Because Frank had fallen for Lana so quickly, Nancy felt certain it was just another fling that wouldn’t last. She certainly wasn’t going to abandon everything she’d worked so hard to maintain just for another of his passing fancies. Therefore, as had become the status quo of late, on October 5 Nancy telephoned George Evans to tell him they had another problem, and this was a big one: Lana Turner. George didn’t know how far he would get with Lana, he told Nancy, but he said he would try.
George made a few calls until he was able to find Lana’s telephone number. He called her and issued to her the same warning he’d given to Marilyn Maxwell: If she dated Frank she would find herself in violation of the morals clause of her movie contract. Lana was not one to be cowed by anyone’s publicist, though. She laughed. “You are so cute to threaten me like this,” she told him, “Why, you’re just adorable, aren’t you?” She reminded him that she had thus far made a fortune exploiting her bad-girl image in the movies, and that no one at MGM would be the least bit taken aback by her having a romance with any man, married or otherwise. “In fact, they hope I do,” she exclaimed. “More box-office dollars for them if I do!” Then she berated George, saying, “You are such a small man if that’s the best you could come up with to break up me and Frank. Did his wife put you up to this? Because if she did, I feel sorry for her. This is just so sad! You must be so embarrassed right now, Mr. Evans.”
By the time Lana Turner finished with George, he was sorry he’d ever thought to telephone her. He called Nancy back and told her that he could do nothing about Lana. “She’s a real head case, that one,” he said. “But don’t worry,” he hastened to add, “she and Frank will burn themselves out. We have to just give it a second.”
That same night, October 5, Frank and Lana attended a party hosted by Norwegian figure skater and film star Sonja Henie. The two danced all evening and—maybe with Lana now emboldened by George’s unsuccessful attempt to threaten her—it seemed clear that they were ready for their romance to become more public. After the Henie party, Frank took Lana to a new duplex apartment in Hollywood that he’d just rented two days earlier and had furnished with $30,000 worth of antiques and furniture simply for the purpose of entertaining her there. (He already had one secret apartment in Hollywood, but felt it wasn’t extravagant enough for the pampered Lana.) However, Lana wasn’t impressed. In fact, when she walked into Sinatra’s new love nest, she took one look around and said, “Who needs this dump! I’m not sleeping here.” Then she threw her wrap over her shoulder, raised her chin, and went for the closest exit. Lana lived her life theatrically, big entrances and big exits being her specialty. In her world, the little red light on the camera was always on, her close-up always in the offing.
“You’re right, it is a dump,” said Frank, anxious to placate her. He took her to the upscale Beverly Hills Hotel, where he rented a pricey bungalow.
On the morning of October 6, Frank told George Evans he intended to marry Lana “as soon as Nancy gives me a divorce.” He was in Evans’s office in Los Angeles; Ted Hechtman was present.
“You’re an idiot,” George told him, according to Hechtman’s memory. George said that Nancy would never divorce Frank, and he couldn’t understand why Frank didn’t see it. “Then I’ll divorce her,” Frank said, adding that Nancy couldn’t keep him in a marriage that he didn’t want to be in. “Oh, I think she can,” George said, “and I think she will, too. Why are you so doll dizzy?” he wanted to know. He observed that Frank had a very nice wife and two wonderful children; he didn’t understand why he wasn’t satisfied. “Just make the announcement,” Frank told George. He reminded George that he worked for him, not for Nancy. In fact, Frank said, in thinking about it he’d decided that George and Nancy had “probably been in cahoots for months.” The two then got into a war of words about George’s threat to Lana. “How could you use the moral clause card on her?” Frank wanted to know.
“It’s because of broads like her that the fucking moral clause card is even in the fucking deck,” George Evans exclaimed.
“Frank wanted to know how many other women George had used that card with in the past,” Ted Hechtman recalled. “George lied, of course, and said that Lana had been the first. ‘Now you embarrassed me in front of her,’ Frank said. ‘She blew a fuse with me over it. She can’t believe I would have a dummy like you representing me.’
