Letters to the Dead: Things I Wish I'd Said. Ann Palmer

sexy singer would also be romantic in person. Not so! Your kisses reminded me of an awkward schoolboy not really knowing how to be sensuous. I, too, felt very awkward. Through the years I dated numerous famous men so that was not an issue with me. I did not want to be just “another notch on your belt” that you would forget after “a romp in the hay.” Fortunately or unfortunately which ever the case might be, I was having my period and no way was I open to have sex! I really wanted to know what went on inside of you – to know the real you. Silly me! Perhaps your interest in me was because you saw something of Grace Kelly in me as so many others had. Maybe you fell in love with Grace when you worked together in “High Society.”

      Danny and his wife’s house was fairly new and was a lovely home. We headed for the bar. You were upset because the musicians were not there yet. Big deal! I didn’t see what difference it made. You reminded me of - again – a little boy stomping his feet to get his way. You went behind the bar, which was sunken so that your eyes were at my eye level. Two girls were there and in my estimation a bit “cheap” looking. They asked you for a drink and you replied in rather insulting words. Oh, oh! I took a look at you and thought – “If you talk to me in that tone of voice, I’m outta here!” I guess you saw it in my eyes because your whole mannerism changed as you asked me very sweetly “Honey, what would you like to drink.” There weren’t a lot of people there. You kept asking where is the band? Everyone seemed tense that you were upset! You grabbed me and told Ruby “Let’s get out of here!” I came with you so obviously I had to leave with you but I felt you were totally rude to the host and hostess. They were your friends and I am sure understood you far better than I did but they seemed upset that you were angry.

      Ruby dropped us off at your house and went his way. I don’t remember much about your home. We seemed to enter the den and bar area. It was fairly ordinary looking – nice, but nothing spectacular. Perhaps other parts of it were more impressive. I believe it had several guest apartments. Books are always a way to know something about a person. I stood looking at your books while you went behind the bar. There on the bookshelves sat your Oscar. Ahhh, and my dream of owning one myself. I asked if I could pick it up. I never realized you received two Oscars – one in 1945 for “The House I Live In” – I did remember the 1953 “Maggio” role in “From Here to Eternity” – plus another nomination for “The Man With the Golden Arm,” which should have won. It was not the first Oscar that I held. Richard Lang, whom I dated off and on for several years, had Clark Gable’s Oscar. Gable had given it to him when he was a small boy. He had used it for a hammer. He had it reshaped and re-dipped in gold and in tiptop shape to give to Gable’s son.

      Among your books was Pablo Picasso’s art works. I never knew you were called the “Picasso of Popular Music.” I was amused and told you – “You’re a bit like Picasso, I think. Seems to me Picasso sometimes tested just how far that he could go with the ridiculous. Still people bought and adored every thing he did. You are like that. I think you also test just how far you can go with people who flock around you like puppy dogs.” I don’t remember your comment if any. We talked a bit when I made a terrible choice of words. I wanted you to know that I was with you because I wanted to know YOU not the “LEGEND” – so, instead of thinking before I spoke, I started a sentence with “I’ve never been that much of a fan of yours…” WRONG thing to say! You never let me finish my statement. You stomped over to the phone and said angrily “I’ll get someone to come and take you home!” With several drinks in me, I got mad that you would not let me finish what I was saying, so I said, “Never mind, I can get home!” I saw where the gate release button was and hit it and off I went into the dark night! God! Now, I can’t believe I did that. Did I think I could walk 13 miles home after midnight across the desert! I was mad and hurt maybe a bit embarrassed too.

      As I look back on the whole scenario now, it seems a bit humorous or Daemon Runyon-ish! I didn’t get more than a few blocks down the road, which is now Frank Sinatra Drive, when the big black Cadillac came screeching up in front of me, blocking my path. Jimmy was driving and Jilly was in the passenger side. Jilly jumped out and said, “Get in the car, Broad!” shoving me between the two of them. Was I to be taken out in the desert and shot or what? Jimmy wheeled the car around and drove back to your house. Jilly jumped out as you stood at your front door (not the one we had entered earlier), “What shall we do with her Frank?” he yelled out. “Take her home.” “Which car should we use?” Jilly yelled out - (like it mattered!) By this time, I was really upset, with all the commotion I knew for sure there went my job that I desperately needed with Debbie in her senior year of high school and only a few months to go. I walked toward you and told you that I had done NOTHING to you – and you were causing me to loose my job that I needed. Then I said, “You look like the loneliest man in the world.” (I guess Barbara Marks soon changed all that!) With that remark, Jilly was really angry and pushed me back in the car. Jimmy wheeled the big black Cadillac out the driveway back toward Palm Springs.

      This was even more Daemon Runyon – both Jimmy and Jilly assured me that I no longer had a job! As we rode back on one of the side roads, we came upon a car sitting upside down on the road. Jimmy was going to barrel right past them but I ORDERED him to see if anyone was hurt. “You can’t just leave those people there without trying to help them!” I blurted out. (After all, I’d lost my job, what did I have to loose now except, maybe – my life?) No one was hurt. They drove on to my house and dropped me off.

      Needless to say, I had a very restless night with no money and no job facing me. I didn’t know what I was going to do. About 11 A.M. the next morning, Jimmy called me and asked, “What time you coming in tonight?” like nothing had happened. I said, “I thought I was fired?” “Be there at 6!” he said, end of conversation. From that evening it was never mentioned again.

      I don’t remember if you continued to come into Jilly’s thereafter or did I choose to go back to LA within a short time. I was working on tips only so when the tourist left the desert, the money was scarce.

      My heart went out to you when your mother was killed in a plane crash in the mountains between the desert and Las Vegas, on her way to Vegas. With the past events, I didn’t feel it my place to say or do anything. You were so close and devastated with her death. Perhaps today you are with her once again – I hope so.

      I must say with all the rumors I had heard about your generosity and heavy tipping. I certainly never experienced it. I knew others that had received your “blessings!” You sent a cocktail waitress that you liked to Florida on your private plane when she needed to be there for some emergency. There were stories like that floating around about your helping people, just not me!

      Debbie stayed with friends while I went back to LA to seek work. She had done well popularity-wise in school. She was Rodeo Sweetheart along with runner-up in several beauty contests around the desert. She was very popular and had lots of friends.

      I would come back to the desert often. On one occasion when visiting with Ruby, he said he was meeting you later in the afternoon with a group of people, why didn’t I join him at Jilly’s. I did not like the way things had ended and would have liked to at least be on friendlier terms. I told him I was meeting a friend. He said bring her along but not to be late. Sure enough, she was late. We arrived about thirty or forty-five minutes late. Ruby had gone. I shall never forget - we had barely sat down at a table in front of where you were sitting with your group to your left and right. You took one look at me, and then you seems like a choir director, you stood, raised your hands and all the puppets stood up and left with you. Not a word to me! That was it!

      Almost two year later, after Debbie vanished off the face of the earth, and after I had stood all the grief and endless police investigations of her disappearance that I could handle in Texas, I returned to California for some R and R. I recall driving into LA to stay with friends. It was Thanksgiving weekend. They were gone. Instead of staying there alone at their house, I decided to turn around and head back to Palm Springs. While there, I was having dinner with Ruby at Ruby Dunes, when you came in and joined us. You hardly spoke to me. Ruby exclaimed to you that it was such a tragedy that my daughter, Debbie, had disappeared and I shall never forget your response, “Oh that’s too bad what time are we playing golf in the morning” without a breath between! What a cold, indifferent, impersonal response