It Was a Very Bad Year (2 page)

‘What the hell—' I heard Frank say.

‘What?' I asked, turning around.

He was looking not at the ring, but across it.

‘What's that bum doin' here?' he asked.

‘Who?'

‘Across the ring.' He pointed. ‘That fella's name is Amsler, Joe Amsler.'

I tried to see who he was pointing at.

‘Which one?'

‘The young guy,' Frank said, ‘right across from us. He went to high school with my Nancy.'

I saw an animated young man talking earnestly with another man about the same age. It looked to me like they weren't looking at the ring either, but past it to us – at Frank.

‘I take it you don't like him?'

Frank looked at me and said, ‘I never like any boy who hangs around Nancy. Keep that in mind, Eddie.'

‘Hey,' I said, referring to my one close encounter with Frank's daughter, ‘she flirted with me.'

‘Just remember, pally,' he said, poking me in the chest with his forefinger.

After that we ignored Amsler and went back to watching the action in the ring.

Richard Conte nudged me and asked, ‘Would it be bad taste for me to light up a victory cigar now?'

‘I don't think Floyd's camp would appreciate it.'

‘OK,' he said, ‘I'll hold off. Floyd may not be able to beat Liston, but he could kick my ass with no trouble.'

‘You and me both,' I agreed.

We watched as the fighters came to the center of the ring for their instructions.

A left took Floyd's legs out from under him, and set up the first knockdown.

‘Oops,' Conte said, happily.

Floyd got up and indicated to the ref that he was all right, but you could see he had no legs. A barrage of punches put him down for a second time, and Conte happily took out his cigar. He was just taking the cellophane off when Floyd went down for the third and final time.

He was knocked out at two minutes ten seconds of round one.

He had lasted four seconds longer than the first fight.

Liston would defend his title against Cassius Clay the following year.

Conte's blue cigar smoke surrounded us as we waited for the fight crowd to clear out.

Conte puffed away happily.

Sinatra fanned away the smoke and said, ‘Gloat now, Nick, but Cassius Clay will take the title away from Liston when they meet.'

‘You wanna bet now?' Conte asked, smiling.

I didn't get in on that bet, either. I didn't think anyone would be beating Sonny Liston for a long time.

By the time we left the Las Vegas Convention Center I had completely forgotten about Joe Amsler.

I
first met Abby Dalton briefly when I was in LA with Ava Gardner. We flirted some, but let me repeat that at the time I was with Ava Gardner. Abby was a beautiful young blonde with a delicious overbite (although I
had
heard it described as ‘vicious') who was playing Joey Bishop's wife on his sitcom
The Joey Bishop Show
.

Joey had called me the day before to say he was coming into town and did I want to have dinner? Whenever any of the guys flew in I made time for them. We agreed to meet at the Bootlegger Italian restaurant on the South Strip. Frank and Dean had introduced me to the Bootlegger, which served traditional Italian fare.

I arrived first and was sitting at a table with a martini when Joey walked in. I was surprised to see that Abby Dalton was with him. Her hair was up, and she was wearing a suit that did nothing to hide her curves, a short skirt and high heels that showed off her wonderful legs.

‘Hey, Eddie,' Joey said, as they approached, ‘you remember Abby.'

‘How could I forget?' I asked, standing. ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Dalton.'

‘Oh, please, Eddie,' she said, dazzling me with that overbite, ‘call me Abby.'

‘All right, Abby. Please, sit.'

She looked at the two place settings on the table and turned to Joey.

‘You didn't tell him I was coming.'

Joey looked at me for help.

‘No, he didn't,' I said, and his look turned to a glare, ‘but it's a pleasant surprise.'

‘Well,' she said, ‘somebody's a gentleman.'

Joey took the hint and held her chair for her. A waiter came running over – because he recognized Joey, or simply because he saw Abby? – and asked if they wanted drinks.

‘I'll have a Coke,' Joey said, as he sat. According to him he had never touched hard liquor in his life, and I never saw a reason to doubt him.

‘I'll have what Eddie's having,' Abby said.

