Fly Me to the Morgue (2 page)

‘I hope so,' I told him. ‘I'm gonna be betting your horses.'

When we got to the track the next day, we were immediately shown to the Clubhouse, where Dino welcomed us and made the introductions.

First he introduced us to our host, Bing Crosby, who had his wife of six years, Kathryn Grant, on his arm. It caused a stir in Hollywood when they married, as she had been twenty-three at the time and he fifty-four. But they looked like a happy couple that was very much in love.

‘Thanks for coming,' Bing said, shaking hands with both of us.

‘It's a real pleasure, Mr Crosby,' I said.

‘Bing,' he said, ‘just call me Bing.'

‘Mr Crosby,' Jerry said, sounding nervous.

‘You, too, son,' Bing said. ‘Call me Bing.'

‘Oh, I couldn't do that,' Jerry said.

‘Sure you can—'

‘No, he really can't,' I said. ‘He still calls me Mr G., and we've known each other for years.'

‘Are you two an act?' Bing asked, laughing. ‘Should Hope and I be worried?'

‘I don't think you and Mr Hope should worry about anybody,' Jerry said. ‘You guys are funnier than Abbott and Costello, and they're my favorite.'

‘High praise, indeed,' Bing said, his arm around his beautiful wife's waist. ‘I've gotta check a few things, so you boys just mingle, huh?'

‘Thanks, Bing.'

He walked off, looking more like he was dressed for golf than the track, but that was probably just his style. His wife, like many of the women around us, was decked out in an expensive sundress, others in halter-tops, all there to enjoy the sun as well as the horses. Some of them passed close enough for us to smell the ocean on them, indicating they had come to the track right from the beach.

Jack Benny was next, with his wife Mary; then we met Bing's partner in Del Mar, Pat O'Brien. There were others, friends of Bing's and O'Brien's, not Hollywood types, all of whom were very nice and very rich.

A spread had been laid out for the guests, which I nibbled at but ‘Jerry made full use of. I stood off to one side with a Bloody Mary in my hand and watched him pile a plate high with cold cuts, potato salad and several other types of salad.

‘He really appreciates a smorgasbord, doesn't he?' Dean asked.

‘He has a big appetite, all right.'

‘You got any horses picked out for today?'

‘Jerry's my guy for that,' I said. ‘He's a good handicapper.'

‘Is that so?' Dean asked. ‘How good?'

‘Real good.'

‘I usually rely on Bing for my tips.'

‘Jerry doesn't give out tips,' I said. ‘He just picks winners.'

‘I might give him a try.'

‘Well, he did a lot of his handicapping last night, but as he explained to me on the way here, that's only half the job. When he's actually at the track he watches the horses in the paddock.'

‘Sounds like a lot of work,' Dino said.

‘Why do you think I‘m counting on him to do it?' I asked. ‘Where's Frank, by the way?'

‘Bing invited him, but he's got other obligations.'

‘It's not because of the, uh, JFK thing, is it?'

‘What? Hell, no. Frank doesn't hold Bing responsible for that.'

‘Or Jack Kennedy, I notice,' I said. ‘Just Peter.'

‘Peter, and the rest of the Kennedy family, especially Joe. No, Bing means too much to Frank for him to get mad at. You don't know what a thrill it was for Frank to work with Bing in
High Society
. In fact, he's asked Bing to take the part that Peter was going to play in our new film,
Robin and The Seven Hoods
. He wishes he could have come, but he couldn't. Same for Sam and Joey. Other plans. So, lunch?'

‘It's too early.'

‘It's almost noon. Almost first post.'

‘I know, but working and living where I do I sometimes eat at odd hours.'

‘Well,' Dean said, ‘Bing usually leaves this spread out all day.'

‘Good to know.'

‘If Jerry leaves any of it for us.'

TWO

By the fifth race Jerry had picked three winners, and cashed a place bet. So had I, and Dean had followed. Bing, on the other hand, was oh-for-four, but not ready to toss in the towel yet.

