Almost whispering, the doctor asked, “Is Miss Monroe under the influence of drugs this evening?”
“I think she had a Demerol or two. And a lot of champagne.”
“Explains the slurred speech.” Then the eyes hardened. “She says she was in her shower, and slipped and fell.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Whoa, Doc-I’m not the culprit. I can guess who is, but she wouldn’t want me to say. I’m just the friend she called for a ride here.”
He studied me, as if he could diagnose whether I was lying or not.
I showed him my credentials, which he studied for maybe half a minute.
“I’ve heard of you,” he said with a nod.
“And I’ve heard of you. So how is she?”
“Well, her injuries might have been the result of a fall. But it’s more likely she was struck in the face. Probably in the nose, although she isn’t bruised there. When an injury is sustained to the nose, any bleeding under the skin shows up in the soft tissue under-”
“Doc, that’s okay-I been punched in the nose a few times.”
That got a wry smile out of him. “Anyway, the good news is that her nose isn’t broken. I could find no evidence of fracture and saw no need to take X-rays.”
“She’s hoping to go back to work soon. She has some photo shoots next week…”
“Miss Monroe may be fine as soon as Monday. A little makeup should take care of anything the healing hasn’t.”
I shook his hand, and he released Marilyn to me-she gave him a hug before we left, and I’m sure the doctor appreciated it, but I had a hunch it wouldn’t get her a discount.
“I’m taking you back to my bungalow,” I said, leading her to the Jag.
The Beverly Hills Hotel was minutes away.
“I’d like that.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“No. Not since breakfast.”
“Could you eat?”
“I don’t know. I could try.”
She did pretty well, actually. We ordered room service, and on trays had a Polo Lounge Caesar Salad for two with shrimp. I vetoed champagne and she settled for sparkling water. I had the same.
That she might not have to postpone next week’s photo shoots made her happy. She had taken off the suit jacket and was in a white blouse (not the blood-spattered one) and the dark skirt, her legs bare, her kitten heels kicked off; her hair was disheveled as hell, once the wig was discarded, but I thought she looked great just the same.
We sat on the couch like an old married couple and watched television-no tiny portable sets for the Beverly Hills Hotel, this was one of those big twenty-four-inch numbers-with her curled up beside me, my arm around her, her head nestled against my chest.
We watched The Tonight Show and I said I wasn’t sure this new Carson kid was going to work out, but Marilyn disagreed, liking him better than Jack Paar, who she said was an obnoxious jerk. I wasn’t aware she’d acted with him in an early picture of hers.
Finally the late news came on and I switched off the set. The lights were otherwise out, though hazy illumination filtered in from the hotel grounds through the sheer curtains, the heavier drapes pulled back.
“Okay,” I said, “so what really happened?”
“… You have any smokes?”
“I didn’t know you still smoked.”
“Sometimes when I get nervous.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“I thought all detectives smoked.”
“I did in the service.”
“You were a Marine, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. I can ring and have some brought around.”
“I might have some in my purse.”
It was a little black thing she’d tossed somewhere. She went and got it, and found some smokes and lighted up using hotel matches. Then she paced in front me, moving in and out of the filtering light, the little amber eye of the cigarette bobbing along.
“I was showing Joe the herb garden I planted. Along that little brick path, between the guest cottage and the kitchen? We were talking about, you know, happier times. We did have a lot of good times together.”
“You weren’t married very long.”
“No, we weren’t, but even after, he was always there when things got tough. He’d come find me and he’d just be there. Like last Christmas? He knows how tough Christmas is for me, if I’m alone. He made sure I wasn’t alone. That was back in New York. Today was the first time he’d been to my new place.”
“Sounds friendly enough.”
“It was fine, as long we talked about what used to be. But, you see, from what he heard and read, he got the wrong idea. He heard about me getting fired and he just dropped everything, walked away from a really good job, because he thought things were going to be different now.”
“In what way?”
“He said he wanted to get married again, now that my-this is what he said, Nate-now that my career was over.” She laughed once, a bitter little burst. “That was always the battle between us, you know-he married me thinking I’d give it all up, the movies, the money, the fame, to be a good little Italian housewife and raise lots of Catholic babies. Well, I’m not Italian and I’m not a Catholic, and when I said this was just a bump in the road, that the press was full of lies and exaggerations, that I was going back with Fox for big money, and that nothing was more important to me than my career… he started getting angry.”
“And he hit you then.”
“Not then.” She shook her head. “Not then. It was… it was about something else.”
And there was the opening.
I said, “Maybe he’d heard the rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“About you and Jack Kennedy.”
The cigarette stopped bobbing.
“You’ve heard about that?”
“Yeah.” Suddenly I felt defensive. “You’re not the only one around here friendly with Pat and Peter Lawford. And, you know, I worked for Bobby, back when he was on the Rackets Committee-”
“You know about Bobby, too?”
That hit me in the gut.
Suddenly I recalled Lawford responding to my question about his brother-in-law and Marilyn, and he’d said, “Jack, you mean?” Because I could also have been referring to Bobby.
And Bobby telling me he was handling the Marilyn problem “personally.” Personally was right.
And Jimmy Hoffa making what seemed a crazy statement about both brothers fucking Marilyn. Not so crazy, after all.
I worked to keep my voice calm, not accusatory: “Marilyn, what is going on with the Kennedys?”
Not what the hell is going on… just “what.”
The amber eye began to bob again.
“The thing with Jack is over. He really is kind of a louse. I mean, a great man, but a lousy guy. I’m really disappointed in him. Do you know that he changed his phone number, just so I wouldn’t call him?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Anyway, Bobby is much nicer. Much smarter. His intellect is… really quite incredible. He’s going to make a much better president than his brother someday.”
“But you were with Jack…”
Her silhouette shrugged and she paced and the amber eye floated as she gestured. “I go way back with Jack. First time Joe got jealous of him was, oh…’54? He was a lot of fun, Jack. Not much of a lover, no romance, just in and out. But fun, funny, charming, smart. And then he sort of sent Bobby to see me and do his… dirty work. But Bobby felt really bad about it. Very sweet, really sweet. When I was angry and saying how Jack changed his phone number, what did Bobby do? Gave me his! Such a wonderful listener. He and I get along really well. I think it surprises him, how much I know about things. The questions I ask. It’s funny.”
“What’s funny?”
“The things they tell me. In the dark. In bed? Both of them. I know such crazy things, things I really shouldn’t. Some of it I have to admit I really don’t approve of-like trying to kill Castro. I mean, that isn’t right! They don’t call it assassination, they call… what did Jack call it? ‘Executive action.’ That’s wrong, killing the head of state of another country, just because you don’t agree with them. What do you think, Nate?”