Read The Life and Opinions of Maf the Dog, and of His Friend Marilyn Monroe for Free Online Page B

had revealed too much in criticising her husband so enthusiastically. ‘RJ is just dandy,’ she said. ‘Handsome as ever and here’s to him.’
‘Hey, sister. I have an old-fashioned rule,’ said Mr Sinatra. ‘I refuse to toast anybody until I’ve got a drink in my hand.’
‘Sorry, Frank,’ said Mrs Gurdin. They walked to the bar at the back of the room and Mrs Gurdin rang a bell for Okey, Wanika’s husband, who was in charge of the drinks. Mr Sinatra dropped a jar of silverskin onions on the bar and spoke directly to the barman, as if the ladies couldn’t possibly understand. ‘Okay, buddy. Can you do a Gibson – three times?’
‘Like guava mouthwash?’
‘Come again?’
‘His English. It is bad,’ said Mrs Gurdin.
‘A Gibson martini,’ said Sinatra.
‘Of course. Three times. Vodka or gin?’
‘Gin, buddy boy,’ said Mr Sinatra. ‘Always gin.’ They walked over to the sofa. ‘What am I going to do about this guy? Is he messing with me?’
‘He has a strange sense of humour,’ said Natalie. ‘These Hawaiians.’
‘I love Hawaiians. We can bring him over to Traders if he wants to see how Hawaiians make drinks. I’ll give him guava mouthwash. We have eight decorative tiki gods over there. Somebody carved them. Carved them by hand and we have them in the bar. Is this guy for real?’
‘Forget it, Frank,’ said Natalie, loving the opportunity to feel mature. ‘The guy was just joking.’
‘I’ll give him joke,’ said Frank.
‘He and Wanika just bought a house you build yourself,’ said Mrs Gurdin. ‘They bought it from a catalogue.’
‘Sears Roebuck? asked Frank.
‘No,’ said Mrs Gurdin, ‘they haven’t done them in years. Some other company does them now. They built it over in Inglewood, near Hollywood Park. The house came in the mail. Okey – you bought the house that came in the mail?’
‘Yes, Mrs Gurdin. A house in a box. It is very nice. We make it up with a hammer, that’s all.’
I watched from the door as Mr Sinatra scowled and Mrs Gurdin fussed and Natasha sat on the arm of the sofa blowing smoke into the dead centre of the group’s confusion. Okey the barman was making the martinis one at a time and he bent down to hand one to Mr Sinatra. ‘I make this for you, Mr Frank,’ he said. ‘I learn to make it in the Porpoise Room.’
‘Okey and Wanika worked in the cocktail lounge at Marineland,’ said Mrs Gurdin. ‘Down in Palos Verdes?’
‘I make it good,’ said Okey.
‘Okay,’ said Frank.
‘That’s his name,’ said Mrs Gurdin.
‘No, okay,’ said Frank. ‘The drink is fine.’ He looked up at the expectant barman. ‘It’s okay, Okey. You’re not just a pretty face. Now scram.’ He turned to Natalie and appeared surprised at his own victory. ‘Aren’t you having one of these little mothers?’
    * As you know, canines are not so hot with the eyes. Not with colour, anyhow. But our ears and noses make up for it. Unlike humans, we can hear what people are saying to themselves, and we can sniff illusion. The latter capacity makes dogs especially responsive to commercial perfumes.
* Natalie was overstating her case. She had never been Joan Crawford’s daughter.
* The actors were perfect for the parts they played. They would never grow up. Sinatra was eternally Private Maggio, the weedy and needy antagonist in From Here to Eternity . And Natalie would always be the girl who wanted to be cool in Rebel Without a Cause .

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    ike Noël Coward or Holly Golightly, the princess Natalia had what you might call a cocktail-hour mentality. She threw back several of those Gibsons and her breath smelt sweetly of gin and pickled onions, while her mother made dark Russian remarks and the Hawaiian staff stood over by the piano waiting for orders, hands clasped before them and big eyes staring forward. An hour or more passed with laughter, hard looks, industry gossip and little panics, punctuated now and then with bursts of television gunfire from