His Way_ The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra - Kitty Kelley [295]
The British press was astounded by the evening, and reported in detail the American gaffes and repeated breaches of protocol.
QUEEN’S TRIP IN TURMOIL headlined the London Evening Standard.
SNUB FOR YANKS said the Daily Star, because the queen had not been introduced to guests like Bette Davis, Fred Astaire, and Jimmy Stewart.
Describing Sinatra’s voice as “rasping and flat,” the Manchester Guardian pronounced the evening extremely tedious: “Overall it was not exactly an exhilarating performance.”
British stars agreed. “It was so boring, I almost fell asleep,” said Elton John.
“A bit dour,” said Julie Andrews.
“It was the usual Hollywood cattle call, rather dull in many ways,” said society columnist Pamela Mason.
Though she did her husband’s bidding at every turn, Barbara Sinatra occasionally chafed in her role as the subservient wife, for she had to tolerate public insults and scornful abuse during his black mood swings. In Frank’s manic phase, she was “my beautiful bride”; in his depressive stage, she was “the dumbest broad I ever met.”
“I was Sinatra’s gofer at Caesars Palace for four years,” said Gloria Massingill, “and whenever he and Lady Barbara went at it, I’d be buzzed on my beeper to get her luggage ready and get her to the plane to fly back to Palm Springs. This happened whenever he stayed in the casino all night drinking and gambling and wouldn’t come to bed. She’d leave him and go home to the desert. Once they separated for several days and everyone thought for sure that they were going to get a divorce.”
The public fights between the Sinatras grew coarse and crude, especially if Frank was drinking. He called her vicious names, which she returned in kind. So strong were the rumors of marital discord that in 1983 Frank felt compelled to say something during a barbecue given by Judy Green, widow of Frank’s close friend Bill, in Southampton on New York’s Long Island. Rising after dinner with a glass in his hand, he said, “You may have been hearing bad rumors about Barbara and me recently, but I’m telling you that we have been married for seven years. We also plan to be married for another seven years and after that for another seven years and on and on.” Everyone smiled thinly.
Earlier that evening, Frank began drinking and nearly ruined the party when he inexplicably turned on New York socialite Pat Patterson as she approached him. Teasingly, she said that Frank owed her $750 for a dress that she had bought years before for a blind date they were supposed to have but which had been canceled at the last minute.
“Come with me,” said Frank, and, in front of several guests, he escorted her to the door where his bodyguards were standing. “These men will see that you get home.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I want you out of here,” he said. “You’re leaving—now.”
“But… but … I have to get my purse.”
“I’ll get your purse,” said one of the bodyguards. “When Mr. Sinatra says ‘out,’ he means ‘out.’ ”
Frank had already returned to the party, where guests were speechless but much too frightened to object to his behavior. Later, they watched in horror as he assailed the head of Atlantic Records, Ahmet Ertegun, saying, “You ruined music with your rock and roll. It’s your fault what’s happened to the music business. You’ve destroyed music in this country. …” Without a word, the record executive moved away from Frank. Still, no one said anything for fear of drawing the abuse on himself.
“It’s amazing that none of those very, social people ever objected to Frank’s bodyguards, but they never did,” said Stephen Green. “I remember when he visited Dad [William Green] and Judy, in Mt. Kisco and he arrived with two of his henchmen, Joe Tomatoes and Jerry The Crusher. At the end of the weekend, Joe Tomatoes was sitting with Frank at the pool and, winking at Dad, Sinatra said, ‘Have you got your letter written yet?’
“ ‘Huh? What letter?’ said Joe Tomatoes.
“ ‘Oh, God, Joe, how can I take you anywhere?’ said Frank. ‘Don’t you know that at the end of a nice weekend like this you’re