Rosalyn
LAX was abuzz with activity. Besides the normal comings and goings at a busy, international airport, there was a special hum of excitement today. Arriving this morning was the beautifully outrageous star of stage and screen, Rosalyn Weeks. There were more people to greet her than had been at the airport the last time the President of the United States arrived. There were contingents from the governor’s office, the mayor’s office, the Los Angeles Theatre Guild, the Rosalyn Weeks Fan Club, and last but certainly not least, the press. The press was a sub-group of its own – the Los Angeles Times, the Herald Examiner, the Orange County Register, Theatre Magazine, People Magazine, Entertainment Weekly Magazine, US Magazine, and dozens of small-town newspapers in and around the state.
Her manager and publicist had never seen a crowd this big. They stood off to the side and quickly realized they were never going to be able to handle the throngs that had gathered to meet the gorgeous celebrity. This conversation was related to me later by George Aaronofsky:
“What do we do?” Murray Schwartz cried.
“Calm down, Murray. It’s all arranged. Simon and Donahue are going to handle everything for us,” George Aaronofsky patted his good friend’s arm.
“Simon and Donahue? I thought it was Simon and Winchester? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?” asked the frantic publicist.
“It was Simon and Winchester until Winchester got killed. Donahue is the new partner. He used to be a cop.”
“Well, where are they?” Murray was only slightly less frantic.
“Relax, they’ll be here.”
It was at that exact moment that Sean and I pulled up to the terminal and parked. My partner looked at the crush and observed, “That’s an awful big crowd, Rick. You think we can handle that many people?”
“We have to. Besides, that’s what this is for.” I fingered the whistle hung around my neck. “Let’s get out there and I’ll show you.” We exited the car and pushed and shoved our way into the crowd, as close to Rosalyn Weeks as we could get. “Plug your ears,” I warned, and Sean quickly stuck his fingers in his ears. As soon as he was set I blew the whistle, as loud and as long as I could. You have no idea how quickly a whistle brings about quiet. “Ladies and gentleman, we are here today to welcome Ms. Rosalyn Weeks to Los Angeles and the esteemed Ahmanson Theatre, not to create a riot. Please make a path so that Ms. Weeks and her entourage can get into the terminal. There will be a press conference at three o’clock today and you may ask all the questions you want. There will also be a photography session. Thank you.”
We blazed a trail for the star, and she, Murray and George, plus her wardrobe specialist and makeup artist, followed us inside. The maddening throng remained outside for four or five seconds, just long enough for us to get Rosalyn into a part of the airport that was closed off to the public.
“Rick Simon! I should have known it would be you to come to my rescue,” Rosalyn exclaimed, and kissed me on the cheek. “And who is this handsome man you’ve brought with you? Where’s Eddie?”
“This is my partner, Sean Donahue. Sean, may I present Ms. Rosalyn Weeks?”
Not to be left out in the cold, Sean kissed her hand. “Ms. Weeks, I’m honored.”
Rosalyn looked to me to answer the second part of her question. “Eddie was killed in a drug raid about a month ago.”
“Oh, Rick, I’m so sorry. I know how close the two of you were.”
“Well, I was very fortunate to have Sean join me. He used to work for the Los Angeles Police Department. Listen, we’ll have time to talk later. Let’s get you out of here and into the limo. It’s right through here,” and I pointed the way out the front door. Sean helped Rosalyn into the limo while I rounded up the four remaining people for the town car that followed. Once they were situated, Sean and I climbed in the limo with Rosalyn. We were off – destination Viceroy L’Ermitage Beverly Hills Hotel, one of the most luxurious hotels in Los Angeles and a favorite of Rosalyn’s.
XXXXXXXX
It was almost as difficult to get into L’Ermitage as it was to get out of the airport. Regardless of the promise of a press conference and a photography session, every newspaper, magazine, wire service or television station that could get to a vehicle of some kind found their way to the hotel. George Aaronofsky tried to get Rosalyn to stay at a different hotel, but there was no changing her mind. She was enamored of L’Ermitage, and that’s where she was going to stay.
The three of us made a mad dash to the elevators, where we deposited Rosalyn after punching the button for the top floor. Sean rode with her and I checked her in at the front desk. Of course, she was in the Presidential Suite; everyone else was two floors below her, in individual rooms. The entourage would have to check itself in. Sean and I had the Viceroy Studio to share – at least it had two beds. Not that it would really make much difference – we had agreed to have a partner with Rosalyn 24/7.
As soon as I had Ms. Weeks officially in the suite I got in an elevator and went to the top floor. Sean was out in the hall, at her front door, while she changed clothes and freshened up. As soon as she finished we would return to the suite and keep her company until George and Murray got squared away.
“You didn’t tell me you knew her,” Sean scolded me.
“Figured you’d find out soon enough. Eddie and I did this same job for her three or four times before, whenever she came out here to make a movie. This is the first time she’s doing a play. What do you think so far?”
He shook his head. “How do you get used to all this?”
“I don’t. I wouldn’t live like this for anything in the world. No matter how much money I had. You’re a prisoner to your fame. I’m real happy with the life I have.”
