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  I ONLY HAVE LIES FOR YOU

  A RAT PACK MYSTERY

  By

  Robert J. Randisi

  I ONLY HAVE LIES FOR YOU

  A RAT PACK MYSTERY

  A Pro Se Productions Publication

  All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This book is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Written by Robert J. Randisi

  Editing by Gordon Dymowski

  Cover by Larry Nadolsky

  Cover Design by Casey Cowan

  Book Design by Antonino Lo Iacono & Marzia Marina

  www.prose-press.com

  I ONLY HAVE LIES FOR YOU

  A RAT PACK MYSTERY

  Copyright © 2018 Robert J. Randisi

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  THIRTY NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY ONE

  FORTY TWO

  FORTY THREE

  FORTY FOUR

  FORTY FIVE

  FORTY SIX

  FORTY SEVEN

  FORTY EIGHT

  FORTY NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY ONE

  FIFTY TWO

  FIFTY THREE

  FIFTY FOUR

  FIFTY FIVE

  FIFTY SIX

  FIFTY SEVEN

  FIFTY EIGHT

  FIFTY NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY ONE

  SIXTY TWO

  SIXTY THREE

  SIXTY FOUR

  SIXTY FIVE

  SIXTY SIX

  SIXTY SEVEN

  SIXTY EIGHT

  SIXTY NINE

  SEVENTY

  SEVENTY ONE

  SEVENTY TWO

  SEVENTY THREE

  SEVENTY FOUR

  SEVENTY FIVE

  SEVENTY SIX

  SEVENTY SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To Marthayn,

  I Only Have Love For You—

  As always.

  “Are the stars out tonight?

  I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright

  ‘Cause I only have eyes for you, dear.”

  Song by Harry Warren, lyrics by Al Dubin, 1934

  PROLOGUE

  2009

  “I’m not advocating that everyone should drink. It just worked for me.”

  The speaker was Jackie Gleason. I was watching him doing the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson on YouTube. I’d had a computer for some time, but had only recently discovered YouTube. I started watching clips of the guys: Dino, Frank, and Sammy, either together as the Rat Pack, or individually. It was a real pleasure to see them all again.

  Although I was still in good condition for a guy in his 80’s with diabetes, and I was able to live and get around on my own, I had started spending more and more time in my apartment. I had a computer, a large screen T.V., and a DVD player. They were all hooked up together, so I could actually watch my clips on the big screen.

  After watching the same clips over and over again, though, I had started looking for others or performers from that era. I watched Jerry Lewis, Don Rickles, Buddy Hackett, Bob Newhart, Red Skelton, Nat King Cole, Julie London, Steve and Eydie, Keely Smith ... all people I knew over the years I worked in Vegas. Tonight I had found clips of Jackie Gleason, and the one on the screen at the moment was from 1985. I had watched a few episodes of the Honeymooners, and some clips from his American Scene Magazine variety show, and then came to this one.

  Jackie was sitting with Johnny and Ed, talking about his career and his new movie — which would be his last — called Nothing in Common, with Tom Hanks. I had seen the movie years ago, but I made a note to pick up the video next time I was out, so I could watch it again.

  Jackie was 69 in 1985, when he did the Tonight Show, and had never been on before. He’d never be on again because he died 2 years later. I attended his funeral in 1987, saw a lot of my old buddies there.

  I paused the video, got up from the sofa and poured myself a small bourbon. It was Jackie’s drink, and he had introduced Frank Sinatra to bourbon. So I decided to have a short one in their memory.

  I brought it back to the sofa with me, sat down, and started the clip up again. Jackie had a habit that was very evident. While he spoke with Johnny he’d reach into his jacket pocket and come out with a cigarette. Not a pack, just a single cigarette. Then, from the same pocket, he’d take a lighter and light it. As they talked he smoked it down, put it out in an ashtray, then reached into his pocket and did it again, coming out with a single cigarette. I remembered that habit from years ago.

  As the clip ended I thought back to a time when I first met Jackie in Miami, and then later when he came to Vegas to see me because he had a problem that Frank told him I could help him with.

  It was 1965 ...

  ONE

  Miami Beach, Florida,

  February 1965

  I flew into Miami with Frank on his private plane. He was going to be performing at the Fountainbleau Hotel for a few dates and had invited me to fly over with him from Vegas. I had some time off coming to me, so I accepted.

  It helped that Dean and Sammy were going to be in Florida, as well.

  We were the only two passengers on the plane. His valet, George Jacobs, had not made the trip with us. As we landed, Frank looked over at me and said, “Sammy’s already at the Eden Roc, did his first show last night.”

  “And Dean?” I asked. “You said Dean was gonna be here, too?”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, “like old home week. The Summit back together, only not in Vegas.”

