She sat down on the couch next to me.

“I met him in the bad old days when he was doing the beach movies,” she continued. “He hated them but was paying about three alimonies at the time so he needed the money. Mind you, he was no spring chicken even then. He used to say, ‘I’d like to be a has-been, but I don’t have the money.’”

“I think I saw a few minutes of one of those movies on TV one night,” I said.

“You must have been up late,” Hope said. “They were awful! And they gave poor Natty stupid lines to say. He hated them! The poor little honey was so unhappy, and he used to come to town to try and have a few laughs. I was still in the line in those days-I think it was at Harrah’s-and Natty came backstage after the show and asked me out.”

“Did you know who he was?”

She sipped her martini and smiled. “Oh sure. In this town you make it your business to know who’s out front, so I knew Natty Silver was in the house. But I never thought I’d step out with him.”

“Why did you?”

She seemed to give this question some serious thought, then she said, “He was just so funny.”

She must have seen the quizzical look on my face, because she leaned forward, patted my hand, and said, “Let me tell you a secret, honey: You make a girl laugh and she’ll make you smile, if you know what I mean.”

And she blushed.

“Miss White, do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Honest Injun, I left him at the Mirage.”

“He checked out.”

She opened her cornflower eyes nice and wide, smiled, shrugged, and finished her drink.

“Do you have an idea where he might have gone?” I asked.

“Honey,” she said, “Natty Silver was once a headliner in this town. He can go anywhere he wants. This isn’t New York or Hollywood. Las Vegas has a memory.”