You Make Me Feel So Dead (2 page)

‘No, that ain't it,' Entratter said. ‘Don't be in such a goddamned hurry!'

‘OK, OK,' I said. ‘Just get to it. I've got to make up my mind to either do laundry, or go grocery shopping.'

‘I don't think you're gonna want to do either of those things,' he said. ‘Look, Frank wants to talk to you.'

‘Why didn't he call me himself?'

‘He called ahead,' Entratter said. ‘He'll be here any minute. He wanted me to have you available.'

‘Available for what?'

‘To talk, at first,' Entratter said. ‘After that, I don't know. I'll need you to tell me what's goin' on after you see him.'

‘OK,' I said, ‘so I'll see Frank. Wait, does he want to talk to me about Elvis, too, or is this something separate?'

‘No no, it's all got to do with that Presley kid.'

I knew that Frank wasn't crazy about the singer and his music, but I also knew when Elvis came back from serving in Germany and appeared on Frank's show that the chairman had a change of heart. He started saying that Elvis wasn't ‘a bad kid'.

‘Let's get back to the Sands,' Entratter said. ‘I'll find out if he's in his suite. And don't mention Elvis where anybody can hear us!'

‘OK, I won't,' I said. Geez. I knew Elvis was the King, but what did Jack expect, a stampede at the mere mention of his name?

I went into my bedroom for my shoes. Veronica had rolled over in bed, causing the sheet to slip down so that her high, firm, showgirl tits were revealed. Her long black hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath her head. After we'd made love the night before she had threatened me by telling me, ‘I am not a breakfast girl, so don't wake me up. Just go and make yourself some breakfast.' Which I had done. So I assumed she had slept through Jack's visit, and hadn't heard a thing about Elvis Presley.

Since I was off the clock I decided to stay casual and not wear a suit. I did, however, decide to take a windbreaker with me, because what people who don't live in the desert don't know is that it does get cold once the sun goes down.

I had been trying not to stare at Veronica, because the sheet was slipping further and further down. Her dark nipples had impressed me the night before, standing out as they did when distended, but now they were soft. Nevertheless, I was still fascinated, and staring at her might have delayed my departure.

I walked to the bed, leaned over and kissed her on both nipples. They immediately reacted, and she moaned.

‘Are you wakin' me up for breakfast?' she demanded sleepily.

‘Wouldn't think of it,' I said. ‘Just sayin' goodbye.'

‘Catch you down the road, Eddie G.,' she said, and turned over.

That was what I liked about Veronica. No sentiment.

F
rank was in his suite, having only just arrived. But he wanted me to come right up.

Entratter had taken a limo to my house, so he rode back in it while I drove my Caddy. So much for my day off.

‘You're off the clock,' Entratter reminded me, walking me to the elevator. ‘I'll get somebody to cover your pit.'

‘How do we even know I'll need to be replaced?' I asked. ‘We don't know what Frank needs.'

‘Whatever it is,' Entratter said, ‘you're gonna give it to him.'

‘OK, but we still don't know that I can't go right back to work.'

‘Come on, Eddie,' he said, as the elevator opened. ‘We been through this too many times before. We both know what's gonna happen.'

I stepped into the elevator and said, ‘Yeah, we do.' The door closed.

Frank answered the door himself. That pretty much meant he'd left George Jacobs, his much valued valet, back at home, and was on his own.

‘Hey, pally,' Frank said. ‘Glad you could make it on short notice.'

‘Jack dragged me out of my house and told me you wanted to see me,' I said. ‘Something about Elvis?'

‘That's right.'

‘I thought you hated him.'

‘Ah, he's not such a bad kid,' Frank said, as I'd expected. ‘We got along when he did my special. But do you know who I really got along with?'

‘Who?'

‘The Colonel.'

‘What Colonel?'

‘Colonel Parker,' Frank said, ‘Elvis' manager. You want a drink?'

‘It's a little early.'

Frank went around the bar. He was looking thin. The events of 1963 – JFK's assassination, and the kidnapping of Frank Jr – had taken a lot out of him. I had seen him a few times since then, and it seemed to me he'd lost the capacity for joy. And he'd become overly protective of all his kids.