“ ‘Oh, screw her, Frank,’ George Evans said. ‘You think I care what Lana Turner thinks of me? I’m trying to save your career here. Can’t you see that?’ ”
After this argument went nowhere, George felt he had little choice but to do Frank’s bidding and announce to the media that the Sinatras were indeed separating. Calling it “a family squabble,” he also noted that “there’s no talk of divorce.” He cautioned, “This is the first public battle they’ve ever had, and I don’t think it’s serious.” An irate Nancy packed a couple of Frank’s suitcases and threw them out onto the front lawn. “I will never give that bum a divorce,” she said, “but I also won’t live in the same house with him.”
Once the public release was issued, Frank felt a sense of relief. He thought maybe now he could move forward with Lana. It really wasn’t about Lana, though. It was just about Frank wanting something new, something different. From a practical standpoint, did he really think Lana Turner was going to be a true partner in life for him? But his emotions were just running away with him, as usual, and he wasn’t thinking about the future. This was a major character flaw that would haunt him for years to come. For Frank, it was always about the here and now. The future would handle itself. Right now, all he knew for certain was that he wanted Lana Turner.
That evening, Frank and Lana went to Palm Springs, where Lana owned a second home. They danced at the Chi Chi Club and seemed to not care about the stares and whispers. However, the next day, Lana attempted to deny the affair, calling Louella Parsons to say, “I am not in love with Frank, and he is not in love with me. I have never broken up a home. I just can’t take these accusations!” (Lana didn’t mention that she was also dating Tyrone Power at this time, who was married to French star Annabella.) Public relations were everything to Lana Turner. She was going to do anything she could to stir the pot, especially if it meant more controversy, more attention. When Parsons published Lana’s statement, she and Frank had a good laugh over it. “That patsy,” Frank said of the reporter. “She doesn’t care what she writes, does she?”
Two weeks passed. During that time, the glow between them began to dim somewhat and they found themselves arguing about fidelity. Lana said she wasn’t sure that she wanted to end it with Tyrone Power. Moreover, she had information that Frank was still seeing Marilyn Maxwell on the side. She couldn’t confirm it, but her source, she said, was reliable. It would turn out that her “source” was none other than her trusted friend Ava Gardner, who was at that time married to Lana’s ex-husband, musician Artie Shaw.
After a blazing row, the ever-mercurial Frank walked out on Lana, saying he was finished with her. Hot one minute, cold the next; no wonder Nancy couldn’t take him seriously. “Oh, you’ll be back,” Lana told him. For her it was as if the curtain was just going down on act one. “You know you’ll be back.”
Family Intervention
Frank’s public image had definitely taken a big hit after the Lana affair. It had been a major embarrassment for everyone concerned (except maybe Lana). Nancy’s life had been turned upside down so that Frank and Lana could have sex without having to hide their relationship. According to Ted Hechtman, a meeting was called at Frank’s home by George Evans. Hechtman—who was now partnered with Evans in his new Los Angeles bureau, was present—as were Dolly and Marty Sinatra, Nancy, and Frank. They all sat solemnly around the kitchen table facing Frank.
George began by saying that the situation with Lana had gone too far. Frank squirmed in his seat but didn’t respond. George continued, saying that it had evolved into the kind of scandal that hurt not only the family, but also the fa
ns. Again, no response from Frank. “Say something,” Dolly shouted at her son, smacking him hard on the back of the head. According to the witness—Hechtman—she was dismayed. “Whatsa matta you?” she demanded to know of Frank. “Nancy is a good wife to you, a good mother to your children, and this is the way you treat her?”
“At least let him talk,” Marty told his wife. She gave him a look.
Frank mumbled something; it sounded like an apology.
“Shut-uppa you mou,” Dolly told him, punching him on the arm. At this point, Nancy said that she realized she should be finished with Frank, but that for the sake of his career and the sanctity of their marriage she was willing to give him one more chance. There were no tears from her; it was as if she was just resigned to the idea of staying with him. “Fine, Nancy, if that’s what you want,” Frank responded, shrugging his shoulders. He showed no remorse. At that, his mother whacked him on the back of the head again.