‘Vodka martini coming up, signorina.' I could see in the young waiter's eyes that he was smitten.

‘Eddie, I'm sorry Joey surprised you like this,' Abby said.

‘No reason to apologize,' I said. ‘Why would I not want to eat dinner with a beautiful woman – and a schmuck?'

‘Hey, easy now.' Joey looked sharp, as usual, in a black suit, white shirt and thin black tie. He always made me feel like a bargain basement kind of guy as I looked down at my own five-year-old suit.

‘Well, I'm sure he got you here under false pretenses,' she said. ‘You see, I have a problem that Joey said you might be able to help me with.'

There was a time when I thought Frank, Dean, Joey and the rest only called me when they had problems. That time had past, since I'd had many breakfasts and dinners with each of them that involved nothing more than catching up.

‘Well, Joey's pretty well versed on what I can and can't do,' I told her. ‘If he says I can help you, I probably can. At the very least, I'll try.'

‘See?' Joey said to her. ‘What did I tell you? He's the best.'

The waiter returned with their drinks, and a third place setting.

‘We won't need that,' Joey said. ‘I'll be leaving right after I finish my Coke.'

‘Si, signore,' the waiter said, and took the extra setting away.

Joey looked at me. ‘I just wanted to get you two started, then I figured I'd leave you alone so Abby can tell you her troubles.'

Did this mean that Joey had promised her I'd help, even without knowing what the problem was?

‘Well then,' I said, ‘you should probably leave so we can order.'

Joey drank half his Coke and said, ‘Oh, yeah, right.' He stood up. ‘You'll see that Abby gets back to the Sands?'

‘Of course I will,' I said.

Joey put his hand on her shoulder and said, ‘I'll see you later.'

‘OK, Joey,' she said. ‘Thanks.'

As Joey left I picked up a menu and handed it to her.

‘Let's order, maybe get some wine,' I said, ‘and then you can tell me what this is all about.'

‘All right,' she said, ‘but I'll be paying the check, since Joey tricked you into coming.'

‘I'll pay the check, Abby,' I said. ‘I consider that Joey did me a big favor by arranging for me to have dinner with you, instead of him.'

‘I can see I'm going to have to watch myself with you, Eddie,' she said. ‘You seem to know all the right things to say.'

I
had veal, Abby had chicken.

Once we had dinner in front of us, with a glass of red wine each, I asked Abby to tell me what the problem was.

‘I'm being . . . harassed.'

‘By who?'

‘I don't know,' she said.

‘What form is this harassment taking?' I was already thinking that maybe she'd get more help from my private eye buddy, Danny Bardini.

‘Phone calls, mail—'

‘What did you get in the mail?'

She fidgeted in her chair.

‘Years ago, when I was first starting out, I had some . . . pictures taken,' she said, nervously.

‘OK, let me stop you,' I said, wanting to ease her discomfort. ‘I don't need to know what kind of pictures, and I don't need to see 'em.'

She breathed a sigh of relief and said, ‘You're making this a lot easier.'

‘That was my intention.'

‘Thank you.' She paused for a piece of chicken and I watched with pleasure as she chewed. I don't usually enjoy watching people eat – it's pretty ugly most of the time, people shoveling food into this big hole in their face – but hey, this was Abby Dalton.

‘Somebody – probably from my past – sent me a copy of the photo . . . photos. They then called and just sort of . . . gloated.'

‘No blackmail?'

‘No,' she said, then after a pause, ‘not yet, anyway.'

‘But you are expecting a demand.'

‘Well . . . you tell me. Why else would somebody do this?'

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘Just to scare you, maybe? I mean, if these photos got out they'd be . . . what? Embarrassing?'

‘At the very least.'

‘Why would someone do this now?' I asked. ‘Because you're a celebrity, and you're on TV?'

‘I was on
Hennessy
for three years before doing Joey's show,' she said. ‘Why wouldn't they have done it then?'

‘Could someone have found these photos, say, accidentally?'

‘I suppose . . .'

‘Who were they taken by?'

‘A professional photographer.'

