So, next weekend I'm playing a Sinatra tribute. Ludicrous, huh? I'm not known for my phrasing, my pitch, my fashion. I come to a complete stop at STOP signs and women really don't throw themselves at me. My eyes are brown.
Frank's three offspring were recently interviewed on 60 Minutes. They all agreed that their famous old man just felt more than most of us. Felt deeper.
Well, sometimes I drink too much and I'm never gonna get over Ava Gardner. I'm jealous of Dean Martin, too.
I met Nancy Sinatra once. It was when I was a book buyer and had gone to the national publishers' convention. Normally they hand out free books or you can press the flesh at 50 mph in a three mile long line. Everything moved slow except the flesh pressing. So I wasn't too upset when I was walking down and aisle and a guy jumps out and says "You'd like to meet Nancy Sinatra and get signed photo wouldn't you?" which is the kind of line you get when a pubnlisher has an author lined up to beat the tub for their new book at their booth and no one shows up. So I went where I was told and expected windburn and a pre-signed picture when I was rushed past her. Nope. I started to sweat when the people in front of me gushed about her father and she did a lot of eye-meets-eye and "thanks so much, that means so much to me" and after about 5 minutes, they had a weepy parting and it was my turn. I didn't really have anything to say about Frank, other than ask why he told Tina to dump Robert Wagner and stop stumping for McGovern back in '72. Nancy stared at me. Eyes met eyes. She waiuting for me to starting talking. I was just hoping to get out alive and fast. Nope. My brain went blank. The only think of was that stinker of a song she did ("Your groovy self") in Elvis' "Speedway", so I said I'd just listened to it and her terrific song in it. "Is that a good thing?" she asked. Then I hit a conversation booster - I looked at her lips. Damned things liked the Mouth we'd made as kids by standing up an inner tube and leaning on it so it folded down. And just as full of air as her lips. MY moment was sure over in that second. I couldn't look at anything but her lips. She harumphed, signed the picture and pushed me off with a "Thanks for stopping by...." Lucky for me, the next time this happened to me, they asked if I'd like to meet Peter Ustinov. "Yes, SIR!"ReplyDelete