Bye Bye, Baby (Nathan Heller Series), by Max Allan Collins
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Bye Bye, Baby (Nathan Heller Series), by Max Allan Collins
Free Ebook Online Bye Bye, Baby (Nathan Heller Series), by Max Allan Collins
Marilyn Monroe, the ultimate goddess of the silver screen, is at the peak of her popularity, internationally famous, universally admired by women and desired by men. But she’s also famously insecure and temperamental and is being pilloried in the press for delaying the production of Something’s Got to Give. When the head of Twentieth Century Fox threatens to cancel her contract, Marilyn hires “PI to the stars” Nathan Heller to tap her phones and record conversations that might prove to be important if there’s a lawsuit. Less than three months later, Monroe is dead from an overdose and, officially, a suicide. But Heller isn’t buying it. He knows that in the weeks before, the star was anything but suicidal. He knows, too, about her affair with JFK, about the secret connections between the Kennedys and the Mob...and about Bobby Kennedy’s blood feud with Jimmy Hoffa. In short, Heller knows too much to accept this bum rap on a beautiful, gifted woman loved by the whole world...including Nathan Heller. So he investigates, though his efforts might enrage some very famous, very powerful, very dangerous people. But they can’t keep Heller from finding out the astounding truth behind Marilyn Monroe’s untimely demise....
Bye Bye, Baby (Nathan Heller Series), by Max Allan Collins - Amazon Sales Rank: #6264101 in Books
- Published on: 2015-09-01
- Formats: Audiobook, MP3 Audio, Unabridged
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.75" h x .50" w x 5.25" l,
- Running time: 10 Hours
- Binding: MP3 CD
Bye Bye, Baby (Nathan Heller Series), by Max Allan Collins Review
“The Nate Heller historical crime novels consistently mesmerize with their carefully researched period detail —Noir Meets the History Channel.” —Booklist, starred review on Chicago Confidential
“With its fascinating period narrative and affecting inter-generational story, Road to Purgatory is a delight for fans of the original story and newcomers as well.” —Chicago Sun-Times
“The characters, historical and fictional, come delightfully to life... Collins paints a web of interconnections in a tightly woven plot and posits a radical solution to a crime that still resonates in literature and movies.” —Publishers Weekly on Angel in Black
About the Author Max Allan Collins is the author of the Shamus Award-winning Nathan Heller historical thrillers; his other books include the New York Times bestseller Saving Private Ryan and the bestselling CSI series. His comics writing ranges from the graphic novel Road to Perdition, source of the Tom Hanks film, to long runs as scripter of the “Dick Tracy” comic strip and his own innovative “Ms. Tree.” Collins is also a screenwriter and a leading Indie filmmaker. He lives in Iowa with his wife, writer Barbara Collins, and their son, Nathan.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER 1 The naked actress was laughing, splashing, her flesh incandescent against the shimmer of blue, now on her back, then bottoms up, her happy sounds echoing, as if she were the only woman in the world—and wasn’t she?She was, after all, Marilyn Monroe, and this was Fox’s Soundstage 14, where she was shooting the film Something’s Got to Give, under the supervision of legendary Hollywood director George Cukor.Nude scenes were common overseas—Bardot had become famous flashing her fanny in And God Created Woman—but a major star like Monroe shedding for the CinemaScope camera? Just not done, even if she did have those notorious calendar shots in her past.This was the closed set of all closed sets. A small army of security guards had been summoned by producer Henry Weinstein to cover the five entrances to the soundstage, after word of the nude scene wildfired across the lot. This was the toughest ticket in town, unless you had an in.I had an in. Last night I’d heard from Marilyn’s personal publicist, Pat Newcomb (calling at the star’s request), that tomorrow would be the “day of days” on the Something’s Got to Give set.“Marilyn says you wanted to visit,” Pat said, in her pleasantly professional way, “sometime during filming. And this is it.”“Mind my asking what’s special about tomorrow?”“She has a swimming scene and, knowing Marilyn, might just slip out of her suit.