Mac returned to the Park Cameron, took a shower, and dressed for a night on the town in black dress slacks, a starched white shirt, with black onyx cuff links. The white dinner jacket, black bow tie, and the spit-shined black shoes completed the picture of the well-dressed man about town. Before he put on his long black wool overcoat, and black fedora, Mac picked up the telephone by the sofa to call Hallie, as he had not spoken to her since he left her bed that morning. The telephone rang and rang, Mac thrilled that Hallie did not pick up. He was not looking forward to telling her where he was headed, and with whom.
Mac took a cab to the Sherry Netherland, arriving at ten o’clock as planned. He walked into the ornate, vaulted lobby just in time to see Betty Pack getting out of the elevator, a vision of luscious loveliness. She wore a white ermine stole over a form fitting silk sequined dress, as green as her beautiful emerald eyes. Her blond tresses now fell in curls around her head, suggesting an air of playfulness. Yet, the diamonds hanging around her long neck, and dangling from her ears, gave her an air of classic sophistication. Mac thought her ravishing, from her head to her matching heels, his mouth hanging open a little longer than was polite.
“You clean up real nice, Mac,” Betty spoke first, as she approached, Mac's voice still stuck in his throat. “See, I am ready on time, as you asked.”
“Amazing! Not only are you on time, you look absolutely gorgeous. That dress! Who could resist you, Betty? You’re quite a dish.”
“I figured I would give you a run for your money, my friend. You did say that you could resist me!”
“That was before I saw you in that dress. You are out to make a liar out of me, aren’t you? Let's go, before I change my mind.”
Betty laughed as they walked out onto Fifth Avenue, the Plaza Hotel, all lit up across the Grand Army Plaza. The hansom cabs were all in a line around the traffic circle, the horses waiting restlessly for their next jaunt in the park.
Mac slipped his arm under Betty's, escorting her one block north to Ten East Sixtieth Street, the home of the newest nightclub in New York. As Mac had read in the newspapers, the Copacabana had just opened a couple of days before; there was a line down the street to get into the midnight show. The nightclub served up dinner, and dancing, before a gala show, complete with fourteen beautiful “Copa girls,” with their pink hair and sequined dresses. Mac briskly walked Betty to the front of the line, with everyone staring at the stunning couple, either at their sartorial splendor, or due to their nerve at trying to cut the line.
“Tommaso Martini,” Mac announced to the burly, tuxedo clad gentleman at the smoked glass door. “Mr. Costello is expecting me.”
“That better be true,” the doorman threatened Mac, as the man turned to go into the club.
Betty looked at Mac with a look of puzzlement on her concerned, but adorable face.
“Who is Tommaso Martini,” Betty laughed.
“My alter ego,” Mac replied, leaving it at that.
“You know Frank Costello?” she asked. “He invited you?”
“Yes, I know Frank Costello, but no, he did not invite me,” Mac said with a laugh.
“You are truly crazy, Mac. You do know who he is, don’t you?”
“Yes, I told you I know him. He will be happy to see me; I hope. He will be even more delighted to see you, I’m sure.”
“Right this way,” the burley gentleman said when he returned a few minutes later. “Mr. Costello said you are family, and to let you in. You are one lucky guy, my friend.”
The velvet ropes fell, much to the dismay of the people who had been standing in line. As the doorman opened the smoked glass doors, Mac took Betty by the arm, and he led her inside the club.
“Tommaso,” yelled Joey Messina, smacking Mac on the back, just inside the ornate lobby. “Mr. Costello said to seat you at his table. And who is this lovely lady? Is this your Sara?” asked the large man, rather inappropriately. “Sweetheart, take their hats and coats, will you?” he directed the pretty hatcheck girl.
“Hi Joey, thank you. No, this is a friend of mine, Betty Pack,” said Mac, somewhat embarrassed. “She is in town for the evening. I thought I would show her a good time.”
“Well, you are in the right place, Miss,” said Joey, over the din coming from the main room. “Follow me,” he directed.
“Who is Sara?” asked Betty chuckling, as they walked through the colorfully carpeted lobby, under the crystal chandlers. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you Mac? Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“I will tell you about it later,” responded Mac sheepishly.
They were led into a big room, with a throng of well-dressed people dancing on a maple dance floor. The white dinner jacketed band, literally on the floor with the dancers, was playing Glen Miller's “In the Mood,” while the “Copa girls” were shimmying their sequins to the beat of the music, with fruit on their heads, interspersed among the dancing patrons. Around the dance floor, in all directions, there were tables dressed in white linen to the floor, and sterling silver, with people bantering, the smoke from their cigars and cigarettes wafting up to the high ceiling. The flowers on the tables were exotic, giving the place a flavor of South America. The walls were covered in heavy velvet draperies, white and black, the gold sconces lighting up the festivities. The Latin beat, which the band started to play after the Glen Miller, was mesmerizing. Everyone looked like movie stars, dressed in their finest; some were.
