Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [140]
George didn’t always get such compliance, though. One time in L.A., when he and Frank were doing a commercial for All Nippon Airways, there was trouble before the shooting even began. When George went to meet the men in charge, who claimed not to speak any English, he was told through an interpreter that the shooting would take three days. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll get forty-five minutes.”
Those men learned to speak English real fast. “Forty-five minutes!” they cried. “Do you know how much we’re paying him?” George assured them that, by using a stand-in, he’d have everything set up so that Frank could just walk on the set and do his part. George arranged everything perfectly, right down to Frank and me being escorted onto the set by some geisha girls. The minute Frank walked in, though, he asked, “Can I go home now?” He changed into his tuxedo and then he said, “Are we almost finished?”
George had some stills taken and then began shooting the commercial as Frank moved closer and closer to the exit. For several minutes, Frank and I had to sit side by side in two airline seats and look as if we were enjoying ourselves with a drink and a laugh. Finally my husband announced, “Okay, that’s it.”
George told him, “I just need one more shot.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Frank, without this shot, there is no commercial.”
“Do you have a problem with your hearing? You’re not going to get it.”
George squared up to Frank and said, “Francis, don’t make me hurt you.”
Frank had to laugh. “What?”
George repeated his threat, so Frank asked, “Would you hurt me, George?”
“If I don’t get this shot, yes.”
“Okay, let’s do it.” He did the shot, and then he walked off the set. George looked at his watch; the whole thing had taken precisely forty-five minutes. The commercial was a huge success and won awards, so they offered Frank a small fortune to make another one. He thought about it for a few days, and then he told George, “Well, okay, but this time I don’t want to hang around.”
Frank grew a full beard for a while, and I didn’t like it at first, but we had Little Joe, known as the Hairdresser to the Stars, come in and trim it into shape. For his next commercial, Frank was going to have to shave it off, but he woke up the morning of the shoot and decided he didn’t want to. I called George and told him, “We have a problem. Frank doesn’t want to shave.”
“But he has to!”
“I’m sorry, George. I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Within half an hour there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Little Joe, a towel over his arm, holding a cup of lather and a straight razor. “Mr. Schlatter sent me,” he said. I directed him to Frank’s bathroom, where he told my husband, “Mr. Sinatra, Mr. Schlatter says I have to either shave you or cut you.”
Frank laughed and replied, “That’s pretty funny. Come on in.” But when Frank emerged a few minutes later, he’d had Little Joe shave only one half of his face.
SIXTEEN
Taking a breather between tennis matches.
COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
Stormy Weather
On December 12, 1990, Frank celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday by performing at the Brendan Byrne Arena in East Rutherford, New Jersey. After the show, I threw a party for him at the Waldorf hotel for a hundred people and we brought people in from all over. It was quite the affair.
Rising to my feet, I quelled my nerves about giving speeches and made a toast. Picking up my glass of champagne, I said, “Frank, darling, to the world you’ve given your music, but to me you have given the world.” I meant every word, and he