ON FEBRUARY 18, 1937, Freeman Bernstein eased his pudgy 63-year-old body out of the back seat of a rented limousine at the Hollywood home of actress Mae West. Thirty years earlier, Bernstein had been West’s agent, booking her in vaudeville shows. Now he was hawking jewels he’d smuggled from China. A tough customer, West bought some rubies and sapphires but rejected the cheap zircon that Bernstein tried to pass off as a diamond. Then she autographed a picture for her guest, writing “To Freeman Bernstein, who was my first agent at the age of 10.”
Bernstein took West’s check and the picture and instructed his chauffeur to drive him to the Brown Derby restaurant. On