‘How about something soft?' he asked.

‘I'll have a Coke.'

I walked to the bar and sat on a stool. Frank had a blue, short-sleeved shirt on with a wide, white collar and grey slacks.

‘Are you performing anywhere in town?' I asked, as he set a glass of Coke in front of me.

‘No,' Frank said. ‘I think I'll catch Darin's act while I'm here, but I'm really in Vegas to do a favor for a friend.'

‘Elvis?'

‘I said he wasn't a bad kid,' Frank said. ‘I didn't say we were friends. No, I'm talking about Colonel Parker.'

‘OK,' I said, ‘you're doing a favor for Parker. Where do I come in?'

‘Right there,' Frank said, pouring himself a Coke, which surprised me. ‘You see, the Colonel
is
in charge of every aspect of Elvis' life, but lately Elvis has been rebelling. He doesn't want to do the movies that the Colonel and the studio have picked out for him, anymore. He wants more serious parts.'

‘Well, I saw him in
Jailhouse Rock
and
Love Me Tender
. Also
Flaming Star
. I didn't think he was too bad.'

‘Yeah, well, those movies didn't make the money the other stuff did. The fans want to see Elvis sing and be surrounded by pretty girls.'

‘That's not too hard to understand.'

‘Well, he's coming to town to promote
Viva Las Vegas
with Ann-Margret.'

‘Tough work.'

‘The problem is, he's bringing the Memphis Mafia with him,' Frank said.

‘What's that? Like his Summit? Or a biker gang?'

Frank laughed derisively and said, ‘Not even close. They're a bunch of no-talent losers who enable all of his bad habits.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like pills.'

‘Elvis has a habit?'

‘He's well on his way to having a habit, according to the Colonel,' Frank said. ‘He's also looking for a new religion.'

‘New religion?'

‘He used to sing in the choir when he was a kid,' Frank said, ‘but since the death of his mother he's having second thoughts about God.'

‘Sounds like he's pretty mixed up.'

‘He is,' Frank said, ‘and the Colonel is afraid he's going to get himself in trouble while he's here.'

Uh-oh. I sensed a babysitting job coming.

‘Frank—'

‘Now, don't say anything,' Frank said. ‘I know you're about to turn this gig down.'

‘Gig? Are you offering to pay me?'

‘Hell, no,' Frank said. ‘We're pals. But the Colonel, he wants to meet you, and if you take the job, he'll pay you.'

‘Wait a minute,' I said. ‘Colonel Parker is here?'

‘Well, not in the hotel,' Frank said. ‘In fact, he's not even in Las Vegas. He rented a house out by Lake Mead.'

‘So where does he want to meet me?'

‘Out there,' Frank said. ‘He doesn't want Elvis to find out he's here. They've been having enough trouble lately without the kid thinking the Colonel is spying on him.'

‘So he wants to hire me to do the spying?'

‘As far as Elvis knows, you'll be showing him around town,' Frank said, ‘because you and I are friends.'

‘It's still a babysitting job, Frank.'

‘Don't you want to meet the King, Eddie?' Frank asked.

‘Come on, Frank,' I said, ‘you know you're the King.'

‘Don't kiss my ass, Eddie,' Frank said, but he was amused.

T
he last time I'd been out to Lake Mead I'd stayed in a cabin with Marilyn Monroe. This time, I didn't find a cabin when I got there, but an impressive two-story house with a rustic deck surrounding it. On the deck stood a man wearing a pale grey suit and a matching cowboy hat.

Colonel Tom Parker was in his mid-fifties, not an overly tall man, with a slight paunch and double chin. For years he claimed to have been born in the US, but in fact he was born Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk in Breda, Netherlands. He did not, however, speak with any sort of accent.

I parked, got out of the Caddy and walked to the foot of the steps.

‘Mr Gianelli?' he asked, looking down at me.

‘That's right.'

‘Come on up, then,' he said. ‘Thank you very much for coming.'

I went up the steps to join him on the deck. He was holding a glass of amber liquid.

‘Would you like a drink?'

It had been a long ride from Vegas and I was a bit dry.

‘Sure,' I said. ‘I'll have what you're having.'

‘Ice tea,' he said. ‘I'll be right back.'

