DeNiro Played Me in the Movie

It was a cold January night in Minneapolis. If you’ve ever wintered in Minneapolis, you know what that means. If you haven’t, be smart – keep your distance. It was snowing and very cold, no night to be out.

I was in the lobby of the Minneapolis Embassy Suites Hotel. The bar had closed an hour before, and Melissa, the world’s most beautiful bartender, had left within the past few minutes. The guests were in their rooms. I was the night auditor and desk clerk, the only employee in the hotel until morning. I was alone.

I worked quickly and carefully on the hotel’s daily accounts, eager to finish my work so that I could relax with a book I’d brought along. One of the perks of working graveyard – uninterrupted reading. I’d been at the accounts for perhaps a half hour when the elevator bell rang.

I heard the elevator doors open and footsteps approach. A man appeared and approached the desk.

He was a small, wiry man, perhaps sixty years old. His thin gray hair was close-cropped; his battered face was remarkably ugly. He wore a bright blue sport coat, so shiny that it seemed to emit its own light. His open-necked yellow shirt had a spread collar so wide that it shouted “Disco forever!” This vision of loveliness spoke.

“You got a room for me. I’m Jake La Motta.”

“Yes, sir.”

I checked the remaining reservations. Two of them, both with 3M, neither for La Motta. I double-checked the computer. Nothing for La Motta at any time. I turned back to the guest.

“Uh, I don’t show any reservation. Is there any company name it might be under? Or anyone else’s name?”

“No, no. It’s me. Room for Jake La Motta. You got it.”

“No, sir, I don’t. I’m not showing anything at all for you. I’m sorry; we must’ve lost your reservation somehow. But we’ve got plenty of rooms available, so I can get you a room at whatever rate you were promised.”

“Good! Doesn’t matter, room’s already paid for. The guy that dropped me off said so.”

“Oh, who was he? Maybe the room’s under his name.” Mr. La Motta gave me the other man’s name, and I checked every combination of both their names I could think of. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“I’m sorry, Mr. La Motta, I can’t find a thing. I can get you a room, though. If I could just have a credit card for tonight? I won’t put any charges on it – we’ll get this all straightened out in the morning.”

He looked at me, waving the idea away with his gnarled hands.

“No, no, kid. I don’t need a credit card. I’m Jake La Motta!”

“Well, how about cash or a check? We can refund it first thing, as soon as this is all straightened out.”

“No, you don’t get it. I don’t carry cash; I’m Jake La Motta!”

Okay.

“Well, yes, Mr. La Motta, I understand, but without anything to go on, I can’t just give you a room. I won’t send you away, though. If I could just get some kind of identification?”

He goggled at me.

“Identification? I don’t need identification. I’m Jake La Motta!”

“Well…”

“De Niro played me in the movie!”

I paused a long, long time.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Robert De Niro played me in the movie!”

Oh my god.

I suddenly realized that this little guy who looked like Popeye’s father was completely and utterly insane. I smiled weakly.

“Did he now?”

“Yeah. So, how ‘bout that room?”

“Well…”

And so on, and so forth. Not knowing what else to do with this lunatic, I finally gave him a room and left a detailed note for the manager so she could have him taken away in the morning. Cold and snowy as it was, I didn’t have the heart to send him back out into the night. The poor nut didn’t even have a coat or gloves. So he got his room – after all, he’s Jake La Motta!

I didn’t find out until the next night that the hotel manager knew all about him, but had forgotten to leave word for me. He was in town on a promotional tour, and the billing for his room had been pre-arranged and then completely forgotten.

Back in the fifties, he’d been a leading contender for world boxing championships, and was still a legend in certain quarters. They’d even made a movie about him: “Raging Bull”, directed by Martin Scorsese. A movie which I’d heard of, but had never seen. And he’d been played by…Robert De Niro.

THE END

©2001 David Gustafson