  Frank never referred to him and the guys as the Rat Pack. That came from the newspapers. He always referred to their meetings in Vegas, their shows at the Sands, as the Summit.

  “Dean’s here,” Frank assured me. “He’s doin’ Jackie’s show.”

  “Gleason?” I said. “You mean that American Scene Magazine he does?”

  “That’s it,” Frank said. “He moved the show here last year. He wanted to be able to play golf all year round. And probably look at girls in bikinis every day.”

  “Are you gonna see him?”

  “Gleason? Well, sure, he’s a buddy of mine. Actually, he’s more of a mentor. He introduced me to one of my best friends.”

  “Who was that?’

  Frank smiled and said, “Bourbon.”

  ***

  We deplaned and got into a limo the hotel had sent for Frank to take him over to Mia
mi Beach. Since Frank was playing the Fountainbleau, that was where he was going to be staying—most likely in one of their best suites.

  “I’ll have to get a hotel room somewhere-“

  “Forget it, Pally,” Frank said, cutting me off. “You’re with me. I got you a room at the Fountainbleau. Not a suite, but a nice room—on me--so don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks, Frank,” I said, “but I coulda got a room somewhere else—“

  “Hey, I invited ya, didn’t I?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, you did,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “No worries, Clyde.”

  Frank was always very generous with his friends, and this was just another example of that. I decided to accept as gracefully as I could. The Fountainbleau was way above my pay grade, so this was going to be interesting.

  The limo took us along Collins Avenue, which ran parallel to the beach, and before long the hotel loomed ahead of us. It also fronted the beach and was the most lavish hotel in Miami Beach.

  Frank had filmed a scene from the movie A Hole in the Head at the hotel in ’59, and in ’60 he shot a television special during which he welcomed Elvis Presley back from his military service in Germany. In 1960 it was also the setting for Jerry Lewis’ movie The Bellboy. It had been prominently featured in the short run of the T.V. show Surfside 6. And, most recently, had appeared in last year’s James Bond blockbuster movie Goldfinger. It’s the hotel where the girl is murdered and painted gold — or was it the other way around?

  The limo pulled up in front of the hotel, and immediately there was a bellman with a cart, and a man in an expensive suit grabbing for Frank’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

  “Take it easy, Jack,” Frank said, reclaiming his hand. “I’ve only got two of those.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinatra,” the man said. “We’re just so pleased to have you here with us at the Fountainbleau.”

  “Did you say assistant manager?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t I even rate the manager?”

  The man paled immediately and began to stammer.

  “Oh, sir, let me assure you our manager will be with you shortly, he’s just, uh—“

  “Hey, I’m kiddin’ with you, Charlie,” Frank said. “Take it easy.”

  “Oh, yes,” the man said, “of course, Mr. Sinatra—“

  “Now listen to me,” Frank said. “Have my luggage taken to my suite. I do have a suite, don’t I?”

  “Oh, of course, sir.”

  “Okay, good,” Frank said, “have my luggage taken to my suite, and have my friend’s bag taken to his room.”

  “Your friend?”

  “This is Eddie Gianelli. I told you I was bringing a friend.”

  “Oh yes, of course,” the assistant manager said. “Mr. Eddie G., correct?”

  “That’s right,” Frank said, “everybody knows him as Eddie G.. Put his bag in his room, and bring the keys to us in the bar. We’re gonna get a drink.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. “Anything you want. It’s on the house.”

  “Of course it is.” Frank grabbed my arm. “Come on, Clyde. We’re gettin’ a drink.”

  I looked at the assistant manager, shrugged and followed Frank inside.

  Frank led me to the Bleau Bar, on the lobby level of the hotel.

  “Two bourbons,” Frank told the bartender. “Jack Daniels and water, on the rocks.”

  “Comin’ up, Mr. Sinatra.”

  We managed to find two seats at the busy bar and settled in.

  “When’s your first show?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “What are you gonna do until then?”

  “I thought we’d go see Sammy at the Eden Roc tonight,” Frank said. “Then I’m gonna have lunch with Jackie tomorrow. You wanna come and meet him?”

  “Ah, I can stay here and look at girls on the beach,” I said. “I don’t wanna butt in.”

  “You ain’t buttin’ in,” Frank said. “I’m invitin’ you. You’ll like meetin’ Jackie. He’s one of a kind.”

  “I would like to meet him,” I admitted.

  “Good,” Frank said, “if it makes you feel better, I’ll call ahead and let him know you’re comin’.”

  “Okay,” I said, as the bartender set the drinks in front of us. “What about Dino?”

  “He’ll be here tomorrow for Sammy’s openin’,” Frank said. “He’s gonna do Jackie’s show, and you know how he hates to rehearse, so he’s not comin’ early.”

  Frank finished his drink and put the empty glass down on the bar. As if by design, the assistant manager appeared.