I was surprised when he came back with the drink himself. I'd expected to find him ensconced in such a house with lots of domestic help.

‘There you go,' he said, handing me the sweating glass. ‘Have a seat.'

There was a solid wooden table with matching chairs on the deck. I sat, and he sat across from me. There was a slight breeze since we were near the lake, and it stirred the ends of the western string tie he was wearing.

‘I appreciate you coming out to see me,' he said.

‘Well,' I said, ‘Frank asked me to do it, as a favor.'

‘I also appreciate that,' he said. ‘Frank's a good friend.'

‘He is that.'

‘Did he tell you why I wanted to see you?'

‘Frank said he'd leave that to you.'

‘Good, good,' Parker said. ‘I don't want this to come out wrong, and it might … uh, I mean, coming from someone other than me.'

‘I'm all ears,' I said, sipping the tea.

‘There are a lot of people who think I control Elvis Presley,' Parker said. ‘They couldn't be more wrong. Elvis controls Elvis. He makes his own decisions.'

‘Based on your advice.'

He hesitated, then said, ‘Yes. He takes financial advice from me. He takes artistic advice from no one. He picks the songs he's going to record, and the venues he's going to play.'

‘I feel a “but” coming.'

‘But … he has friends, hangers-on, who are …' He was at a loss for words.

‘Leading him astray?'

‘Let's say that.'

‘OK,' I agreed, ‘let's.'

‘He's coming to town to promote
Viva Las Vegas
, and he's bringing them with him. I'd like to make sure he doesn't take a wrong turn.'

‘Colonel Parker,' I said, ‘I'm just a guy from Brooklyn. I'm gonna need you to talk a little plainer to me.'

He leaned forward and looked at me earnestly. I had heard that Parker always had the air of a showman, a carnival barker, but now he appeared to be deadly serious.

‘The boy is on the verge of making some disastrous choices,' he said, ‘involving religion, business, and maybe … drugs.'

‘What kind of drugs?' I asked.

‘I can't give you the names, but believe me, they're the bad kind.'

‘Not prescription, then?'

‘Some, maybe, but not all,' Parker said.

‘And what about religion?'

Parker sat back, squinted at me.

‘Since his mother died he's been looking for … something. Comfort, I suppose. I'm afraid he might end up involved with some kind of cult, maybe Hare Krishnas, or worse.'

I sat back, placed my half finished ice tea on the table.

‘What do you want me to do, Colonel?'

‘Frank tells me you're the Man in Las Vegas,' Parker said. ‘You got this town wired. If anybody can keep Elvis out of trouble, it's you.'

‘I can't babysit him, if that's what you want, Colonel.'

‘I don't want you to babysit him, Mr Gianelli,' Parker said. ‘I want you to be his friend.'

E
lvis Presley's friend?

That was quite a thought. True, I'd never expected to become friends with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis, Jr. Then again, working at the Sands I'd become friendly with other celebrities like Joey Bishop, Richard Conte, Nat King Cole – actors, singers, other kinds of performers.

But Elvis? The young King of Rock 'n Roll?

There was a mystique about Elvis, probably fostered by Colonel Tom Parker. But right now Parker sounded more like a worried parent. Could it be he looked on Elvis as a son, rather than a commodity to be managed?

‘I think you want me to give Elvis a little more than friendship, Colonel.'

‘Seems to me you're about ten or twelve years older than Elvis, Mr Gianelli.'

‘Just call me Eddie, Colonel,' I said, ‘and yes, about that.'

‘Well, you'd be a better friend – even a big brother type – to him than that bunch he's running with.'

‘The Memphis Mafia?'

Parker closed his eyes. ‘I hate that name. The press gave it to them. I'm talking about Red and Sonny West, Marty Lacker, Larnar Fike. And a few others. They're all coming with him. He gives them anything they want. He gives them things they don't want, like cars, televisions. They don't even have to ask.'

‘He's generous,' I said. ‘Everybody knows that. He gave Sammy Davis an expensive belt buckle.'

‘That's true,' Parker said, ‘but Sammy Davis isn't leading him down the garden path. Sammy Davis isn't supplying him with pills to get up, and pills to get down.'