‘You kiddin'?' he said, when Dean suggested he followed Jerry's picks for the rest of the day. ‘I'm just gettin' warmed up. And I have the winner in the big race.'

‘Are you sure?' Dean asked.

‘Positive,' Bing said. ‘I got the word from the trainer.'

He walked off to make his bet on the fifth race.

‘He's stubborn,' Kathryn said, with a wry smile, ‘but I know when I'm licked. Jerry, who do you like in this race?'

Jerry gave her his pick and she went off to play it, as did Dean. Jerry had already bet, for both of us.

‘Who do we like in the big race?' I asked him.

‘Crazy Kid.'

‘What?'

‘The horse's name is Crazy Kid, trained by John G. Canty for Vista Hermosa Stable.'

‘You know all of that?' I asked.

‘You gotta have as much information as you can to make your pick,' Jerry said. ‘This ain't casino gamblin', ya know.'

‘Oh? And what's wrong with casino gambling?'

‘Most of it is luck,' he said. ‘This is skill.'

‘You've played poker and blackjack, and you can still say that?'

‘You still gotta have the cards.'

‘Well, here you've got to have the horse.'

‘And the jock, and the trainer, and the track condition—'

‘OK, OK,' I said. ‘I give. Crazy Kid it is.'

‘I gotta get somethin' ta eat,' Jerry said, and headed for the spread. Actually, I was finally hungry, so I followed him.

We were standing off to one side with plates when Pat O'Brien came walking over. Had anybody in Hollywood played more priests in the movies than Pat O'Brien?

As he approached I could see how much thicker and greyer he'd gotten with age. I was used to seeing him on the screen, and hadn't seen him like this. But after all, he
was
sixty-four. He reminded me of George Raft, who'd had a similar career.

From 1930 through 1952 I don't think there was a year that Pat O'Brien wasn't in a movie. Lately, he'd been plying his trade on TV in things like
Playhouse 90
,
Studio 57
, and his own show for one season,
Harrigan and Son
.

He looked around, like he was worried someone would see us.

‘Hey, big fella,' he said, ‘I hear you been pickin' winners today.'

‘I've had a few.'

‘So, whataya like in this race?'

Jerry told him.

‘That horse is ten-to-one,' O'Brien said.

‘He's due,' Jerry said. ‘He's droppin' in class just enough to put him over.'

‘You got a tip?'

‘I don't believe in tips, sir,' Jerry said.

‘OK, son,' the actor said. ‘Thanks.' He started away, then stopped and turned back. ‘No reason Bing has to hear about this conversation, hey?'

‘You got it, Mr O'Brien,' I said.

As he walked away I said to Jerry, ‘I hope that horse wins.'

‘He will,' Jerry said, around a mouthful of macaroni salad.

And he did.

Bing Crosby looked around as the horses crossed the finish line, wondering why everybody was so happy. Then he got it, and took the news with good grace and humor.

‘You're all a bunch of traitors,' he said, laughing.

When he saw the look on Kathryn's beautiful face he said, ‘You, too?'

She shrugged and he laughed again.

Jerry cooled off, though, missed two races in a row before the feature. I went to the paddock with him to look at Crazy Kid.

‘He looks good,' Jerry said. ‘Should run in better than one-oh-nine.'

‘If you say so,' I said.

‘Look at his legs.'

‘I'm better with showgirls' legs.'

‘Well, this horse may not be able to kick like a showgirl, but he can run.'

‘Then we better go and bet.'

‘You think Mr Crosby will be mad when my horse wins and his doesn't?' he asked as we walked to a betting window.

‘No,' I said, ‘I think he'll congratulate you.'

‘Why won't he play my horse?'

‘I guess some men just like to pick their own,' I said. ‘After all, he founded this track, even owns some horses of his own. He probably considers himself an expert.'

‘Then he should be better at pickin' winners,' Jerry said.

‘Yeah, I suppose he should,' I said, ‘but how about we don't tell him that, hmmm?'

Jerry shrugged and said, ‘OK by me.'

We placed our bets and made our way to Bing's box so we could watch the race with the others.