…”I reminded Miss Newcomb that I needed two passes, and was assured they’d be waiting at the studio gate.So how did I rate? Big-shot agent? Top Hollywood columnist? Producer sizing up MM for his next picture, maybe?No. I was just a private detective, or anyway I used to be. Since my agency grew to three locations (LA, Manhattan, and the original Chicago office), I’d become mostly a figurehead, bouncing between them, handling publicity and sucking up to big-money clients. I couldn’t remember when I last knocked on a strange door or parked outside some motel with a camera, much less carried a gun.But Nathan Heller, president of the A-1 Detective Agency, me, had indeed done a number of private eye jobs for Miss Monroe, starting with bodyguard duty in Chicago on her Gentlemen Prefer Blondes junket, and more recently tracking down a guy named C. Stanley Gifford, who she thought was her father, in the sense that he was the likeliest candidate for having knocked up Mom, who currently resided in the latest of many nuthouses.Old C. Stanley missed the boat, or maybe his gravy train, when my client used the info I gathered to call her potential pop and say, “This is Norma Jeane—I’m Gladys Baker’s daughter.” Apparently thinking this was a touch, the idiot—unaware that Norma Jeane Baker had transformed herself, through no little effort, into Marilyn Monroe—hung up. On her second try, she got C. Stanley’s wife, who told the caller to contact her husband’s lawyer if she “had a complaint.”Anyway, we were friendly, Marilyn and I, and for a while had been very friendly. In the interim I had transformed myself, through no little effort, into “the private eye to the stars.” This was a nice trick since I lived in Chicago, though the A-1’s ongoing security job with the Beverly Hills Hotel meant I had a bungalow whenever and for however long I might need one.I also had an ex-wife out here, a former actress now married to a once successful producer, neither of whom I gave a shit about. I gave much more than a shit about my teenage son, Sam, who was actually Nathan Samuel Heller, Jr., only we had called him “Sam” when he was little, to avoid having two Nates around. Before long, my wife was happy not to have any Nate around.So Sam it was, now a happy fourteen-year-old. Why happy? Wouldn’t you be, if you were a fourteen-year-old male whose father had got him onto the set of Marilyn Monroe’s nude swimming scene?When you are divorced and your wife has custody of your only child, and the other “dad” is a film producer (once successful or otherwise), you have to work to stay on your kid’s good side. Sam was not impressed with celebrities, generally, having seen plenty, but this was different. I was fairly certain his first sexual experience had been with the signed-to-him nude Monroe calendar I’d given him on his thirteenth birthday (his mother still didn’t know about that).This was his fifteenth-birthday present, even though this was May and the real date wasn’t till September. Some gifts you grab when they present themselves.I’d kept the nature of what we’d be witnessing to myself, just promising Sam a “treat,” and he put up with that. We cut each other plenty of slack, since we often had half a continent between us, and anyway, in my mid-fifties, I was pretty old for a teen’s dad.Sam looked a lot like me, identical except for his mother’s brown hair and not my reddish variety, and was already within two inches of my six feet. He was slender and so was I—I’d lost my paunch in an effort to regain my youth.So I looked goddamn good in my lightweight gray glen plaid Clipper Craft suit with lighter gray shirt (Van Heusen tab collar) and thin black silk tie. Sam was in a tan striped Catalina pullover and brown beltless Jaymar slacks. We were a sporty pair.Keep in mind that I was already in solid with the kid for getting him out of school for the day. This was a Wednesday, and he had something like a week and a half left before summer vacation. So I was cool, for a dad.He did complain that I didn’t have a convertible, which in California was a criminal offense. My wheels, technically part of the A-1’s fleet, were merely a white 1960 Jaguar 3.8, leather seats, walnut interior, disk brakes, automatic transmission.“Convertibles blow my business papers around,” I said at the wheel, tooling around the Fox lot. “And muss my hair.”“Get it cut,” he said, rubbing his hand over the bristle of his crew cut.“I don’t like the smell of butch wax.”“Come on, Dad. Grow up.”I didn’t share with Sam my opinion of crew cuts, which was that they were for servicemen, bodybuilders, and homosexuals, not necessarily mutually exclusive groups. Kids his age didn’t need having their sexuality undermined. In fact, my mission today was just the opposite.Of course, in trying to impress my kid—whose “other” father was a producer (did I mention the fat prick used to be successful?)