Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [85]
Frank hadn’t played the famous Caesars Palace in Las Vegas for a while. In January 1977, however, he was invited for a triumphant return.
We booked one of Frank’s bigger planes to fly us up there on the day of the concert, January 6. His eighty-two-year-old mother, Dolly, loved Las Vegas and especially enjoyed playing the slot machines, which she’d load with coin after coin provided by Frank. He even had a slot machine installed for “Grandma” at home so she could play whenever she wanted. Naturally, Dolly was on the passenger list, along with Mrs. Anna Carbone, a widowed friend from New Jersey who was staying with her at the time and whom Frank had known most of his life.
Our flight was due to leave at noon because he was playing two shows that night and needed plenty of time to get ready. At the last minute, Dolly—who could be as difficult as ever when she wanted to be—decided that she would prefer to come later. Frank thought nothing of it and chartered a twin-engine Learjet we used often to fly Dolly and Mrs. Carbone to Vegas at around four o’clock that afternoon.
After a bumpy plane ride on an overcast day and with the weather worsening, we arrived in Las Vegas at around one o’clock. When we got to Caesars, we couldn’t help but laugh at the marquee, which said simply, HE’S BACK! Once we settled into our suite, I took a nap. I knew we were going to have a late night, so I wanted to look my best. About an hour into my snooze, Frank burst into the bedroom, and the first thing I noticed was that he had a cigarette in his hand and it was shaking. “Grandma left at five but she’s not here yet,” he told me, his eyes strange. “They can’t find her plane on the radar … Barbara, she’s nowhere on the damn screen!”
I looked into Frank’s face. I saw his fear, and I felt my own. Taking his hands in mine, I told him, “Darling, your mother’s a tough old bird, and I’m sure she’s going to be all right. Please don’t worry. If anyone can survive, she can.” I could tell from his expression that he had already started to give up hope, so I slid off the bed, dropped to my knees, and began to pray. My husband sat on the edge of the bed and watched me, his lips mouthing his own silent prayer. Dolly and I may have had our differences in the past, but we’d overcome them and truly made our peace. We had spent so much time together that we’d become friends. I knew how important she was to Frank; he was devoted to her. I couldn’t imagine how he would cope if she were to die in some unexpected and horrible way.
“Let’s cancel and fly home, darling,” I told him. “There’ll probably be good news by the time we get there.”
“No,” he said abruptly. “I’ll do the show.”
As the time drew near for Frank’s first performance, he sat in a corner of our suite in a deep, impenetrable depression. The longer he went without any news, the deeper he sank. I didn’t think for one moment that he could go on that night, but to my amazement, he suddenly got up, walked down to his dressing room, pulled on his tux, and swept to the theater. There was a pall of gloom among his staff and crew backstage, but up there in front of the lights, Frank was all that his devoted fans wanted him to be.
I took my place at the front and watched in open admiration as this consummate pro refused to disappoint his audience. Dolly would have wanted him to go on. He knew that. I knew it. But I don’t know how he managed it; he must have sung those songs by rote. The people sitting all around me applauding wildly