Robert Randisi: Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

She took a deep breath-which inflated her cleavage even more-and said, “Yes!”

Dean Martin picked Sammy Davis Jr. up, walked to the microphone with him and said, “I want to thank the NAACP for this award.” The audience-and Sammy-cracked up.

Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joey and Peter sang, danced, joked, did impressions (Sammy), smoked, stood around (Lawford) and the crowd loved it. This was Frank’s “Summit of Cool,” as he called it, because during that same month Eisenhower, de Gaulle and Khrushchev were having their summit conference in Paris.

Beverly hung on my arm and released it only to clap her hands together gleefully at the Rat Pack’s on-stage antics. She was also excited to see some of the celebrities in the audience, specifically some of the other players in Ocean’s 11 like Angie Dickinson, Henry Silva and Richard Conte who, I later learned, was called “Nick” by Dean and other friends.

When the show was over I leaned over and whispered in Beverly’s ear, “I have to go back stage. Would you like to come?”

“Oh, my God!” she said, which I took as a yes.

There was a security force to keep the Rat Packers safe-Frank alone had eight guards. I wondered if he was sharing them with Dean. All I had to do was give my name to one and he allowed us togo backstage, where it was already crowded with celebrity well-wishers and hangers-on.

Booze flowed freely, and I saw Frank standing in a corner with a brunette stunner named Judith Campbell on his arm. I was able to introduce Bev formally to Joey Bishop, and then said to Joey, “Bev would love to meet Frank and Dean.”

“Dean’s already gone up to his suite,” Joey said, “but we can do Frank.”

Joey tugged us over to where Frank was holding court with Henry Silva and Nick Conte. I looked around, but Angie Dickinson was nowhere to be seen. She had been the one I wanted to meet. I wanted to see if she was as sexy off-screen as on. Maybe another time …

“Frank,” I said, as he looked at me, “the show was great.”

“Who’s the pretty lady, Eddie?” Frank asked, and I felt Bev’s nails dig into my arm.

“Frank Sinatra,” I said, “meet Beverly Carter.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Frank said, graciously. He took Bev’s hand and kissed it. He didn’t bother to introduce Judith Campbell to either of us, and the buxom brunette stood there staring daggers at the equally buxom Beverly, who didn’t notice at all. She only had eyes for Frank.

“Hey, Frank,” Henry Silva said with a rakish smile, “this redhead’s a knockout. You should give her a part in the film.” Silva had two young dolls hanging off each arm. I later found they were con-ventioneering teachers he had plucked from the audience.

“Are you an actress, sweetheart?” Frank asked Bev.

“No,” Bev said, “I’m just a waitress in the lounge, Mr. Sinatra.”

“Hmph,” Judith said, “a waitress.”

“Would you like to be in a movie, Beverly?” Frank asked.

“Oh my God,” Beverly said.

“Frank-” Judith said.

“Quiet, Judy,” Frank told her. “Joey, why don’t you take Eddie to his meeting? Eddie, leave Beverly here with us. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Shall we go?” Joey asked.

“I’ll be back soon,” I said to Bev, but I didn’t think she heard me.

As I followed Joey across the crowded room I heard Frank say, “Bev, meet my good friend Nick Conte …”

“Might lose your girl to Frank or Nick tonight, Eddie,” Joey said, as we left the Copa Room and reentered the hotel.

“She’s not my girl, Joey,” I said. “I just invited her along because you gave me two tickets.”

“Hey, you could do worse,” he said, with a shrug, “She’s a beauty.”

“Yes,” I said, “she is.”

Actually, I couldn’t help but be a little miffed about losing Bev to the Ocean’s 11 crowd, but what could I do about it? I had also wanted to meet Sammy Davis Jr., who had been talking to some people in another part of the room with Peter Lawford, but that didn’t happen that night, either.

As we rode the elevator up Joey said, “You’re gonna meet Mack Gray, first.”

“Who’s he?”

“His real name is Maxie Greenberg, but everybody calls him Mack Gray. He’s an old-time fight manager who ended up bein’ George Raft’s personal assistant for years. When Raft fell on hard times and couldn’t afford Mack anymore he passed him on to Dean. See, Dean sort of idolized George Raft when he was comin’ up in the business. Rather than letting Mack go altogether George convinced Dean to give him a job doin’ the same sort of things he did for Raft. So now Mack is Dean’s personal assistant. Mack and Jay Girard also act as a sort of buffer between Dino and the outside world.”

I found out later that Jay Girard-real name “Girardi”-was, for a long time, Dean’s stand-in and went on to become a sort of Man Friday for him. It seemed to me Dean Martin was pretty loyal to his friends.

“Is Raft in Ocean’s Eleven?’ I asked Joey.

“Dean got him a small part,” Joey said. “Now there’s a cool cat.”

Joey was right. Because of Dean’s facade of cool I was surprised to learn that he had ever idolized anyone-but not surprised that itwas George Raft. Raft, even to this day when he wasn’t working all that much, still epitomized cool.

The elevator doors opened and Joey said, “Come on. Dean’s gonna want to turn in soon.”

“No parties?” I asked, following him down the hall.

“Dean’s not the partier everybody thinks he is. He actually likes to go to sleep fairly early.”

“I didn’t know that about him.”

When we reached the door Joey said, “You’re about to find out a lot of things about Dean Martin that nobody knows.”

Mack Gray opened the door and let us in. He was wearing an expensive suit and a white shirt.

“Mack, meet Eddie Gianelli,” Joey said. “Eddie, Mack Gray.”

Gray closed the door then turned and looked at me.

“This the clyde who’s supposed to help the boss?” he asked.

“Clyde” was Rat Pack-ese for anyone who wasn’t part of their group.

“This is him. Say hello, Mack.”

Mack regarded me for a moment from on high-he was taller than me by several inches-and then stuck out his big hand. We shook briefly, and he stared at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Actually, he was frowning as if something hurt him.

“Mack?” Joey said.

“Huh?” He had the fingertips of his right hand pressed to his forehead.

“Dean?”

“He’s gettin’ changed,” Mack said. “I’ll go and tell him yer here.”

Mack disappeared down a hall, leaving us in a plushly furnished living room.

“Either he doesn’t like me or he’s got a headache.”

“Probably both,” Joey said. “Mack suffers from migraine headaches.Nothin’ seems to help, but he pops Percodan like they were M amp;M’s.”

There was a bar against one wall which looked fully stocked, with a refrigerator behind it. A beautiful three-cushion burgundy sofa with two matching armchairs. In front of the sofa was a rectangular coffee table covered with comic books. I looked at Joey, who smiled.

“Dean likes to read comic books.”

“Why?”

Joey shrugged. “He says they help him escape from reality.”

I leaned over and leafed through them. Superman, Batman and other superheroes. He wasn’t hiding them, so he wasn’t ashamed of reading them. That sort of went hand in hand with Dean being cool, if you thought about it.

“Eddie,” Joey said, “I’m gonna leave you alone here.”

“Alone? With Dean?”

Joey laughed. “Don’t worry. He’s not gonna bite you. You weren’t this nervous about meeting Frank.”