‘And what does he have to say?'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I . . . I haven't spoken with him.'

We paused for a couple of bites each. It was a shame we weren't paying attention to the food. It was very good.

‘Joey told me you helped Sammy a couple of years ago when he had a similar problem.'

I didn't know how similar Sammy's situation was, and I couldn't really comment on it, but it did involve – in part – some photos of his wife, May Britt.

‘I know you can't talk about that,' she said, ‘but I was hoping you would be able to help me, too.'

‘Why would you ask me for help and not somebody in Los Angeles?'

‘Oh,' she said, ‘I didn't tell you. I was born here in Las Vegas, Eddie. The photos were taken here. I think that's really why Joey thought of you.'

Well, that made sense.

After dinner we had dessert – cheesecake for me, a cannoli for her – and discussed the situation further.

‘So the photographer was also from here?'

‘Yes, he had a studio here. Eddie, I haven't checked, or tried to get in touch with him. I can't – I don't want to—'

‘Well,' I said, ‘if he's still alive, and workin', I can find him.'

‘Then you'll help me?'

‘Of course I'll help you, Abby,' I said. ‘I mean, I'll do what I can, but you know I'm a pit boss, not a detective.'

She laughed, her eyes lighting up, and said, ‘Joey says you're a hell of a detective.'

‘Well, I have a friend who is a real detective, and I'll get him to help, too.'

‘Wow,' she said. ‘I feel a lot better. Lighter.' She looked down at her dessert. ‘I think I'll enjoy this.'

‘You should,' I said. ‘It's very good. You're staying at the Sands?'

‘I am, for now,' she said.

‘So how did you get started?'

‘I was a teen model,' she said. ‘Did magazines and album covers until I started working for Roger Corman.'

‘You know,' I said, ‘
Stakeout on Dope Street
and
The Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent
flies in the face of your wholesome image.'

‘Oh my God,' she said, putting her hand to her mouth, ‘you saw those?'

‘I watch TV late at night, sometimes.'

‘You know, I hate being called wholesome,' she said, wiping cream from the corner of her mouth with her forefinger. She didn't look very wholesome at that moment. ‘And you know what I hate even more than that?'

‘What?'

She leaned forward and said, ‘I hate being called toothsome.'

‘Come on,' I said, ‘they usually put the word “beauty” after that.'

‘“Toothsome beauty?”' she said. ‘That sounds like a left-handed compliment.'

‘It's no left-handed compliment to say that you're beautiful.'

‘Thank you, sir,' she said, ‘but you didn't think so the first time we met, in the Polo Lounge. If I remember correctly, you were with Ava Gardner.'

‘I was . . . helpin' her with a situation.'

‘Ah,' she said, ‘another damsel in distress. You're actually Sir Eddie G., gallant knight.'

‘I like to do my part to keep beautiful women happy.'

‘Well,' she said, sitting back, ‘you've made me a happy girl. A wonderful meal, and you've agreed to help me. I feel much better than I have in weeks.'

‘This has been going on for weeks?'

‘Eddie,' she said, ‘this has been going on for months.'

I
made notes, specifically concerning the photographer's name and address, and then some dates Abby gave me. After that I paid the bill and we walked out to my car. I opened the passenger-side door for her, watched as she got in with a flash of nylon-covered legs, then got behind the wheel and headed for the Sands.

‘How well do you know Joey?' she asked.

‘I meet a lot of the celebrities who come to the Sands,' I said. ‘Mostly I know them to say hello to, but Joey and I got along from the beginning. Then, a few years ago, he introduced me to Frank and Dean and the others. We became friends.'

‘Sounds to me like more than friends, from what Joey says.'

‘Really?'

‘Yeah,' she said, ‘he likes you a lot, says you're a good friend and the guy to see in Vegas.'

‘Well, I do what I can to help.'

‘When I told him my problem,' she said, ‘he told me not to worry, that you could fix it.'

I looked at her for a moment, then back to the road. She was staring straight ahead, and it wasn't easy to pull my gaze away from her lovely profile.