Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [31]
I was fascinated to see inside Frank’s house for the first time. The walls of every room were covered in paintings, bold abstracts cleverly placed between softer pastels and American and old European masters, many of whose signatures I recognized. I was surprised to learn from Zeppo that Frank was a great admirer of art and that he even dabbled himself.
“He paints?” I asked.
“Apparently,” Zeppo replied.
After a noisy dinner of meatballs and spaghetti (which reminded me of suppers with Bob Oliver’s family), Frank, Zeppo, R. J., and I played gin rummy with a couple of people I didn’t know. I had a good hand, and just as I cried, “Gin!” R. J. jumped up, threw down his cards, and stormed out. At first I thought I must have upset him, but instead he grabbed his wife, Natalie, from where she was sitting outside by the pool, pulled a chair up to our table, and made her sit with us. Everyone was stunned into silence. She stayed for a while, played a few hands, but then she was up and out again. It didn’t take long to put two and two together. The handsome Mr. Beatty was waiting by the pool.
Frank was witty and charming—the perfect host, especially when he insisted that nobody was allowed to leave early, which secretly delighted me. As I was soon to discover, he liked to drink long hours and never wanted people to go because he needed company. If they drank too, they were in. Friends like Bill Holden, Robert “Mother” Mitchum, John Wayne, Glenn Ford, and Orson Welles (whom Frank called “the Big Man”) were most definitely in. People like Tony Bennett, Fred Astaire, Bing Crosby, and Henry Fonda, who didn’t drink much and liked to turn in early, weren’t often included. Frank still adored them though and sometimes went over to their houses for breakfast as the sun was coming up and his drinking buddies finally abandoned him.
What I found interesting about Frank in those early days was that he was rarely drunk and never suffered from a hangover. I’d watch him order a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks, take a sip or two, put it down, then call the waiter to “bring another round.” Each time he did, his glass went back on the tray almost full. He carried on like that all evening, staying completely in charge of his faculties while everyone around him got smashed. Meantime, he was flirting with every female at the party but always so discreetly that few but the women noticed. I watched how he worked the room and prayed it would never be my turn.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle Frank—I’d been a showgirl, after all—but I was worried about Zeppo’s increasing jealousy. The previous New Year’s Eve at the Racquet Club we were just leaving when I spotted some friends I wanted to say good night to. Zeppo hated that and stood by the door impatiently. As I turned to go, I was goosed from behind by Victor Rothschild, playboy and baron. Before I could say anything, Zeppo ran at Victor like a bull. He knocked two couples down before he grabbed Victor by the throat. One thing’s for certain—my relationships were never dull.
I knew that Frank’s reputation as a hothead superseded Zeppo’s, so I didn’t relish the idea of a public showdown. Both had been raised by strong mothers, so they weren’t the types to compromise. In any event, I hadn’t been married that long and was determined my marriage to Zeppo would work. Bobby’s future was at stake as much as mine. Zeppo had even offered to adopt him so that he’d have the same surname as me—something Bobby also wanted. In the end Bob Oliver wouldn’t allow it, so later Bobby simply changed his name to Marx instead.
Flirting with The Voice was the last thing on my mind that night, even though there was definitely a frisson between us. I sensed there could be more if I ever wanted it. Fortunately, though, Frank’s attention was diverted elsewhere, and the full-on flirtation I feared from him didn’t come my way—at least not then.
FIVE
Danny Schwartz,