Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [10]
I think I began to worry within a few days of our honeymoon that our relationship might not work—and not just because his mother decided to come on the second leg. She was financing the trip after all. Even though she provided some laughs from the backseat along the way, I began to suspect by Bob’s attitude, drinking and flirting with other women, that my new husband wasn’t all I’d hoped he might be. Knowing that my only alternative would be to return home shamefaced to my parents, I prayed with all my heart that I was wrong.
TWO
An early modeling shot.
COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
New York, New York
Bob and I flew to New York in the winter of 1949 with the highest expectations. He was in search of fame and fortune, and I just wanted him to prove to me that I hadn’t picked a dud.
The sights, sounds, and smells of the Big Apple shocked and entranced me. I’d never seen skyscrapers, steam rising from manhole covers, or beggars in the streets. Marge had put us on a tight budget, so we checked into a single room in a hotel somewhere in the West Seventies. I’d dyed my hair platinum blond like Lana Turner’s and saved for a new wardrobe, but my clothes were too flimsy for an East Coast winter and we had to blow some of our precious funds on warmer ones.
After a day or two of taking in the sights, we set to work. Bob spent his days knocking on the doors of musical agents and his nights auditioning in supper clubs, while I embarked on the tedious ritual of “go-sees” at the studios of commercial photographers. Trouble was, my “book” of modeling photographs lacked polish, and with so little experience and clothes that were hardly New York chic, I was obviously a greenhorn. Through a male model friend of Bob’s named Jay, I finally managed to get an audition for a sportswear assignment for Good Housekeeping magazine. Apart from the promise of ten days’ work, the photo shoot was to be onboard a Furness Line ocean liner, one of the “millionaire’s service” ships that plied back and forth between New York and the Caribbean. When the photographer called to tell me I’d gotten the job at three hundred dollars a day, I was over the moon. Not only would I be earning great money and traveling to places I’d only ever seen photographs of, but I’d be working alongside two models named Lily Carlson and Marilyn Ambrose, both of whom were at the top of their game. Waving good-bye to Bob, I boarded the Queen of Bermuda and sailed down the Hudson River bound for Nassau, barely able to believe my good fortune. Almost immediately my insides began to churn.
I’d never been on a ship before and had no idea that I’d be so seasick. For probably 70 percent of that cruise I couldn’t even leave my cabin. Strangely, although I was unable to keep food down for very long, I was also ferociously hungry, with a particular craving for spinach. Lily and Marilyn took pity on me and went to the restaurant to bring me food. Whenever I was not looking quite so green, I’d be up on deck sporting madras shorts, halter tops, and cork wedges with a fixed smile on my face. While I lay recovering in my bunk, the girls gave me the best modeling tips I’d ever learned. New York modeling was very different from that taught by Mary Kaye. The girls told me to relax more and lean into the camera rather than away from it. They showed me how to utilize light to my best advantage and when to pad my clothes to enhance my shape. Needless to say, Lily and Marilyn became lifelong friends.
Our ship stopped at the newly opened Paradise Island, owned by Huntington Hartford, who asked us to pose for some publicity shots. Then we went on to Nassau, where I finally felt well enough to join a party at the Fort Montagu Beach Hotel. Four men were sitting at the next table, and one came over to introduce himself. Pulling up a chair,