“Gianelli,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Britt. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.
May Britt was a breathtaking beauty, with the blondest hair and clearest, smoothest skin I’d ever seen. I knew half a dozen casinos who would have hired her to be a showgirl on the spot, but she already had a career of her own as an actress. I wondered how much heartache was in the couple’s future because of the differences in their race. As for her mother, it was easy to see where she got her looks from. Mrs. Wilkins was an older, slightly faded version of her daughter.
“Thank you very much,” May said. I found her Swedish accent charming, and understood immediately why Sammy fell in love with her. “I’m very happy to meet you.”
“Come, Mama,” she said. “We must allow the men to talk.”
“I’ll see you later, baby,” Sammy said, and they shared an affectionate kiss.
When the women were gone Sammy said, “Isn’t she something?”
“She sure is,” I said. “Beautiful. You’re a lucky man.”
“Wonder what she’s doin’ with a one-eyed black Jew?” he asked. I searched his face for any sign of belligerance, but there was none.
“No, Sammy, I don’t,” I said. “I imagine she sees in you what women are supposed to see in the men they love.”
Sammy Davis Jr. laughed, slapped my arm and said, “You’re all right, man. Drink?”
“No, thanks. You go ahead.”
“Naw,” he said. “I’ve got to get ready for the show. You wanted to ask me something?”
I found Sammy different when he wasn’t around the others. He was more relaxed and comfortable with himself. When he was around Frank he seemed too eager to want to please him. I wondered why a phenomenal talent like him had to kowtow to anybody, even a Frank Sinatra. But I was also sure that there were things about Sammy’s life, and his relationship with the other members of the group I didn’t know, and would never understand.
However, I wondered if Sammy was not a member of Frank’s “Clan,” if he would have been allowed to stay in a suite at the Sands. Negroes were not allowed to stay in the casino hotels, then, not even entertainers. Jack Entratter, by giving into Frank’s demand that Sammy be given a suite, was inadvertently leading the way to change things in Vegas, when it came to segregation.
I fed Sammy the same story I’d given Peter Lawford and he just shrugged.
“Hey, man, the only threats I been getting are the usual ones. Nothing new to me.”
“Then I won’t take up anymore of your time.”
Sammy walked me to the door.
“Any chance I can get you to tell me what’s really goin’ down?”
“What do you mean?” He’d caught me off guard, but I thought I handled it well. Sammy Davis Jr. was no dummy.
“I mean you’re a real cool cat, Eddie,” he said. “Why would Jack Entratter waste your talents on an errand like this?”
“Sammy, I-”
“Forget it,” he said, quickly, waving my response away. “Forget I even asked. When Frank or Dean want me to know what’s goin’ on, I guess they’ll tell me.”
He opened the door and I felt I had to say something to him while we were alone.
“Sammy, I just want to tell you that I think you’re an incredible talent, and you seem like a nice guy.” I heard myself gushing and tried to stop, but I was impressed with the man.
“I am a nice guy, Clyde,” he said, with a smile.
“Well, I just want to say I wish you and May all the best, and I hope you won’t let what some ignorant bastards say and think-ah, what the hell. I guess I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, really.”
“Yeah, ya do,” he said. He took my hand in his powerful grip. “You know what you’re sayin’ just fine, Eddie. Thanks.”
He released my hand and I stepped out into the hall. He closed the door gently, still smiling. I felt we connected in that moment, really connected. I thought how lucky I’d be if I could call Sammy Davis Jr. my friend.
Forty-nine
Henry Silva and Richard Conte were not given suites in the Sands, but they were put up in good-sized guest rooms. I spoke to both of them briefly, giving the same story. Neither had received any threats. They also didn’t seem to know that Dean Martin had been threatened. They thought Frank wanted them to accompany Dean to the set for another reason-to keep him out of trouble.
“Frank says Dean’s havin’ trouble with Jeannie, and might do somethin’ foolish,” Henry Silva told me.
Nick Conte had been told the same story by Frank, but I could tell he didn’t believe it. Conte and Dean were close, coming from similar Italian backgrounds. But apparently Conte was like Sammy, willing to go along until he was told differently.
I wasn’t able to find Angie Dickinson to speak with her. I was starting to think she was avoiding me.
I decided not to ask any of the others the same questions. I had a consensus now, and it seemed that the only one receiving threats was Dean.
For want of something better to do I decided to stick around the casino and wait for the show in the Copa to be over. Dean Martin had said he wanted to deal some blackjack tonight. He usually did that when there was a good-looking woman at the table. She’d bust withtwenty-two and he’d change the rules and tell her she won. It also drew a crowd, which I wasn’t convinced was a good idea tonight. I wished Jerry was around.
If I was going to be around the pit I’d have to dress better, though, but I wasn’t about to go back home without Jerry watching my back. I decided to change into a suit I kept at the casino in case of an emergency.
I had showered and was standing in front of a locker, tying my tie, when Jack Entratter walked in. A couple of dealers I knew were also getting dressed in front of their lockers and looked nervous as Entratter entered. As far as I knew Jack had never been in that locker room.
“You boys finished?” he asked them. “Yer shift is about to start.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said. They both got the message and hurriedly left.
“What brings you down here, Jack?”
“I’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere.”
“I was talkin’ with Sammy and Peter Lawford, and a few of the others.”
“You didn’t tell them what’s goin’ on, did ya?” he demanded.
“I’m not stupid, Jack.”
“No,” he said, “sorry.”
“But Sammy’s no dummy, and Nick Conte knows Dean well enough to figure out something’s up.”
“Well, just leave it to Frank to fill them in when he’s ready.”
“That was my plan.” I finished with my tie and slammed the locker door closed. I didn’t lock it because I kept nothing of value inside.
“Why were you lookin’ for me, Jack?”
“You goin’ to the show tonight?”
“I wasn’t plannin’ to.”
“What are you dressed for, then?”
I told him about Dean wanting to deal, and my promise to be around.
“I want you to go to the show. Here.”
He reached in his jacket pocket, came out with a ticket and handed it to me.
“You need another one? Wanna bring a broad?”
“No,” I said. “One’s enough.” I pocketed it. “Why do you want me to go?”
“Because I trust you, Eddie,” he said.
“To do what?”
“The right thing.”
Entratter had a lot of men at his disposal, most of them like Jerry-pros.
“What’s this about, Jack?”
“I need someone to watch things, somebody who won’t embarrass me and the casino.”
“Embarrass you how? Come on, what’s goin’ on?”
He hesitated, then said, “You know about Frank supporting JFK for president, right?”
“Sure, who doesn’t?”
“Well, he’s gonna be here.”
“Who’s gonna be here?”
“Come on, Eddie, keep up,” he said, irritably. “Jack Kennedy. He’s gonna be at the show tonight.”
“Wait … the man who might be the next president of the United States is here?”