Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [53]
Although I’d loved Zeppo in the beginning and had truly wanted our marriage to work, I didn’t feel sad about leaving him at that point, because I knew that it was his behavior, not mine, that was to blame. If he hadn’t been so unfaithful, if he’d been the stepfather Bobby deserved, if he’d been less tight with money and more generous with his attentions, then we might have remained married until the day he died.
From the moment I left Zeppo, Frank and I officially became a couple and I his constant companion. A few weeks later he took me as his guest to the party of the year in Palm Springs—the prestigious New Year’s Eve affair at the home of his friend Walter Annenberg, American ambassador to the United Kingdom. Walter, who was also a media magnate and philanthropist, told me I was the “best thing in the world for Frank.” He added, “If that idiot ever sees sense and asks you to marry him, you must have your wedding here at Sunnylands.” That was some offer—Sunnylands was the premiere estate in Palm Springs, a vast acreage of palm oasis and a beautiful house filled with the most incredible art. Even with the support of such high-profile friends as the Annenbergs, eyebrows were raised at first about Frank dating me, but people soon grew accustomed to seeing us together and the scandal began to settle down. There were naysayers, of course, but our real friends knew we were great for each other.
There was only one person who dared to express his disapproval publicly—Groucho Marx. He came up to us at a charity event one day and said to Frank, “Why don’t you let Barbara go? You don’t want her. Let her go back to Zeppo.” Everyone knew Frank had a trigger temper, but Groucho was a fearless octogenarian. Fortunately, Frank chose not to respond and I didn’t say a word either, so dear old Groucho repeated his statement before going off with that funny little walk of his. I was both astonished at his nerve and touched that he was still so protective of his little brother Zep. It was one of the last times I ever saw Groucho alive.
Not surprisingly, I was a little uncomfortable staying on in Palm Springs while the divorce was being finalized. People take sides when a marriage breaks up, and some of the friends I’d made through Zeppo fell away for a while out of loyalty to him. Danny Kaye was probably the one who showed his feelings most obviously. His enmity was understandable, but it still hurt me.
Since his retirement, Frank had kept himself busy with painting, golf, reading, and crosswords. He still traveled a lot, picking up awards here and there as well as visiting friends, but he needed more to occupy his mind. A model railway enthusiast, he’d had a special train room built at the Compound for his two hundred or so trains, replicating the layout of the famous Lionel showroom in New York. His museum-quality setting featured yards of tracks on two levels amid scenery of mountains, factories, houses, and bridges as well as a miniature replica of Hoboken. It also had an old Western town, a billboard announcing one of his sellout concerts, and a New Orleans riverboat. From the ceiling hung replicas of all the planes he’d ever owned. In the wood-paneled room built as an extension of an old railroad caboose, he played with his favorite locomotive—the high-speed Japanese one he’d traveled on several times. On the wall were hung all sorts of station signs and