Frank_ The Voice - James Kaplan [252]
Nobody knew this better than Sinatra, but casting for Eternity was in flux, as casting frequently is for big movies. As were Frank’s nerves. He distracted himself by organizing a Christmas show for the Mogambo company: he sang carols, native choirs performed, Ford recited “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” Christmas passed, then New Year’s, and there was still no word from Columbia. He could exert only so much influence on Harry Cohn, and being thirteen thousand miles removed from the action didn’t boost his confidence. Since Frank was currently without a press agent—he could no longer afford the weekly retainer he’d been paying Nat Shapiro, and had precious little to publicize anyway—he did what he could. He worked the phones from Nairobi, kept Sanicola jumping, spun the columnists. At least one of those positive reports about Frank’s screen test came straight from Frank himself. And it was sheer genius to convert his desperation—his offer to Cohn to play Maggio for next to nothing—into largesse. (Who was keeping exact track of how much of his Miracle of the Bells pay he’d tithed? It had to have been “at least a bulk,” whatever that meant.)
To a certain extent, a publicist was unnecessary. To an extent, by sheer virtue of his continued notoriety and his connection to Ava, Sinatra’s name stayed in the news. This cut two ways, though. Ava was now the star; Frank, the consort. Those who knew something about the pathetic but plucky character of Maggio from the novel (as Hedda Hopper clearly did) appreciated the delicious appropriateness of Sinatra’s seeking the role, but they were in the minority. Most of the world had had it with him. Even Earl Wilson. “When Frank Sinatra was flying to Africa and then back to play a nightclub date in Boston, nobody in the press was interested,” the columnist recalled. “Even I wasn’t much interested. I noted that when he arrived at the airport, Frank needed a haircut.”
Ava and John Ford on the set of Mogambo, early 1953. Two tough characters who clashed at first, then grew deeply fond of each other. (photo credit 32.2)
Act Five
THE PHOENIX
33
Montgomery Clift and Frank shoot From Here to Eternity, Hawaii, April 1953. Sinatra, ordinarily a prima donna on movie shoots, “was very, very good—all the time,” director Fred Zinnemann recalled. “No histrionics, no bad behavior.” He knew the film was his last best chance. (photo credit 33.1)
The second week of 1953 brought a welcome distraction—welcome to Frank, at any rate: Ava was pregnant again. For her part, Ava felt doubly miserable, for she was sick as a dog and she knew the baby wasn’t his.
It might have been Bunny Allen’s; it might have belonged to any one of two or three different propmen, she wasn’t sure. Once she tied one on after work, anything could happen, and frequently did. But she knew it wasn’t Frank’s: the numbers didn’t add up. Conception would have occurred in early December, right around the time he was playing the French Casino. Maybe even as late as the tenth or twelfth. Happy Birthday, Frank.
She couldn’t bear to tell him that she would have to get rid of this one too, and he mistook her misery for mere physical discomfort. “He was delighted,” she recalled.
I remember bumping across the African plain with him one day in a jeep, feeling sick as the devil. Right on the spot, for the first and only time in our relationship, Frank decided to sing to me. I know people must think that he did that sort of thing all the time, but the man was a professional and the voice was saved for the right occasions. This must have been one of them, because he sang to me, oh so beautifully, that lovely song, “When You Awake.” It didn’t stop me from feeling sick, but I’ve always remembered that moment.
A week later he was gone again.
Had his plane gone down on this trip—as, for example, would the plane of the great young classical