Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [119]
One night after a show Pia made the mistake of dawdling to say hello to some people backstage. She and her husband arrived at the airport in their limousine half an hour later to discover that they had missed the flight—their flight. They were never late again.
Continuing our tour, we flew to France, and in Paris, Frank performed at the famous Moulin Rouge. I was in the audience with the Pecks and seated next to the French prime minister Jacques Chirac.
Jacques was a tall man and quite flirtatious, as only the French can be. We got along famously. I was wearing a pair of five-carat diamond drop earrings that night, and a dress with a high collar. Just before the concert began, one of my earrings hooked onto my collar and fell off. Realizing that it was missing, I began to search for it in my clothing, on the table, and on the floor. Before long, I had everyone on their hands and knees looking for my diamond, including waiters and waitresses, Greg, Veronique, and Monsieur Chirac.
“Oh dear,” I cried after several minutes’ fruitless searching. “I’m never going to get that earring back.”
The future president of France took me by the shoulders and said firmly, “No one loses anything with me, Barbara. We’re going to find it.” I smiled and told him that made me feel better. We looked and looked, but the diamond was nowhere to be seen. It seemed hopeless. Then Jacques suddenly caught sight of something glinting in the cuff of his trouser leg. To our astonishment, my earring had somehow rolled into his pant cuff. I was so relieved and happy that we found it, but just as I was thanking him, the music started and Frank’s performance began. As we all sat down again, I discreetly pulled off my other earring and put them both in my purse for safekeeping, until I could get the clasps altered to be more secure.
After Paris we flew to London, where Frank was to perform at the “Francis Albert” Hall for the queen in aid of a children’s charity whose patron was Princess Margaret. Frank had met the queen and the princess several times before, but I never had and was a little nervous. Once we’d settled in, we went to visit Cubby Broccoli in his London house with our friend Pat DiCicco. A discussion ensued as to how to curtsy to a monarch, so Pat played the queen while we practiced, which was a hoot. Later that night, as we were waiting to meet her at a reception, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see another of our friends, the businessman Kirk Kerkorian. He grinned and said, “Not so bad for two little kids from the sticks, huh?” I had to stop myself from laughing out loud. Not surprisingly in such company, I found the queen rather stiff, although I did meet her again years later at one of the big studios and then afterward at a dinner on the royal yacht Britannia moored in Long Beach, where she seemed far more relaxed.
The day before the show, we were invited to dinner at one of the royal palaces, where Princess Margaret would be the hostess. We were led into a large ballroom and informed that the protocol was we were not to sit down unless she did. Annoyingly, she never did, and for some people that was too much. Cubby Broccoli, who was well into his seventies at the time, finally announced, “I can’t help it. I’ve got to sit down!” None of us dared join him even though we were just as tired. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, we were finally ushered into a long dining room and shown our places. The high-ceilinged room felt freezing cold, and although I’d arrived wearing a brown velvet cape with mink trim, it was taken from me before the dinner and I felt the chill in my strapless dress.
Trying