night wore on, with Rambeau cracking those hundred-dollar bills for drinks and tips. She became spectacularly drunk. She wantedto go upstairs and get out of her clothes. She was at the stage of drunkenness where this was not something she could do by herself—she wanted Norma to help her.
Daybreak was not far off, and Norma didn’t want Rambeau to fall asleep at the house and wake up feeling humiliated, so she called an entertainer at a French Quarter nightclub, the boyfriend of one of the girls, and asked him to drive Rambeau and her friend to the Roosevelt Hotel. She made sure Rambeau had all of her fabulous jewelry on, most notably the ring that Rambeau had claimed was worth twenty thousand dollars, and she made sure the boy knew that she knew exactly what jewelry Rambeau was wearing. He told Norma that he gave the two women over to the doorman at the Roosevelt, and that they’d had a hard time making it up the steps to the hotel.
Norma knew that Rambeau had spent a considerable sum that night, but she was shocked when she tallied it—thirty thousand dollars! It had happened too many times before—a beef the next day over a large amount of money. Norma decided soon after sunrise that she’d return half of it if Rambeau showed up at the house before getting on the train. By nightfall she assumed that the actress was on her way back to Hollywood. Norma’s purse bulged with the money; it would be safely in the bank the next morning.
But at the Roosevelt Hotel, Rambeau and her young friend were barely able to get out of bed for dinner. Earlier in the afternoon, from her prone position, she’d called the cab company, looking for the driver who had taken her to Norma’s house. Hungover, she realized she had no idea where she’d been. She became adamant with the dispatcher; she claimed there’d been a robbery, and the cab company would have hell to pay if they didn’t help her find the culprits. Late in the afternoon the dispatcher located the address on Itchem’s trip sheet. Rambeau ordered some beef broth and Coca-Cola from room service and went back to sleep.
The next morning Norma was getting ready to go to her bank in the Central Business District when she heard the front door open, followed by the maid saying, “Ma’am, please, you can’t go in there. I’ll call Miss Norma.”
High heels struck the floorboards as a woman hurried toward the back parlor, her voice raised in anger. “I want my money!”
Norma hid her purse and met Rambeau at the door to the parlor. The poor little straggler was still with her, looking licked. “What money?” Norma asked.
Rambeau got right in Norma’s face, hostile. “Look, I want some of the money I spent the other night. That’s too much to drop in one place.” Before Norma could reply, she said, “You rolled me.” Norma recognized Rambeau’s woman-on-the-tough role from her movies. “And if you don’t give it to me . . .” Instead of finishing her threat, she stalked out to a pay phone in the hallway. Near the front door, Itchem nervously fingered the brim of his porkpie hat. Rambeau got out a nickel and lifted the receiver.
“Oh, do you want to use the phone?” Norma inquired. “Who are you going to call?” Even though she was shorter than Rambeau, she stared Miss High-and-Mighty down.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Okay, honey,” Norma said, “you’re throwing your weight around pretty good here. You know, if you hadn’t tried to muscle me I might have considered what you had to say. Instead, I think I’ll do a little nickel dropping myself. You call the police, and I’ll call The Times-Picayune. Now won’t they have a juicy little story.” Rambeau blanched. “I have nothing to lose,” said Norma. “What about yourself?” She took the phone from Rambeau’s rather limp hand, took her nickel as well, and started to drop it.
Rambeau put her hand over Norma’s. “Let’s not be hasty, Norma. What do you say we have a
Daybreak was not far off, and Norma didn’t want Rambeau to fall asleep at the house and wake up feeling humiliated, so she called an entertainer at a French Quarter nightclub, the boyfriend of one of the girls, and asked him to drive Rambeau and her friend to the Roosevelt Hotel. She made sure Rambeau had all of her fabulous jewelry on, most notably the ring that Rambeau had claimed was worth twenty thousand dollars, and she made sure the boy knew that she knew exactly what jewelry Rambeau was wearing. He told Norma that he gave the two women over to the doorman at the Roosevelt, and that they’d had a hard time making it up the steps to the hotel.
Norma knew that Rambeau had spent a considerable sum that night, but she was shocked when she tallied it—thirty thousand dollars! It had happened too many times before—a beef the next day over a large amount of money. Norma decided soon after sunrise that she’d return half of it if Rambeau showed up at the house before getting on the train. By nightfall she assumed that the actress was on her way back to Hollywood. Norma’s purse bulged with the money; it would be safely in the bank the next morning.
But at the Roosevelt Hotel, Rambeau and her young friend were barely able to get out of bed for dinner. Earlier in the afternoon, from her prone position, she’d called the cab company, looking for the driver who had taken her to Norma’s house. Hungover, she realized she had no idea where she’d been. She became adamant with the dispatcher; she claimed there’d been a robbery, and the cab company would have hell to pay if they didn’t help her find the culprits. Late in the afternoon the dispatcher located the address on Itchem’s trip sheet. Rambeau ordered some beef broth and Coca-Cola from room service and went back to sleep.
The next morning Norma was getting ready to go to her bank in the Central Business District when she heard the front door open, followed by the maid saying, “Ma’am, please, you can’t go in there. I’ll call Miss Norma.”
High heels struck the floorboards as a woman hurried toward the back parlor, her voice raised in anger. “I want my money!”
Norma hid her purse and met Rambeau at the door to the parlor. The poor little straggler was still with her, looking licked. “What money?” Norma asked.
Rambeau got right in Norma’s face, hostile. “Look, I want some of the money I spent the other night. That’s too much to drop in one place.” Before Norma could reply, she said, “You rolled me.” Norma recognized Rambeau’s woman-on-the-tough role from her movies. “And if you don’t give it to me . . .” Instead of finishing her threat, she stalked out to a pay phone in the hallway. Near the front door, Itchem nervously fingered the brim of his porkpie hat. Rambeau got out a nickel and lifted the receiver.
“Oh, do you want to use the phone?” Norma inquired. “Who are you going to call?” Even though she was shorter than Rambeau, she stared Miss High-and-Mighty down.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Okay, honey,” Norma said, “you’re throwing your weight around pretty good here. You know, if you hadn’t tried to muscle me I might have considered what you had to say. Instead, I think I’ll do a little nickel dropping myself. You call the police, and I’ll call The Times-Picayune. Now won’t they have a juicy little story.” Rambeau blanched. “I have nothing to lose,” said Norma. “What about yourself?” She took the phone from Rambeau’s rather limp hand, took her nickel as well, and started to drop it.
Rambeau put her hand over Norma’s. “Let’s not be hasty, Norma. What do you say we have a
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