Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [50]
“Uh-huh,” Greg said, smiling. A notorious womanizer, this was the man who’d represented Lana Turner, Ginger Rogers, Howard Hughes, and Ingrid Bergman in everything from multimillion-dollar Vegas property deals to high-profile divorces. “Postcards, eh?” he added, and wandered off chuckling to himself.
I didn’t fool Bobby either. He was sunning himself at the beach club and gave me a knowing look when I arrived. “Morning, Mom,” he cried. “Glorious day!” To my relief, he was refreshingly matter-of-fact and never once made comment or passed judgment. That was his hallmark. In the years to come, Bobby would become one of my closest confidants in the unfolding drama of me and the man we sometimes called FS.
Frank appeared at lunch, and we nodded each other a courteous hello. Halfway through our meal, he waved a hand for silence, so I stopped to listen along with everyone else. “I have special plans for dinner tonight,” he announced, adding enigmatically, “Bring your passports.” After an uneventful afternoon at the beach and a much-needed nap to catch up on my beauty sleep, I met everyone outside Frank’s hotel and stepped into one of the two cars waiting to take us on our mystery tour. Before we knew it, we were at the airport, then on board Frank’s private jet, headed for Athens. “I fancied Greek food tonight,” he explained, laughing. He took us to a wonderful restaurant for dinner and then on to a classical concert on the grounds of some ancient ruins. Afterward, we went to a nightclub where belly dancers jiggled all around us and we were once again encouraged to smash our plates.
Bobby was having the time of his life, and so was I. Not only did Frank make sure to include my son in everything but he seemed to really like him; it was heaven to see. I’d never experienced anything like this with my previous men, who’d always made comments like “Do you have to bring the kid?” This was like a miracle.
Frank had booked us in the Hilton Hotel, overlooking the Acropolis, and as we left the nightclub and headed back to our rooms, the paparazzi pressed in and took some shots of us sitting in the back of his car. SINATRA IN GREECE WITH BLONDE the headlines ran the next day (not that I knew until later). If Zeppo spotted them back in Palm Springs, he never said so, and as I left Frank’s hotel room in the early hours of the following morning, Zeppo Marx was the last person on my mind.
Frank and I floated on air for the next few days that beautiful summer. I prayed that no one would find out about our affair and spoil everything. We had to be especially careful around the Ittlesons because they were old friends of Zeppo’s. Nancy knew, I’m certain, but she was a good enough girlfriend not to let on.
What I thought might just be a one-time experience and something to remember in years to come turned into night after glorious night of romance in some of the most glamorous venues in Europe. Frank was tender and kind, generous and funny. He’d walk past my chair humming “I’ve Got a Crush on You” or brush his fingers against my shoulder as if by accident. He was probably the most gentlemanly person I’d ever met—opening doors, helping with my coat, jumping up to freshen my glass.
He was without fail polite, warm, gracious, and giving. Everywhere he went he’d stop to buy extravagant gifts for friends and family, shipping parcels home or having surprise packages and flowers delivered to our rooms. He remembered everything from friends’ favorite colors to what kinds of cologne they wore. He addressed store and hotel staff by their first names, recalling them from previous visits. He led Nancy and me into a jewelry shop and almost bought the place out. He chose me some beautiful earrings and a ring and then later went back on his own to buy me something else, telling me, “You’d look maaarvelous in this!” (using an intonation he’d picked up from his friend Noël Coward).
During lazy afternoons down on the beach, Frank was never happier than with his