I'm a Fool to Kill You (9 page)

‘Why would you do that?'

‘That's what they wanted to know, but Larry cleared me.'

‘Was he the driver who brought me here this morning?' she asked.

‘Yeah.'

‘Did he mention me?'

‘No, he kept mum.'

‘Is he being taken care of?' she asked.

‘Yeah, I've got his bills covered.' I didn't tell her Frank was paying. I don't know why, exactly, I just didn't.

‘It's gettin' late,' I said. ‘Aren't you sleepy?'

‘No, not yet,' she said. ‘I had a nap, remember?'

‘Probably the first sleep you've had in days,' I said. ‘Maybe you better lay down anyway.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘I'll get a room somewhere—'

‘Stay here!' she said, abruptly.

‘What?'

‘I–I don't want to be alone,' she said. ‘While you were gone I kept hearing noises, kept thinking there was some fucking creep outside trying to break in.'

‘Ava, I can get a room in the hotel—'

‘No,' she said, ‘I don't just want you nearby. I want you close. I want you here, Eddie.'

‘All right,' I said. ‘I'll sleep out here on the sofa.'

‘Nonsense,' she said. ‘We're adults, and there's a large bed in the bedroom. We'll share it—'

‘I don't know—'

‘—but right now,' she went on, ‘tell me what happened at the hospital.'

‘All right,' I said. ‘Let's sit down . . .'

TWENTY-TWO

A
fter I told her what took place at the hospital she said, ‘I don't understand why someone would want to attack you. You're only here because of me.'

‘What I need to know now is, what's going on with you? Before the cops came we were talking about your black out.'

She averted her eyes.

‘Do you think it was something medical? Or just brought on by the booze?' I asked.

‘If I say it was from alcohol I'd be admitting I'm a fucking alcoholic,' she said.

Frank had always told me that Ava was a ‘tough broad,' so her constant profanity was no shock.

‘Not necessarily,' I said. ‘It could simply mean you drank too much over a period of days and your system couldn't handle it.'

‘What's the difference?' she asked. ‘I lost forty hours, during which I ended up covered in blood.'

‘What's the last thing you remember?'

‘I was in a hotel in Madrid – with some men.'

Her discomfort kept me from asking what she was doing with those men.

‘And what's the next thing you remember?'

‘I woke up alone in that hotel room in Chicago.'

‘Where, exactly?'

‘It was a room in the Drake,' she said. ‘I woke up feeling sick, staggered to the bathroom. I threw up, washed my face and saw blood in the sink. When I looked in the mirror I saw the blood on my clothes, and my face and neck.'

‘What else was in the room?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean was there any luggage, yours or anyone else's? Any room service trays, bottles, anything to indicate someone else was in the room with you, or how many people were in the room?'

‘Well, it did look there'd been a party. Trays, plates, bottles, overflowing ashtrays . . .'

‘Anyone else's clothes?'

‘No,' she said, ‘only a suitcase of mine. The one I have with me now. It just has a few clean clothes in it, and some toiletries.'

‘Did you think about calling the police then?'

‘Why? Because I got so drunk I couldn't remember those two days?'

‘The blood on your clothes might have given your story a bit more weight than that.'

‘No,' she said, ‘there'd be publicity.'

‘Ava, no offense,' I said, ‘but with some of the things you've pulled I never thought bad publicity was a concern of yours.'

‘I was worried,' she said, ‘I might have done something . . . bad.'

‘So you packed up and left? You didn't check out, did you?'

‘No,' she said.

‘Was the room registered to you?'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I don't think so.'

Even if it was, the cops wouldn't be looking for her, not just for running out on a hotel bill. And if they were they would have gone to the studio.

The Studio.

MGM.

If somebody was after her for legal reasons the studio would know.

‘I'll have to talk to someone at the studio, Ava,' I said. ‘To find out if the police are looking for you.'

‘I don't know how helpful that will be' she said. ‘I haven't made a film for them in some years. They pretty much either released or lost all their contract players in 1960. Things have changed in Hollywood.'

‘Still, if anyone – like the police – was looking for you, they'd probably go there.'

‘Well, they always covered for me, including the time in Louis Mayer's office when I hit Howard Hughes with an ashtray and he dislocated my jaw.'

‘Howard was begging to be my fourth husband,' she went on, ‘but that was not going to happen. We were even more volatile together than Frank and I were – or are.'

That story might have been interesting at another time.

‘OK,' I said, ‘let's get back to you. You left the hotel in New York and did what?'

‘Came here.'

‘Don't you have a house here in L.A.?'

‘I didn't want to go there,' she said. ‘I was afraid someone would find me. I didn't go back to Spain for the same reason.'

‘What did you do when you got here?'

‘I sat up all night, stayed hidden all day, sat up all night again, and then the next morning – yesterday – I decided to go to Vegas to ask Frank for help. I went to the airport and got on the first flight.'

‘Why not call him?'

She hesitated, then said, ‘I–I wanted to see him.'

‘So you walked into the Sands, saw him in the lobby—'

‘With Nancy and Tina.'

‘—and ran out, came back here.'

‘I was lucky there happened to be another flight back to L.A. when I got to the airport.'

‘And you came right back here?'

‘Yes.'

‘Didn't talk to anyone?'

‘No,' she said, ‘well, only the hotel manager, and the clerk. But no one else until you arrived.'

That meant if whoever attacked Larry was after me, they must have found out about me from the clerk, or the manager, or both.

And if they were willing to sell my name, wouldn't they be more than willing to make some money selling Ava Gardner's?

‘I think it's time to get some rest,' I said.

‘What are we going to do tomorrow?' she asked.

‘Well, I want to go to the studio and talk to somebody – maybe Mayer himself – and then I'll come back here and get you.'

‘Get me . . . to do what?'

‘I want to take you someplace safe while we try to figure out what you did during those forty hours.'

‘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.'

TWENTY-THREE

B
elieve 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?

TWENTY-FOUR

W
hen 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'?'

TWENTY-FIVE

‘
J
erry, 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.'