Frank didn’t say anything else; he just stared straight ahead. Looking at him, as Ted Hechtman recalled it many years later, “You could tell that he was trying to feel something. He had his brow furrowed as if he was trying to come up with an emotion. Sorrow. Or guilt. Or regret. Or . . . who knows? Something. But looking at him in that moment, I realized the truth: He had nothing. He was just empty.” Hechtman would say that it seemed that Frank was just unable to access his emotions. “He appeared to be trying to feel something,” he would say, “but there just didn’t seem to be anything there. I think he wanted to feel sorry, he wanted to feel remorse, but the truth was that he simply didn’t feel it . . . and he couldn’t act as if he did.”
As he grew older, Frank’s mood would swing from apathy, where he would feel nothing (which was where he found himself on this day); depression, where he would become morose, deeply sad, and self-destructive; anger, where he would feel enraged and act out in a reckless manner; and finally, excitement, where he would be ebullient, even ecstatic. But there were no shades of gray between them. Moreover, it was impossible to know what sort of event might trigger which mood.
In today’s world, Sinatra would likely be diagnosed as bipolar. However, the only diagnosis he ever actually received from a psychiatrist would be in the 1950s when Dr. Ralph Greenson—also Marilyn Monroe’s psychiatrist—would diagnose him as being manic-depressive. Beyond his sessions with Sinatra, Greenson did nothing else to treat him. He most certainly did not administer the kinds of strong medications he would later prescribe to Marilyn, drugs that many people in her life would feel led to her demise.
“George spent about thirty minutes telling him how we were going to handle the matter of Lana,” said Ted Hechtman, “coming up with a strategy for what would be a public reunion with Nancy. She was on board, but wary. He was robotic, at best. His parents both struck me as being extremely agitated.”
A few days later, the reunion occurred during comic Phil Silvers’s engagement at Slapsie Maxie’s club in Hollywood. Frank joined Silvers onstage in what looked like an impromptu moment but was actually a scripted part of Silvers’s act. That night, Nancy showed up in the audience, as per George Evans’s instruction. When Frank started singing the number “Going Home,” he became emotional. Phil, who felt that “these two kids belong together,” then walked him down to Nancy’s table. She was crying. Frank put his arms around her, and as they embraced, the audience applauded their reconciliation. The next day, Frank Sinatra went home.
With the latest intrusion out of the way, Nancy said she hoped life at the Sinatra household would now continue “as if Lana Turner was never born into the world.” However, the affair with Lana had caused a serious breach of trust and respect in her marriage. Maybe it was because it was so public and newsworthy, or maybe it was just one woman too many where Nancy was concerned, but for whatever reason, the Sinatras would never quite recover from Frank’s affair with Lana Turner.
The Diamond Bracelet
For the next two months, Frank Sinatra did his best to be repentant. In November, he bought Nancy a full-length ermine coat and muff; they went to New York together and were seen about town having a wonderful time. For Christmas he gave her an expensive three-strand pearl necklace. He was applying himself more than ever to being a good father to little Nancy and Frankie. Was he also being faithful? Nancy Sinatra didn’t really want to know. She was with her husband, they were making love again, and she was just hoping for the best. She didn’t want any more information than what was immediately available to her; she didn’t want to ask him any questions. “In my experience,” she said at the time, “cheaters are almost always liars too. So why even ask?”
One day, Nancy discovered an expensive-looking diamond bracelet in the glove compartment of the new Cadillac Frank had just purchased for her. She assumed that it was yet one more expensive gift from a husband doing his best to make amends for past indiscretions. She caught her breath in surprise. Then she gently placed the bracelet back in its box and put it back exactly where she had found it. She decided to just wait for Frank to present it to her.
On December 31, the Sinatras hosted a New Year’s Eve party. It was a success, with at least two hundred people showing up. Dressed to the nines, Frank and Nancy mingled with their guests, appearing for all the world as the ideal couple. Breaking away from her husband for just a moment, Nancy was speaking to a movie studio executive when, across the room, she saw . . . her. It wasn’t Lana Turner. Worse, it was Marilyn Maxwell. She thought George Evans had taken care of Marilyn, and in fact, she hadn’t given Marilyn a second thought in months. What was she doing at the party, and in Nancy’s home? As Nancy approached the actress, much to her great dismay she realized that Marilyn was wearing the diamond bracelet she had earlier found in Frank’s glove compartment.
