Dean and Me_ A Love Story - Jerry Lewis [74]
Talk about mixed emotions! I was bursting with pride and seething with jealousy at the same time. He did so well! part of me thought—while the other part of me thought, How dare he do so well without me !
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE MARTIN AND LEWIS MOVIES WOULD NEVER HAVE DRAWN such big audiences without our wonderful leading ladies. There were so many, so talented in so many different ways—and, like Dean and me, so much better than the material they had to work with. Some of their names might surprise you: Did you know we appeared with Donna Reed? Agnes Moorehead? Anita Ekberg? But the dozens of lesser-known actresses who acted in our films all added immeasurably to our work. (And, despite rumors and innuendoes, Dean and I did not sleep with all of them—names will be made public upon request!)
However, to my vast regret, the one actress we never performed with was Marilyn Monroe—and how great she would have been in a Martin and Lewis picture.
Dean and I first met her when we were receiving the Photoplay magazine award as Best Newcomers of the Year (whatever the hell year it was) and Marilyn was the Best Female Newcomer. God, she was magnificent —perfect physically and in every other way. She was someone any man would just love to be with, not only for the obvious reasons but for her energy and perseverance and, yes, focus. She had the capacity to make you feel that she was totally engaged with whatever you were talking about. She was kind, she was good, she was beautiful, and the press took shots at her she didn’t deserve. They got on her case from day one—a textbook example of celebrity-bashing.
In the late fall of 1954, Marilyn’s marriage to Joe DiMaggio had just ended, and she badly needed friends—and laughs. Dean and I had seen her here and there over the years since the Photoplay awards, and when we invited her out for an after-work snack at Nate’n Al’s (then and now the best deli in Beverly Hills), she accepted instantly.
She had a delicious sense of humor—an ability not only to appreciate what was funny but to see the absurdity of things in general. The three of us huddled in a booth in a far corner of the restaurant, making fun of some of the late-night Hollywood regulars who drifted in and out. We laughed for a couple of hours, and then we drove her home in Dean’s blue Cadillac convertible. It was a warm November night; she was living, temporarily, in the Voltaire Apartments in West Hollywood. Marilyn asked us to have a drink with her, and we did. She hated to be alone, especially late at night, when she couldn’t sleep. She mentioned Joe a couple of times, but I think Dean and I both saw that there was a lot she couldn’t or didn’t want to talk about, so we tried to keep it light.
Soon it was close to two in the morning, and we had to get up early for work. (We were all on films at the time, with a six A.M. wake-up.) On the way out, I asked Marilyn if she would consider going to dinner with Dean and me one night that week.
“How about tonight?” she said.
“Tonight is perfect!” we said in unison.
Dean and I spent most of that day trying to figure out where the hell to take Marilyn Monroe for dinner. “I know!” I finally yelled. “Let’s go to Perino’s!”
It was the most elegant restaurant in L.A., on Wilshire Boulevard not too far from Slapsy Maxie’s. Great food, great service; strictly a wear-a-tie type of place. I had my secretary make reservations—for four, on the chivalrous assumption that Marilyn might bring someone. We were to meet at the restaurant, because she was shooting later than we were. We set the time for 8:30.
Dean and I left the set after work, and Christ, did we dress that night. I won’t even go into how much cologne was applied.
We stepped into Perino’s precisely at 8:30—and there at the waiting bar was Marilyn. Alone, sitting on a stool, and looking drop-dead, as always. Dean asked, “How come you’re alone? Where’s Milton?” It was well known that she had started seeing Milton Greene, the photographer. But Marilyn told us he had a family and had