—I should have picked a lot other than Fox’s. The grand old studio was scrambling to stay afloat. Clouds of dust crowded the blue out of the sky over bulldozers making way for apartment buildings and office towers. The out-of-control Liz Taylor picture Cleopatra, currently filming in Rome, had required the selling off of such fabled backlot locations as Tyrone Power’s Zorro hacienda, Betty Grable’s Down Argentine Way ranch, and Lana Turner’s Peyton Place town square.Marilyn’s new picture, which Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons called “troubled,” was in fact the only going project on the lot.“Jeez,” Sam said, elbow out the rolled-down window. “It’s a lousy ghost town.”The streets of this soundstage city had once been hopping with cowboys and Indians, pirates and dancing girls. Even the trees and lawns were brown and dying—palms and ferns, too. Had they cut off the water? Or had the water company cut off Fox?As per Pat Newcomb’s instructions, I drove directly to Marilyn’s recently constructed bungalow, which had the look of a small prefab suburban house. I left Sam in the Jag and went up to the door, where a security guard was on watch; I showed my special pass, and he knocked for me.I was greeted by Pat Newcomb—slim in a yellow blouse and tan slacks, thirty or so, her light brown hair cut chin-length. We knew each other only slightly. She was attractive, but not too attractive—that wouldn’t do for the woman assigned by the Arthur Jacobs PR agency to be Marilyn’s right hand.The interior was mostly one big bustling room, as buzzing as the lot was otherwise dead. A battalion of technicians was at work on creating the fabled Marilyn Monroe “look.” Each seemed to operate off caffeine, as one hand would bear a coffee cup, the other whatever tool of the trade was required: comb, brush, makeup jar.Wearing only a flesh-colored bikini, the object of their artistry reclined on a slant board like the bride of Frankenstein waiting to be awakened. She was more slender than I’d ever seen her, but her prominent rib cage made her handful breasts jut nicely, and her narrow waist and flaring hips suggested a voluptuousness that wasn’t really earned.I shouldered my way in. “Afraid I’m gonna have to take you in for public nudity.”Marilyn beamed at me but didn’t turn her head—her makeup man of many years, Whitey Snyder, a pleasant sharp-featured guy, was using a watercolor brush to highlight her cheekbones.“Are you going to make me laugh, Nate?” she asked, with only a hint of her trademark halting screen delivery. “Because if you are, I am going to have to throw you out on your you-know-what.”An almost naked broad using a euphemism like “you-know-what” was pretty funny.“I wouldn’t want to ruin your face,” I said.“Takes more and more work to make it a face,” she said, rueful but good-humored. Her mouth was on, but not as full as before, if just as lushly red. Her whole look had been adjusted to make the switch from the fifties t...
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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful. Nate Heller RULES Once Again By Eric Mays I have always had a fondness Nathan Heller mysteries. I think it's Max Collins' rich history lessons. And the man always captures the "feel" of the decade he's writing in. That's what I find most impressive. In Bye Bye Baby Heller is immersed in Hollyweirdland - a swap off from his home city of Chicago, where he served as a cop prior to the private dick biz. Amongst the Hollywood elite, Heller focuses on his "friend", Marilyn Monroe, who's garnering quite a lot of interest...and not all of it good. So far, the Kennedys, Jimmy Hoffa, and Frank Sinatra all have a vesting interest in the diva. You can already see where this is going, no?Obviously, this is focused on the dramatic death of Ms. Monroe, and a litany of conspiracy theories that fall shortly thereafter. Max Allan Collins has fun with the work, he tosses a few red herrings in here and there, and he keeps us guessing to the very end. What's amazing is that it's all so plausible. The research pages alone (the Author's Thanks) span about 12 pages. Oy!In the end, Collins captures the vibe of the '60's and late '50's with Bye Bye Baby. What's more, if you're not a follower of the series, you can jump right into the fray and not feel like you've missed a beat. It's good, and probably one of the best of the series.
