Robert Randisi - I'm a fool to kill you

‘Someplace safe, like where?’

‘I think I should take you back to Las Vegas with me.’

‘To see Frank?’ I couldn’t tell if her tone was hopeful or not.

‘I don’t know, Ava,’ I said. ‘Right now I’m just thinkin’ about keepin’ you safe.’

‘You’re very sweet,’ she said, stroking my cheek.

She stood up and walked to the bedroom door, then turned and said to me in her most innocent tone, ‘Come to bed, Eddie.’

Believe me, I was determined nothing was going to happen. After all, she was Frank’s ex, and he was my friend and — even more than that — he was Frank Sinatra. He’d blown his stack at Peter Lawford one time for just being seen with Ava.

Ava’s sexual appetites were legendary, awakened — so she said — by the time she spent married to Mickey Rooney. She’d been a nineteen-year-old virgin when they got married, and the first time they had sex it had awakened something inside of her. Their marriage didn’t last, but her love of sex did.

Among her many conquests had been actors, singers, sports figures, bull fighters, artists. . you name it. So what chance did a lowly pit boss have against that kind of sexuality?

I mean, it was Ava Gardner, right?

Ava had been right. The bed was king-sized and, as we went to sleep, there was a lot of space between us. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about the smell of sex coming from every pore of her body, which had me hard from the moment I met her. Being in bed with her — albeit with me on one end and her on the other — was painful!

When I woke up light was streaming in through the window, and I noticed two things. Ava had closed the distance between us. Her head was on my shoulder, and her body was plastered to mine. The second thing I noticed was that she was totally naked.

I looked down at her, drinking in what seemed to be acres of beautiful female flesh. Her breasts were pressed up against me, and I could feel her nipples poking into my arm. I had gone to sleep in my boxers and t-shirt, and my painful erection had worked its way out the front of my underwear. I felt like Tom Ewell in a Marilyn Monroe movie, only this was real, and it wasn’t Marilyn — who I had come to think of as a little sister — but Ava Gardner, who was nothing like any relative on my family tree.

She moaned and stretched, and her eyes opened. She commented on the first thing she saw.

‘Oh my, Eddie. .’

‘Ava,’ I said, ‘you’re naked.’

‘I couldn’t sleep until I took everything off,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Ava-’

‘It doesn’t look like you mind.’

‘Ava-’

Without another word she took me in her hand and began to stroke my hard penis.

‘Ava!’

‘Shut up, Eddie,’ she said, sliding down, ‘just shut up. .’

It seemed like hours later we were lying side-by-side, both naked now, sweating and out of breath.

‘Eddie, Eddie. .’ she said, breathlessly.

I had never been with a sexual animal like Ava Gardner. All of my resolve disappeared once she had me in her mouth, and then when we were both naked all I wanted was. . well, all of her. This was a Goddess I was in bed with, and who knew if and when I’d ever have an experience like this again. I used everything — my dick, my mouth, my hands — everything I had to enjoy her, and she was like a wild animal, whether she was on top or on the bottom.

Or on the side. .

Or on all fours. .

She kissed me on the shoulder and said, ‘I need a shower.’

She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom. I watched her majestic butt until she was gone, and then when the water was running I finally came to me senses.

How the hell would I ever explain this to Frank?

When I came out of the shower, wearing a terrycloth robe that had been hanging on the back of the door, Ava was seated at the table with a pot of coffee, two cups, and some pastries.

‘I called room service,’ she said. ‘I don’t have anything here in the kitchen.’

‘This is great,’ I said.

I sat down and poured myself a cup, grabbed a Danish.

‘Eddie,’ she said, ‘don’t feel bad. I had a great time. Didn’t you?’

‘It was fabulous,’ I said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I won’t feel guilty.’

‘Why? Because of Frank?’

‘Well, yeah!’

‘I’ve been with men since Frank, and he’s certainly been with women since me. What’s the problem?’

‘Frank’s my friend,’ I said. ‘I don’t sleep with my friend’s wives.’

‘Ex-wife.’

‘That, either.’

‘Well,’ she said, looking at me with those big green eyes and nibbling on a pastry, ‘if it’s any consolation, I practically raped you.’

‘Yeah, you did,’ I said, ‘but I think I got into it, eventually.’

‘Yeah, you did,’ she said, with a deep-throated giggle.

I laughed, too, and then the tension seemed to break.

‘What are your plans for today?’ she asked.

‘Well, I was going to go over to MGM.’

‘And you’ve changed your mind?’

‘I’m worried about leaving you alone, here,’ I said. ‘If I knew you’d be safe-’

‘And how can you know that?’ she asked.

‘By having somebody watch you.’

‘Like who?’

‘That’s the problem.’

I thought about Fred Otash again, the Hollywood P.I., but he lived for publicity. Bodyguarding Ava Gardner would be too tempting not to talk about it.

‘I’ll have to try to think of somebody,’ I said.

At that point there was a knock at the door. In fact it was a pounding. I got up and walked over, gathering the robe around me.

‘I’ll have to make some calls, see if I can come up with-’ I was saying to her as I opened the door. I stopped short when I saw who was standing on the doorstep.

‘Hey, Mr G.,’ Jerry Epstein said. He looked me up and down. ‘How’s it hangin’?’

‘Jerry, what the hell-’ I said, shocked.

‘Mr S. called me and said you need help,’ the big man said. ‘He got me on a red eye and told me to come here. So here I am.’

‘Come on in, Jerry. It’s good to see you, big guy.’

‘Good to see you, too, Mr G.,’ he said, pumping my hand. ‘I was surprised when Mr S. said I had to come out to L.A. I thought you’d had enough of this place since Miss Monroe died.’

‘Yeah, I did,’ I said, ‘but something came up. Did Frank tell you what’s going on?’

‘Nope. Just told me to get here. Said you was staying here with some broad named Lucy Johnson.’

‘Well, Jerry,’ I said, walking him to the table where Ava was sitting in her silk robe, ‘meet Lucy Johnson.’

‘Pleased ta meet ya, Miss Johnson. Jeez, you sure look a lot like that broad who was in that movie — the one in the jungle with Clark Gable?’

‘ Mogambo ,’ I said.

‘Yeah, right,’ Jerry said. ‘That’s it. Ya look like. . Ava Gardner!’

‘Really?’ Ava asked, playfully. ‘Don’t you think I’m prettier than her?’

‘Uh, well. .’ Jerry looked at me for help. He wasn’t very good talking to women, unless they were waitresses or whores. ‘. . sure, sure, you are. . Mr G.?’

‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘this is Ava Gardner.’

Jerry gaped at me, then at her.

‘You was playin’ games with me,’ he said to her, finally.

‘Yes, I was,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry, Jerry.’ She stood up and Jerry averted his eyes because the flimsy robe was clinging to her. ‘Eddie, I’ll go get dressed and you can talk to Jerry.’

‘OK, Ava.’

We both watched her walk to the bedroom door, closing it behind her.