‘There you are, big fella,' Bing said. ‘I thought you were gonna miss the race.'

‘No, sir,' Jerry said. ‘Not a chance.'

Everyone had their tickets in their hands. All but Bing had bet on Crazy Kid, the horse Jerry had picked.

‘This horse's first race was a twenty-seven hundred dollar claiming race,' Bing reasoned. ‘There's no way he's come this far.'

But Jerry remained silent and stuck to his guns. So did the rest of us.

It was post time.

And they were off . . .

‘I can't believe it!' Bing Crosby said.

It was hours later. The spread in the clubhouse had been changed from cold cuts to hot food. Jerry had a plate stacked sky high and was looking very uncomfortable as he was also the center of attention. He had not only given out the winner of the Bing Crosby Handicap but the last race as well. The people surrounding him were now the Faithful. Dean was standing off to one side with an amused grin on his face.

‘A track record,' Bing said to me. ‘One-oh-seven and three. I can't believe it.'

‘Jerry told me in the paddock the horse looked like he'd run a sub one-oh-nine.'

‘Where did you find this guy?' he asked.

I shrugged and said, ‘Brooklyn,' and went to rescue Jerry.

THREE

Bob Hope teed off and we all applauded as the ball sailed straight and true down the fairway.

I was playing at the Desert Inn Golf Course as part of a foursome that included myself, Hope, Dean Martin and Bing Crosby. Dean had taken me out on the golf course several months before. I had played occasionally, but now I was hooked. I tried to get out two or three times a week, and I prided myself that my game was improving. Dean said I had a natural talent for it. Still, when he invited me to play with Benny and Bing I hesitated . . .

‘Come on, pally,' he said. ‘It's just a friendly game.'

‘Friendly?' I asked. ‘I heard you guys play for high stakes.'

‘Well,' Dino said, ‘that depends on what you consider high stakes. I tell you what I'll do. I'll cover you.'

‘Dean—'

‘We'll play teams,' he said. ‘You and me against Bob and Bing. Whataya say?'

I said yes, of course . . . but I told him we might be on the Road to Losing. Which I thought was a pretty good joke.

‘Don't quit your day job, Eddie,' he said.

When it was my turn to tee off I held my breath, let it out slow, did what Dean had taught me to do, and shanked it.

‘He's got the shanks,' Bob Hope punned in that deadpan way he had.

A ‘shank' is the worse shot in golf. You hit the ball with the heel of the club rather than the face, and it goes off to the right.

‘The kid's just nervous,' Bing said.

‘Golf is a hard game to figure,' Hope said. ‘One day you will go out and slice it and shank it, hit into all the traps and miss every green. The next day you go out and, for no reason at all, you really stink.'

As we got into our golf cart Dino put his arm around me and said, ‘Don't worry about it, kid. We got 'em right where we want 'em.'

I did better the rest of the way. At least, I never shanked another one. I hit a couple of sand traps, but so did the others. It goes without saying there was a lot of joking and laughter, and even some advice, good and bad.

By the time we got to the eighteenth hole we were only two shots back.

‘We can do this, Eddie,' Dean said to me, as we got out of our cart. ‘You're putting OK, but you've got to concentrate on your tee shot and your drives.'

‘OK,' I said . . .

I think one of the problems was I was meeting Bob Hope for the first time. I'd known Dean for a few years by then, and had spent a whole day with Bing the year before at Del Mar. When I got to the golf course Bing greeted me like an old friend, and then introduced me to Hope.

Hope had played Vegas, and had even attended some of the shows the guys performed at the Sands, but somehow I had missed meeting him.

On this day I was not only meeting him, but on the golf course, where he might have spent even more time than he did on stage.

When we shook hands he said, ‘You didn't bring any ringers with you, did you, kid?'

I figured he was referring to me bringing Jerry to Del Mar the year before, where he had showed Bing up by picking a lot of winners.

‘No ringer, Mr Hope,' I said. ‘Just me, and I only started playing golf a few months ago.'

‘Is he puttin' me on?' Hope asked Dean, still shaking my hand.