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful. PI Nate Heller dives into the Kennedy/Monroe tornado By Scott Schiefelbein I have to fess up: this is my first Max Allan Collins novel, so I cannot claim to be familiar with this famous, well-lauded writer. Perhaps that gives me more freedom to review this book, perhaps it means that I'm missing key references, but let us press on.Nate Heller is a hard-boiled detective working in perhaps the most hard-boiled town in America - early 1960s Hollywood. This is the Tinseltown where gangsters rubbed elbows with politicians and entertainers under the watchful and knowing eyes of the LAPD, FBI, and even CIA. The novel opens with Heller giving his teenage son what may be the coolest birthday present ever: an invitation to watch on set as Marilyn Monroe splashes around in the nude for the film, "Something's Got to Give." Given that most American men would have given their right arm to watch Ms. Monroe cavort, this scene says much about Heller's status in Hollywood - the guy is on the inside, where all the dark secrets are laid bare.And are there ever secrets. Marilyn Monroe was the focal point of the most fascinating triangle in American history, where politics, Hollywood, and the mob came together as never before. The politics side was filled by the Kennedy boys, Jack and Bobby, both of whom were smitten both with the glamour of Hollywood in general and Marilyn's charms in particular. Hollywood was also in a silver age, as Sinatra's Rat Pack dominated the screen and the gossip. And the mob was there, with Sam Giancana and others lurking about, thanks to their various favors for the Kennedy campaign and the CIA. Heller, it seems, has done favors for them all, which makes him the perfect go-between.Things are coming to a head. Monroe is feuding with her film studio, Fox, and the studio is mounting a fierce smear campaign. She is also feuding with Jack Kennedy over the termination of their affair, as well as Bobby Kennedy, who was sent to handle her by the President only to fall into an affair of his own. Monroe is also feuding with her ex, Joe DiMaggio, and who knows how many others. So she turns to Heller to tap her own phones. What ensues is a dizzying ride through Marilyn's final days and the grisly aftermath of her death, which is meant to be sold as a suicide but that story doesn't withstand a moment's scrutiny under Heller's experienced, wrathful eye. The novel's second half follows Heller as he tracks down those responsible for killing his beloved, the Blonde Bombshell.As with any story involving the Kennedys, the story almost spins out of control as there are so many secrets and so many celebrities walking across the stage. It's always tough with the Kennedy conspiracy tales because the conspiracies become so elaborate and interlocking that you wonder if anyone could have dreamt them up in the first place, much less have put them into action. But the fact remains that Marilyn Monroe's death was about as fishy as it gets, and there are reports that Bobby Kennedy was at her house that very day.Collins keeps the story going with gusto, as Heller is a definitive private eye. Sarcastic, jaded, but fiercely loyal, Heller is the perfect guy for uncovering secrets and getting to the bottom of things. He's one of the few guys who remembers that, at its heart, the death of Marilyn Monroe was not a Hollywood script but the sad loss of a talented young woman. Collins' writing captures that sadness - he's not nearly as hard-boiled as James Ellroy, for example - as well as the overlooked human frailty that we all miss when we ogle pictures of Marilyn Monroe, still the gold standard for American beauty in the 20th century.
5 of 5 people found the following review helpful. Never all that interested in Marilyn Monroe until I read this book. By knitting ninja Until Bye Bye, Baby I had never read a Collins book. Detective novels are usually not on my list to read. But, in looking for something entertaining and different, I decided to give PI Heller a go. Consequently, I started this novel with some trepidation. Ultimately, I was very satisfied with the book.Although the book is a work of fiction, it felt very plausible. It has an extensive basis in history. The story was so interesting that I found myself looking up Marilyn Monroe facts on the Internet. Since many of the real life players kept their true names and general roles in the novel, additional information only added to the fun.A significant part of the beginning of the book is devoted to getting to know Heller and Monroe - their relationships, past affiliations and, of course, setting the scene for a questionable death. There are many big players: JFK, RFK, Sinatra, Lawson, DeMaggio and a host of others. Even though they all had such public lives, Collins does an excellent job of making their characters and the dialogue fit well into the story. Detective Heller is like a cross between a wise guy Joe Friday and Tom Selleck: smart, polished, smart mouthed, and gets all the women.The second half of the book is about uncovering what "really" happened. It is fast paced, politically charged (of course) and not entirely predictable given the well known theories and conjectures that circulate about Marilyn's death already.Not a fan of some bigger than life PI? No worries. Not a fan of historical fiction set in recent years? Not a problem. Not convinced? Neither was I. Until Bye Bye, Baby.
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