Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Seven

Having dinner with Frank and Sammy was a little like dining with Joey Bishop and Buddy Hackett. The two of them were very funny together, telling stories that had me in stitches. Other diners in the Harrah’s Steak House stared over at us, putting their heads together and pointing. No one, however, walked over and interrupted us. There were stories about Frank and how he reacted to being interrupted in restaurants by autograph seekers. Apparently, the people in this restaurant had heard them.

Eventually the subject came around to the next Rat Pack movie, Sergeants 3. Frank, Dino and Peter were playing the soldiers, while Sammy had the Gunga Din part in this western spin-off of Kipling. Joey was apparently going to play a soldier who made life hard for the top three.

“Hey,” Sammy said, at one point, “you think there’s a part in the movie for Eddie, Frank?”

“Whataya think, pally?” Frank asked me. “Wanna be in a movie?”

I sat back, stunned.

“Just like that?” I asked. “I don’t have any experience. Don’t you have to check with somebody?”

“I don’t have to check with anybody,” Frank said. “Look, let me take a look at the script. I’ll find something small for you. Whataya think of that?”

“Come on, Eddie,” Sammy said. “It’ll be a gas.”

“I don’t know what to say.” It did sound like it could be fun, shooting a scene or two with these guys, but what if I got in way over my head?

“Come on, Eddie,” Frank said. “It’s got to be easier than some of the stuff you went through last year, and look how that turned out.”

“I almost got killed.”

“But you didn’t,” Frank said. “You came out on top, because that’s what you do.”

“Frank,” Sammy said, “you’re not forcing Eddie-”

I broke in before Frank could.

“He’s not forcing me into anything, Sam,” I said. “When I try to help you it’s because I want to. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sammy said.

“Sure it’s okay,” Frank said, putting one hand on my shoulder and the other on Sammy’s. “We’re all friends here, and friends help each other, right?”

Sammy and I agreed.

On our way out of the restaurant a husband and wife approached Sammy and Frank for an autograph. I had seen many demonstrations of the famed “Sinatra charm.” In fact, I’d been subjected to it many times, but I had only had a glimpse-maybe even a glimmer-of the “Sinatra temper.” As the couple approached us I was wondering if I was going to witness it, but instead both Frank and Sammy were charming and gracious and signed the autographs.

In the hotel lobby Frank gave Sammy another bone-crushing hug. I shook hands with Sammy and told him to call me as soon as he knew something.

“If I leave the Cal Neva, or Tahoe, I’ll let you know where to find me.”

“That’s cool, Eddie,” Sammy said. “Thanks.”

Frank and I walked back outside to his car and Henry started back to the Cal Neva.

“Look at this place,” Frank said. “First Harvey Gross opened his Wagon Wheel, then Bill Harrah came in and opened his place. For a few years there was a few casinos and ski lodges. Then last year the Winter Olympics came here, and now look at it. There’s been an explosion here, Eddie. Now if your business is skiing or gambling you can come here and get a license to print your own money. It’s a gold mine, and it’s only gonna keep gettin’ bigger.”

He turned his head and looked at me.

“Do you know you can literally park in California and gamble in Nevada? We’re actually in a place called Stateline, Nevada, although it’s not considered a city, or even a town.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure out if this place is gonna eventually be overrun by gamblers, or skiers.”

“I vote gamblers,” I said.

“Why?”

“There’s no gambling season.”

Frank laughed and said, “That’s a good point, Eddie.”

Frank dropped me at my cabin and put his hand on my arm before I could get out of the car.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” Frank said, “but I’ll be back at the end of the week. I’ve got to talk to some architects.”

“If I want to head back tomorrow? …”

“I’ll leave the copter, and the pilot’s phone number. Also, Henry will be here, in one of the cabins. Henry?”

“Cabin thirty, Mr. Sinatra.”

“You’ve got my number in Palm Springs, right?” Frank asked me.

I had it. I’d never used it up to that point, but it was written in my phone book.

“Yes.”

“Good, call me if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll talk to you or Sammy at the end of the week.”

“Gotcha.”

“Look, Eddie, Sammy may only want you to be a go-between, but be careful. More than likely nothin’ll go wrong, but …”

“If I learned anything last year, Frank, it’s to be careful.”

We shook hands and I said, “I’ll see you, Frank.”

“See ya, pally. Hang onto that key. Cabin’s yours whenever you want it.”

I got out and as I mounted the steps Henry pulled away. When I got to my door I saw a white envelope pinned to it.

I knew that already something had gone wrong.