“Where did you get that?” Nancy demanded to know as she stood before Marilyn. She was pointing to her wrist.
“Oh, a very good friend gave it to me,” Marilyn said with a frozen smile.
In a controlled but angry tone, Nancy said, “I want you out of my house. Now, go! I mean it. Right now.”
“Excuse me?” Marilyn asked. “I beg your pardon?”
“No. I beg yours,” Nancy said. She pointed to the bracelet. “That belongs to me,” she proclaimed. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap in the last eight years of being married to that bum, and I deserve that bracelet.”
Marilyn, her mouth agape, obediently unclasped the bracelet and handed it over.
At that moment, Frank came over to the two women, put his arm around them, and whispered something in Nancy’s ear. Nancy pulled away from him. “Don’t you dare say one word to me,” she hissed. “You invited her? To our home?”
“But . . . I . . .” Frank seemed at a loss. “I’m sorry, Nancy. Jesus Christ, I’m sorry.”
By this time, partygoers in the vicinity knew there was trouble and word was spreading quickly throughout the house. Nancy ran from the room, and Marilyn headed toward the coat room.
“Holy Christ,” Frank exclaimed to Ted Hechtman.
“Why did you invite her?” Ted asked, according to his memory of the conversation.
“What do you think I am, an idiot?” Frank asked. “There’s no way in hell I would have invited that woman to my home. Not with Nancy here. Do you think George did?” he asked, speaking of George Evans.
“Let me go get him,” Ted offered. With that Ted ran to fetch George.
“What happened? What happened?” an alarmed George asked when he bolted out from another room. He hadn’t witnessed the scene but had already heard about it. Frank asked George if he’d invited Marilyn to the party. “What? Are you crazy?” George answered. “I would never invite her here. I wouldn’t do that to you, or to Nancy.”
“Well, she came to start trouble, then, I guess,” Frank said, trying to put the pieces together.
“But did you give her that diamond bracelet?” George asked.
“Yeah, well,” Frank said, hanging his head. “I ain’t gonna lie. I did.�
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“You’re still seeing her?” George asked, now becoming angry.
“I ain’t gonna lie about that either,” Frank said.
George shook his head in disgust and stormed off.
A few moments later, Marilyn Maxwell returned to the living room in a white fur wrap. “It was never my intention to do anything this evening but spread good cheer,” she announced grandly to the guests. “Sadly,” she concluded, “that now seems impossible.” She whipped around to make her exit, yanking at the brass knob of the heavy front door. It swung open. Then she turned to face her audience one last time. “And now, my friends,” she declared dramatically, “I simply must go.” With that, she turned again and entered the cold night air, leaving the door wide open. When a gust of wind blew into the house, one of the other guests pushed the door closed and said, “Let’s keep out the chill, shall we?”
The party continued as if nothing had occurred—but without Nancy, who had also disappeared from the festivities. Even the most ardent Sinatra supporters, like Jule Styne and Sammy Davis, both of whom remembered the story, were hard-pressed to defend Sinatra’s behavior.
After most of the guests had departed, Nancy returned. She had changed from her red-and-green satin evening dress to a simple white silk robe. Her eyes were red. The guests who remained were all close friends and family members, about a dozen people, and perhaps she thought that she would join them for coffee, liqueurs, and dessert. But the sight of her husband laughing with Manie Sacks and his other buddies just served to reignite her fury. She must have been wondering, why was he so happy when she was so miserable? “How can you be so cruel and unfeeling?” she asked Frank. Everyone in the dining room froze. “What have I ever done to you to make you treat me like this?” she pressed on. “I don’t understand it. What have I ever done?”
Frank rolled his eyes. “Oh boy, here we go again, Nancy. What have I done? What have I done?” he said, mocking her tone. Clearly, he’d had too much to drink. “You, you, you. Jesus Christ, what about me? You think this is easy for me?”
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