Just then the door swung open and Rosalyn peeked out. “Boo!”
I smiled before I asked, “Are you ready for us?”
“Did you bring a deck of cards?” she questioned.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t I always?”
We went into the suite and I was once again overwhelmed by how truly luxurious it was. But what I’d told Sean was the truth. I wouldn’t trade Rosalyn’s life for mine, no matter what was offered. “Do you play poker, Mr. Donahue?”
“Sean, please, Ms. Weeks. Yes, I do. Draw and Stud. What’s your preference?”
“And I’m Rosalyn. I prefer five-card Draw. Come on, boys, let’s have us a poker party!” she cried.
I opened the new deck of cards and sat at the round table in the living room. “Alright, here’s the rules. No bet higher than fifty dollars, no raise higher than twenty-five. No wild cards. Jacks or better to open. Deal passes around the table clockwise. And Sean, watch out. Rosalyn is a poker hustler.”
“No, she can’t be,” he laughed.
“Oh, but I am,” she responded.
I shuffled and offered the deck to Rosalyn to cut. She did, and I proceeded to deal. We played for almost two hours before there was a knock at the door. Sean was up and had his gun out when he answered. “Yes?”
“It’s Murray and George. Let us in, please.”
“What’s the safe word?” Sean asked. We’d set this up in advance, and we would change it every time Rosalyn left the suit for any reason.
“Blowfish,” was the reply, and Sean opened the door and made sure it was just the two men before putting his gun away. “Oh, look at this,” Murray complained. “Brand new on the job and she’s already hustling him at poker.”
Sean laughed. “I’d say it’s about even at this point.”
George looked at his watch, and then Rosalyn. “It’s time to get ready for the press conference, doll. Put away the toys.”
Rosalyn sighed. “Later, you snake charmer,” she told me. “Where’s Cindy and Sherrice?”
“They were almost ready,” George promised.
The five people had been together for a long while and had become friends. Rosalyn made sure everybody got their fair share and it appeared none of the other four were greedy. They worked as a unit. George managed her career, found projects for her and generally played daddy; Murray made sure her name and profile were seen all over the world, and that all of her projects stayed in the public eye. Cindy took care of the clothes in her wardrobe, kept them clean and looking new; Sherrice was the ultimate artist, and her canvas was Rosalyn’s face. All four parts were needed to keep the machine that was Rosalyn Weeks fine-tuned and always in fighting shape.
“I’m going outside,” Sean told me. I felt funny sitting in Rosalyn’s hotel room, but I wasn’t leaving until Cindy and Sherrice arrived. It was almost fifteen minutes later that the door opened and the girls sauntered in. “Where’d you pick up the cute guy?” Cindy asked.
“That’s my new partner. And you two keep your hands off him.” Both girls were notorious for being ‘man chasers.’ Fortunately, that never stopped them from doing their jobs. Cindy started to lay Rosalyn’s clothes out on the bed and Sherrice took the makeup case and the star into the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later Rosalyn was ready for the press conference. Just as we were about to leave, our star decided she needed something from her room and went back to get it. She was gone almost ten minutes before George called, “Rosalyn, baby, let’s go. You know what happens when we keep the press waiting.”
Four of us left the suite and Sean joined us in the hall, where he took up a position on one side of Rosalyn and me on the other. Murray rang for the elevator, and once we all got in we headed for the Grand Ballroom, where this melee was supposed to take place. We entered from behind the dais, where Sean and I would remain during the whole affair – close enough to Rosalyn to protect her, but unseen by the press.
For the next hour we listened to some of the most inane questions either one of us had ever heard. “What’s your favorite color, Ms. Weeks?” (blue)
“Of all your leading men, who kisses the best?” (even I laughed when she answered, “Rick Simon, my bodyguard”)
“What’s next for you after the run of the play?” (a long vacation)
It ran on and on like that, until Murray decided she’d given the press enough time. The question and answer period was followed by another fifteen minutes of posing for pictures, and the two of us were bored to tears when it was over. We were finally able to escort Rosalyn out of there and back up to her room. “How’d you like the questions they throw at me?” she asked Sean in the elevator.
“The only one I enjoyed was hearing that Rick was . . .” I cut Sean off before he got any further.
“Yeah, that was enough. You can take the first watch.”
“You two can argue over who does what. I’m taking a nap. I have to look beautiful for dinner tonight.”
When we got back to Rosalyn’s suite, I unlocked the door and checked the rooms out before we escorted the lady inside. Then Sean and I went back into the hall where we discussed the schedule for the rest of the day. “I’ll come back and relieve you at six-thirty. That should give you enough time to shower and get into your tux. Be back at seven-thirty and we’ll take her down to the limo.” Sean nodded and took up his position outside her door. “Oh, and don’t be surprised at how many of those press idiots come up here and try to bribe you to let them in.”
He broke into a big grin at that and told me, “Don’t worry. I can be bought, but I’m not cheap.”
“Smartass,” was my parting comment to him. I heard a bed calling my name, and I fully intended to see what I could do about keeping it company.
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