“Tell that to Jack before he picks out his next movie actress to bang. Or at least tell him to pick one less famous, and less temperamental, than Marilyn.”
Lawford sighed. “Bobby was right, and you’re right, too, Nathan. It wasn’t so much Sinatra himself, you see, or even his associates. Hell, in our nightclub act-you’ve seen it?”
I nodded.
He was smiling, remembering. “Joey would say, ‘Tell them about the good things the Mafia’s been doing, Frank.’ And the audience would roar, and Frank would, too. I mean, it’s a joke. It’s kind of… sexy. Naughty fun.”
I’d been around gangsters in Chicago since I was a kid. And I admit I never thought of them as “naughty fun.”
“Something made Bobby put the kibosh on it,” I said.
“ Giancana had stayed there-there in Palm Springs at Frank’s place. Old J. Edgar has the photos in a file. And one could not have the president bedding down where the boss of the Chicago Outfit once slumbered. Could one?”
“Frank could always get a bigger plaque and put both names on.”
He gave that the raspy laugh it deserved, and pressed on: “Jack is a great man. He has a huge heart, and a mind that to me is unfathomable in its brilliance. And the pain he’s in-do you know, Nathan, that he almost always wears a back brace?”
“Yeah. Except when he’s fucking, which is a good deal of the time. I also know he’s got Addison’s disease, and was given the last rites four times before he ran for Congress. Public has no idea of the state of his health. The VD, for example.”
Lawford looked pale despite the tan. “How do you know these things, Nathan?”
“Hell, who do you think covered them up? Answer me, Peter-is it a fling, or is this affair ongoing, Marilyn and Jack?”
“It, uh… was ongoing. It’s either over, or tapering off. Fling doesn’t quite cover it. It goes back farther than you might imagine, Nathan-unless you already know that.”
“No. Nobody hired me to cover this up. Yet.”
Lawford was staring, but not at me. “Started back in the fifties. I was at the party where she flirted with Jack and Jack flirted with her and DiMaggio just fumed.” He sipped the martini and smiled. “I’ll tell you something funny, Nathan… about Palm Springs?”
“Sure. I can always use a laugh.”
“At Bing Crosby’s? Marilyn was there. Openly with Jack. Playing goddamn hostess. My God, how the word hasn’t gotten out, I’ll never know.”
I didn’t shock easily, but I admit this news threw me. “Bobby forbids him to sleep at Sinatra’s, but it’s okay to screw Marilyn at Der Bingle’s? You have any aspirin, Pete?”
“I keep myself well-supplied in painkillers.”
“Maybe Crosby should put a plaque over that bed.” I shifted on the metal chair. The sun was setting fire to the ocean. “Why is Sinatra pissed at you?”
“You know Frank and his temper.”
“I know Frank and his temper, but I also know Frank sees you as his entree to the Kennedys.”
He winced. “I’m afraid that relationship is strained at the moment, as well-not over, merely strained. Anyway, I was finally elected for something in this family.”
“What?”
His expression was wry. “To deliver the bad news to Frank.”
My eyebrows went up. “That Jack was going to stay with Crosby, not him?”
“Yes.”
“And he took it well.”
Lawford studied the remains of his martini as if reading tea leaves. “I understand he took a sledgehammer out to the cement helicopter pad he’d had constructed for the president, and broke it up into little pieces.”
That made me smile.
“It’s not funny, Nathan.”
“It’s kind of funny, Peter.”
He sighed. Took another draw on his cigarette, then sighed again, with smoke this time.
“What else?” he asked.
“I really am here to help,” I said. “That’s why I’m telling you that Marilyn’s place has been bugged.”
I’d expected more of a reaction, but all I got was him twitching a sort of noncommittal smile.
“Really,” Lawford said. “Well, that’s interesting. Who by?”
So that didn’t worry him. But he was interested.
“Apparently,” I said, “everybody but the Boy Scouts of America, and I haven’t ruled them out. Maybe by you or your in-laws, I don’t know. But I’m here to pass along one of those words to the wise you hear so much about.”
“All right.”
“Tell that reckless son of a bitch in the White House to use some discretion for a goddamn fucking change.”
Lawford chuckled dryly. “As if he’d listen to me. As if he’d listen to anyone… But Nathan, I do thank you for this.”
He started to rise, assuming I was done, but I waved him back to his chair. He frowned and drew on his cigarette.
“Something else?” he asked.
“Yeah. But maybe I can spare myself the bother of telling this twice.”
“How so?”
“I think I ought to share this with your houseguest.”
He half-smiled again, but the eyes weren’t twinkling. “And what houseguest would that be?”
“I don’t know. It’s either Jack or Bobby. Was that Secret Service or FBI out there?”
CHAPTER 6
“Jack has always had a fascination with show business,” Bobby Kennedy said, “that I just don’t share.”
We were standing at the edge of the ocean, hands in our pockets, slacks rolled midway up our calves, bare feet in the foam, watching the orange of the sun fight the blue of the ocean in that twilight time that Hollywood calls “magic hour.” Sorrento Beach was known for volleyball, but nobody was playing this late afternoon.
He gave me that boyish, almost bucktoothed grin; he looked like a college kid in the blue polo and rolled-up chinos. Well, a tired college kid.
“For a fella like Jack?” he said, and chuckled soundlessly. “Having Peter for a brother-in-law, well, ah, that’s your classic kid-in-the-candy-store situation, isn’t it?”
The cadence echoed his famous brother’s, but with fewer of the characteristic hesitations; also, his voice was higher-pitched, the words coming quickly.
He looked like a condensed edition of Jack, a well-tanned five feet nine or so compared to the president’s six one, his eyes bluer than Jack’s gray-blue, his hair darker and more tousled. Not as handsome, though by no means homely. He was intense and intensely shy, but he had a temper and could strike like a viper, if so inclined.
After Peter Lawford had fetched his brother-in-law, Bobby and I had a brief, smile-and-handshake reunion-Bob was not the warmest guy, even with a friend-at which point Lawford suggested we repair to his den, and the comfy couches there.
I had suggested that what I had to say was best for Bobby’s ears only, leaving it to the attorney general’s discretion just how much (if anything) he wanted to share with his actor in-law.
Who took no offense, waving, smiling, retrieving his sunglasses (but leaving Ship of Fools behind), and disappearing inside the mammoth beach house.
“Shall we, ah, talk here by the pool, Nate?”
“Why don’t we take a stroll instead?”
Bobby’s eyes slitted, reading my hesitance to be even this close to the house. “Uh, yes. Nice afternoon for a walk on the beach.”
So we ended up with our feet in the soothing surf, walking slowly along, stopping a while, then sloshing back, with black suits shadowing us from well up the slope of the beach, far enough away that we could talk freely.
There had been a little small talk. Just enough to pass for us both being civilized. He asked about Sam, I asked about his growing brood. Then we got to it.
I said, “I don’t think Jack understands that movie stars are people. He comes out here and it’s all make-believe to him. Fun and games.”
That grin flashed again, but beneath the brown bangs, the eyes were troubled. “You’re preaching to the choir, Nate. I was sent to put an end to this silly dalliance. I’ve spoken to Marilyn about it, personally.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and, uh, I feel confident she’ll be cooperative.”