Cabana No. 9 - Ghost Stories from the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel

It was the ‘80s

My office was Cabana No. 9. I owned one suit, and I wore it every day. I was a serious young woman. I was tasked with the job of Associate Editor of Hollywood Magazine, and and at various times, I did it all. Interviews, editing, copy editing, assignments, finding talent, photographers, illustrators, layout. My J-School internship at the Point Reyes Light had prepared me well.

Cabana No. 9 at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel looked out over the David Hockney pool. I had an open invite to swim any day, and I had rooms available to spend a weekend. In the two years I worked there, I never swam, and I never took a comped room for myself. As I said, I was serious, and there was work to do.

Our lush digs came courtesy of a trade out. The Roosevelt got the back cover ad each month, and we got comped office space.

I was new in town and not the cinephile I am today. But I knew enough. I knew there were ghosts in that hotel. I could feel them. They felt tragic and saucy - I could feel the inner pain of Marilyn Monroe, who haunted the pool area and her old room on the 12th floor. Clark Gable and Carole Lombard wafted around the Blossom Room, where the first Oscars were held. An old bummy guy in a rumpled tuxedo appeared in a lobby mirror each time I went to retrieve our mail. He reappeared in the upstairs room at Micelli’s, an old Italian restaurant in Hollywood. I can only guess it was W.C. Fields, because despite his crumbledness he had an air of elegance about him, like a bum who could recite Shakespearean soliloquies.

The gorgeous 1927 hotel located at 7000 Hollywood Boulevard has been renovated since I sat at a typer and banged out copy in ‘89, 90, 91. The two gentlemen who founded the magazine for all the right reasons and with art in their heart made the mistake of selling it to a pet mag franchiser who swiftly killed it. Cheapies have no vision.

One of my crowning achievements as a cub editor at Hollywood Magazine was assigning the first profile of the legendary jazz duo Marty & Elayne Roberts, who performed at the Dresden Lounge for four decades. Marty gave me a Fisher Space Pen as a thank you, because it could write upside down.

I was living in a house in Beachwood Canyon where Divine had lived and ghosts were everywhere.

Now Marty is a ghost. We lost him this year. I won’t say his age because it would not please him. It was Hollywood’s best kept secret when he was stayin’ alive.

By September of ‘92, I would be tapped to be Hollywood’s nightlife writer for the Los Angeles Times. I kept everyone’s secrets. I am looking forward to sharing them with you.

The ghosts are ready for their closeup.

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Bette Dangerous is a reader-funded publication. Thank you to all subscribers, and thank you to those who generously donate coffee tips. A special thank you to paid monthly, annual, and founding members. Looking forward to the next Bette Dangerous ‘Speakeasy’ for paid members on January 29, where we will feature another very surprise guest. Heidi’s latest book, the newsp*rn novella, Fox Undercover, is available in her Ko-Fi shop.