you like this.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I said. I went back to the kitchen table and sat down, not knowing I’d be sitting there for a couple of hours.

The reason for the call didn’t seem to be anything specific. She didn’t ask if I’d found out anything, didn’t refer to anything we’d talked about in cottage number three earlier that day. She seemed to need to talk, so we pretty much just shot the breeze for two hours. Now, if you’d told me the day before that I’d be shooting the breeze on the phone with Marilyn Monroe the next day I never would have believed it.

After two hours we both started to run down. Her words actually began to slur.

“I don’t know why I don’t have any real friends,” she said. “I don’t know why everybody thinks I’m hard to work with-”

“Marilyn, honey-”

“-but it’s the other thing that really bothers me.”

“What other thing?”

“The Clark Gable thing.”

“You mean … the one about you bein’ responsible for his death?”

“Yes.”

“Marilyn, I thought we talked about that-”

“We did,” she said, “but … it’s still hard, having people say such horrible things. I guess I’m too sensitive.”

“Marilyn, have you heard anyone gossiping about you and Clark Gable maybe having … an affair?”

“Eddie, no!” she said, adamant and breathy at the same time. “Clark loved his wife. He never did anything-”

“I’m not sayin’ he did,” I said. “I was just wonderin’ … wouldn’t that have bothered you more than … the other thing?”

“Oh Eddie,” she said, “I’ve been gossiped about with so many men. Always accused of having sex with them. I’m used to it. But I’ve never been accused of causing someone’s death.”

“Marilyn, you did not cause Gable’s death.”

“But some people might think I did,” she said. “Everyone loved Clark.”

I heard something through the phone-maybe the sound of ice in a glass?

“Marilyn, are you drinkin’?”

“Just a little something to calm my nerves.”

I didn’t know if she had a serious drinking problem. I didn’t rely on rumors and gossip for the truth, but her addictions had been front-page news for years.

“Well, don’t have any more,” I suggested. “You’re not takin’ anything else, are you?”

She laughed. “Oh, Eddie, do you think I’d mix booze and pills? That’s dangerous.”

“Marilyn, I just don’t want you to do anything … silly.”

“Well then,” she said, “why don’t you come over here and make sure I’m being a good girl?”

Jesus, did she mean what I thought she meant? Was Marilyn Monroe coming on to me? Was she inviting me over … for sex?

My first instinct was to rush right over there, but Dean had warned me how fragile she was. I had also seen it for myself, and now I was hearing it. She couldn’t help but fall back on sex.

“Marilyn, you should get some rest.”

I could hear the pout in her voice. “You don’t want me, Eddie?”

“Every man wants you, Marilyn,” I said. “Isn’t that part of the problem?”

“Eddie, Eddie,” she said. “Are you what I’ve been looking for all my life?”

“What’s that?”

“A good man,” she said, “a really good man?”

“Marilyn, Marilyn,” I said, “I really don’t think so.”

She laughed and said, “Well, okay, then, you’re an honest man.”

“That I am,” I said, and we both laughed.

“Marilyn, give me your phone number at home,” I said. “I’m gonna see what I can find out regardin’ Gable’s death and get back to you.”

“Okay, Eddie.” She gave me the number that, last week, I wouldn’t have believed I’d ever have.

“You’re going home tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll call you there, to make sure you’re all right.”

“Okay, Eddie,” she said.

“Dean was really right about you.” She hung up before I could ask the obvious question.

I had showered and just finished dressing when I heard the horn out front. My neighbors had probably heard it, too. A big black limo was hugging the curb. I was sure people were watching as I got in the back. Dean, Frank and Sammy all slapped me on the back.

“How ya doin’, Charley?” Sammy said.

“Good, Sam, it’s great to see you guys. Where we goin’?”

“Where else?” Dean asked.

The Congo Room at the Sahara was a favorite place of Frank’s. They kept a booth open there just for him.

“Tony and Janet are in town,” Frank told me. “They’re gonna meet us for dinner.”

“Sounds good,” I said. So that would be the night I met Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh. They were friends with Frank and Sammy. Dean’s close friends, I knew, were few. He just didn’t need people around him that much. He was happy with his family, or just alone. That was why he usually let Frank call the shots. It mattered to Frank.