  “Here are your keys, gentlemen,” he said, holding us each a key. Frank’s room was on a much higher floor than mine.

  “You both have a view of the beach,” the man said.

  “Very good ... what’s your name again?” Frank asked.

  “Oh,” the man said looking alarmed, “I never gave it to you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Arthur Korson.”

  “You weren’t here the other times I stayed, were you, Artie?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Korson said. “I just came to town for this job—“

  “Well,” Frank said, slapping him on the shoulder, “you’re doin’ a bang-up job, ain’t he, Eddie?”

  “Bang-up,” I agreed.

  “I’m gonna freshen up,” Frank said to me, ignoring Korson now, who sort of slunk away. “How about we meet down here for dinner in a coupla hours?”

  “Suits me,” I said.

  We left the bar and walked to the elevators, each ready for a little alone time.

  TWO

  I was satisfied with my room. Why wouldn’t I be? I was in the Fountainbleau, wasn’t paying, and I had a view of Miami Beach. The room was lush—as lush as any I had stayed in at the Sands, in Vegas. Only this was better. The phone wasn’t going to ring any minute with some problem or other that required my attention. I wasn’t going to hear from my boss, Jack Entratter, to come down to his office right away, either for a job, or a balling out.

  I unpacked since I’ve never liked living out of a suitcase. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be there, but we’d be flying back the same way we came, on Frank’s plane. It wasn’t like we had to check out on a certain day.

  Once I was unpacked I decided to take a shower before meeting Frank for dinner. As I was drying off, the phone rang. I had an immediate fear that it was Entratter, telling me to get back to Vegas right away. But I was wrong. It was Frank.

  “Hey, Pally, you mind if we don’t eat dinner in the hotel?” he asked. “I mean, I know it’s on the house, but I sorta wanna get out for the night. Whataya think?”

  “Suits me, Frank,” I said. “I’m in your hands. Like I told you, I’ve never been to Miami Beach before.”

  “Awright!” he said. “See you out front in fifteen minutes. The same car.”

  “See you there.”

  ***

  With all the wonderful restaurants in Miami Beach—many of them Cuban—Frank naturally had the driver take us to an Italian place. It was right on Collins Avenue and was called Fellini’s.

  “I discovered this place when we shot ‘[Hole in the Head’ here,” he told me, as we got out.

  They remembered Frank—or simply recognized him—and showed us to a table ahead of a lot of people who were in line, but because it was Frank, nobody seemed to mind.

  As usual, Frank ordered spaghetti and meatballs. I opted for the chicken parmesan, and we both had a martini—Beefeater Gin with just a shade of Vermouth, the way Frank liked them. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t a martini man, but I drank them with Frank.

  “I called Jackie as soon as I got to my room,” he told me after we’d ordered. “He insisted I bring you to lunch tomorrow.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Maybe there’ll be some June Taylor dancers there too, huh?”

  “Actually,” Frank said, “Jackie’s latest is June’s sister, Marilyn.”

  “You’re ki
ddin’,” I said. “Isn’t he still married?”

  “Oh yeah,” Frank said, “but that’s not gonna end anytime soon. Even though Genevieve filed for legal separation in fifty-four, when she first found out about Marilyn, she ain’t givin’ him a divorce. She’s a real devout Catholic.”

  “That’s a tough situation, for both of them. Where does she live?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said, “but not in either one of Jackie’s houses.”

  “How many does he have?”

  He’s got one here, a party house with a great view of the Miami Beach Country Club, where he plays golf. And he just had a new one built outside of Hialeah. But his favorite golf course is Inverrary Country Club in Lauderhill.”

  “So he really likes it here, huh?”

  “He loves Florida,” Frank said. “I don’t think anythin’ will ever pry him away from this place.”

  The waiter came with our martinis and Frank quickly ordered two more, even before we took a sip.

  “And his show is goin’ great guns,” Frank added. “Good for him.”

  “Tell me something about him,” I said. “I mean since I’m gonna meet him tomorrow.”

  “You know who dubbed him ‘The Great One?’”

  “No, who?”

  “Orson Welles.”

  “Because he’s so funny?”

  “Naw,” Frank said, “it’s got nothin’ to do with that. He and Welles went drink-for-drink one night and he drank Welles under the table. The next day Welles called him ‘The Great One.’ Jackie loved it!”

  “I never heard that story,” I said.

  “I’ll tell you another thing,” Frank said. “He comes from the same background as you and me. More you, since you both grew up in Brooklyn.”

  Frank was from New Jersey which, to his mind, was in the same ballpark as Brooklyn — but that was only because he wasn’t from Brooklyn. I knew Gleason would feel the same way about New Jersey as I did.

  “You guys are gonna get along.”

  “Do I have to play golf with him?” I asked. I was not a golfer.

  Frank laughed. “You can leave that part to me and Dino.”