The File on Bobby Darin, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Forty-five minutes later, Nina arrived from her place in New Jersey to see Bobby at the St. Moritz.  She was short, of stocky build, dressed in black capri slacks and a Mexican peasant blouse suitable for the hot weather.  She would not have dressed this way, however, had she known that she would be coming into the City.  This was not a planned excursion.  Her blonde hair was held high on the back of her head with a tortoise shell comb.  She looked young for her age (forty-ish, Winchell would guess), but the eyes behind her teardrop-shaped glasses were mature and aware.  Winchell, Dick, Charlie and Nina took the elevator up to Winchell’s room in awkward silence.  Nina did not appear to be in a panic.  She seemed grim and determined.  Winchell guessed that this was not the first crisis for Bobby; she was an old hand at dealing with whatever his problem was.  Dick had not elaborated about it in the St. Moritz bar.  He had merely said, “Get Nina.”

When they came into the room, Bobby was half asleep on the couch.  Nina motioned the men to move to the far side of the room as she bent over Bobby to examine him.  She kissed his forehead to gauge his temperature.  Aside from this show of affection, she examined him as efficiently as any nurse.  She put her face close to Bobby’s and said in a low voice, “It’s okay, honey, Nina’s here.”  Bobby muttered something in return that the men could not discern.  Nina straightened up and crossed the room to where they were standing.  She gave them all a withering look before she said to Charlie, “Stay here with Bobby, I’ve got business with these two,” and she jerked her head toward Winchell and Dick.

“Shouldn’t we get a doctor?” Charlie asked in a low voice.

Nina looked over her shoulder at the sleeping Bobby.  “No, he doesn’t need the doctor,” she said quietly, “not this time.”

Charlie nodded and crossed the room to join Bobby.  He had kept vigil over this boy for many years, and he would not fail him now.  He was content to be given his assignment.  Winchell and Dick, on the other hand, had the feeling they were in for a hiding.  They left the hotel room with Nina, looking like two small boys who had been caught out of bounds.  As they rode down to the lobby, Winchell gave Nina an abbreviated account of his day with Bobby, just as he had related it to Dick.
“My God!” Nina finally exploded as they exited the elevator.  “First, you take him to a steam bath.  Then, it’s a fifty-yard dash in front of the Copa!  What was going to be next, pole vaulting?”  They were walking toward the St. Moritz bar when Nina suddenly turned on Winchell, stood up on her toes and got right into his face.  “Were you trying to kill him?”  Winchell backed up a step and thought that Nina did, indeed, look mad as a wet hen.  It was no expression, it was an accurate description of a woman who had clearly been driven to extremes.  He had an idea that Nina would jump right on him if she decided it was necessary.  When Winchell did not respond (his heart had leaped into his throat, he could not speak), Nina turned away from him and started heading toward the bar.  More trouble ahead.  Winchell gingerly put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Maffia,” he said, feeling just a bit flustered by this small, rather intense female, “but you can’t go into the bar unless you’re dressed for it.”  Her capri pants would not be allowed.  Nina glared into the bar, looked up at ceiling and stamped her heel with impatience.  “Great Gertie’s ghost!” she said.  Both Winchell and Dick pondered this strange expression.  Dick the unwary said, “Caesar’s ghost.”
Nina looked narrowly at him.  “What?”

Dick instantly wished had not spoken.  “Great Caesar’s ghost, that’s the expression.”

Nina grabbed Dick by his coat lapel and moved him away from the entry of the bar.  “Somebody’s going to BE a ghost pretty soon if I don’t get some answers about what happened to Bobby.  Why weren’t you watching him?”

“Watching him!” Dick said, flushing red under Nina’s steely gaze, “that’s rich!  It’s like watching a swarm of bees!”  First gangsters, and now Nina.  He honestly did not know which was worse.

Walter Winchell felt bound to break in, “Really, Mrs. Maffia, it’s my fault, not Dick’s.  Bobby and I have been spending some time together since he opened at the Copa, and I had no idea about his condition.  I won’t let it happen again, I promise you.”

Nina turned to him.  “You can bet your sweet life it won’t, Mr. Winchell.  If you’re spending time with Bobby, you can bet that I will be watching you.”  She was speaking in a loud stage whisper that was clearly audible throughout the hotel lobby.  People were beginning to watch them.

Winchell bowed his head in humility.  “I realize that, Mrs. Maffia, and I do apologize.  I can promise you, from now on, Bobby will be as safe as a babe in arms with me.”

Nina was still trying to size him up with a gaze of x-ray vision, but obviously somewhat mollified by his apology.  “That’s okay, Mr. Winchell, just so long as we understand one another.  Bobby is my little brother, and since our mother Polly died, I’ve done my best for him.  But, he’s,” her voice trembled ever so slightly, her full lower lip quivered, “he’s better than all of us, don’t you see that?  Doesn’t anyone see?”  Winchell placed a hand on her arm to comfort her.  She appeared to be as solid as granite, but her arm was shaking when he touched her.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he said, “we all need a drink!”  He moved his group toward the entrance of the bar and called out, “Hey, Sam, let us have the back room, will you?”

“Right this way, Mr. Winchell,” said Sam from behind the bar as a pair of capri pants were marched quickly through the public area and into a small room behind.
The lobby of the St. Moritz was now nearly deserted.  A small female figure emerged from behind a giant potted palm.  Dorothy Kilgallen was a great friend of enormous potted plants.  With her small stature, she had more than once used them for cover while keeping her ears open for gossip of any sort.  Most of what she heard in this manner was mundane and quite useless.  Occasionally, it was very interesting.  She watched Winchell, Dick Behrke and Nina disappear into the back of the bar.  She pondered what she had just heard, not understanding all of it.  Just now, Dorothy needed to get to the CBS studio for the taping of a quiz show, but she filed this conversation in her memory and slipped out of the lobby before Winchell could spot her.

Continued in the next chapter

The File on Bobby Darin, Chapter 8  (13+) Prima and Keely do the Copa. #1455000 by Gisele