Mac spotted Lucy and Desi moving to the music as he walked along the dance floor. Mac had read that they had met in Hollywood, where they were both in a movie adaptation of a play Desi Arnez had done the year before on Broadway, “Too Many Girls.” They had eloped and were on their way to Europe. They must have felt the lure of the opening of the Copa was too much to miss, he figured. Mac squeezed Betty's hand, as he directed her attention to the couple absorbed in each other, by sticking out his chin. She responded by squeezing his hand in return and giving him a big smile.
“Is that Frank Sinatra,” Betty whispered loudly in Mac's ear, over the searing music, looking off in another direction.
“I’m not sure what he looks like,” replied Mac. “Could be.”
“Tommaso,” yelled Frank Costello over the music, as he got up from his white linen covered chair at the table of honor, just off the dance floor. “You got big ones, kid, I’ll say that! Yes, you do. Come on, you are sitting with me,” he continued, as he grabbed Mac in a bear hug, kissing him on each cheek.
“Thank you, Mr. Costello. This is my friend, Betty Pack. She is from Washington, in for the night. She wanted to see a good time.”
“It's a pleasure, Miss Pack,” said Costello, having no way of knowing that she was a married woman. “You are in the right place! Opening week! Wait until you see the show! Wow, you are a looker,” he said, kissing her hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Costello. Thank you for the compliment, and for your gracious invitation.”
Costello started to laugh, hitting Mac on the back, as two new chairs magically appeared at the table.
“Sit. We are drinking champagne, Miss Pack. Dom Perignon. Good with you?”
“I adore champagne, Mr. Costello,” said Betty, as she took the seat next to him, as he directed, her knowing eyes never leaving his.
“Call me Frank, Miss Pack. May I call you Betty? You came with family, so that makes you family. Eat!” Costello ordered, pointing to the large platter of Chinese appetizers on the table. “It's going to be a long night! You better eat!”
“Of course, Frank, call me Betty. We ate earlier, but they look so good, I am going to pick, if you don’t mind,” replied Betty, taking a tiny egg roll and some pickled cabbage on the plate that had been put before her. “This is delicious, Frank. Do they make them here?”
“Naturally; everything served here is prepared on premises. I imported a chef from China just to cook the egg rolls.”
“Well, it's delicious. My compliments to the chef,” said Betty, as she sipped on the champagne Costello had poured into her flute.
“It must be hard to get Dom Perignon now, I would think,” Betty remarked, batting her eyelashes at her mobster host.
“We shipped it in by the boat loads before the Germans took France. My partner was smart enough to see it coming and planned. I told him he should be working for Roosevelt. No one else seemed to see it coming.
Mac, sitting on the other side of Betty, was taking this all in, a show within a show.
Oh man. She is playing with fire this time. But I guess that is her thing.
Mac turned to introduce himself to the lady sitting to his left.
“I am Mac Martin. What is your name?”
“Oh, I thought Frank called you Tommaso?” asked the woman dressed in a sequined blue dress. “I am Mrs. Podell. Irma, if you please. My husband, Jules, is Frank's partner in the Copacabana. Jules is in the kitchen, as usual. He can never just enjoy himself. Always working.”
“Everyone calls me Mac, ma’am, although my given name is Tommaso.”
Betty was right; women do love to complain about their husbands and their work.
“Well, he is missing out on being with a very lovely lady,” Mac said to the older woman. “Perhaps you will honor me with a dance?”
“Oh, I would love to, Mac. Thank you for asking me.”
Mac took Mrs. Podell by the hand to the dance floor, while he kept an eye on Betty, seducing Frank Costello back at the table. The band was playing Tommy Dorsey's “Indian Summer,” as Mac took Irma Podell in his strong arms. He was thinking about how beautiful Betty looked sitting there in her emerald sequined gown, and how she was so deftly charming the tough mobster, as Irma was truly enjoying herself in the grasp of a handsome young man.
“She is fearless! I wonder which one of them will blink first.
The couples on the dance floor were swaying to the music, as the waiters started serving the main course. Carmen Miranda peeked out at the crowd from behind a curtain, as the Latin beat now pulsed through the crowd. Mac realized it was the headliner, as she had what appeared to be an entire fruit bowl on top of her head. Desi and Lucy were still at it, dancing real close, oblivious to what was going on around them. Mac saw the guy who Betty told him was Frank Sinatra, smoking at a table full of Italian guys, all drinking and laughing up a storm.
Mac did his best to charm the older woman, as he was holding her as close as could be considered proper. He told her about himself, and how he had just met Mr. Costello over a business matter, and how they had seemed to hit it off.
“Frank is like that, if he likes you, you are like family to him. He is very sincere for a very powerful man. But be careful,” she warned, as she had undoubtedly told her husband the same thing.
The song had ended, and Mac bowed to Mrs. Podell, telling her it was a pleasure. He led her back to her seat by the hand, just as the main course was being put on the table.
“Just in time, Irma,” said Mac. “We can’t let your husband's creation get cold.”
“You are very sweet, Mac. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
Betty looked back at Mac, making sure he was comfortable with her engaging Frank Costello.
“Frank, Mac has told me so much about you,” Betty said, loud enough to include Mac in on the conversation. “He is very impressed.”
“Tommaso is a good man, Betty. Hold on to him if you can. He seems to be stuck on some chick named Sara, but if you ask me, he is crazy. You are incredible.”
“Who says I will give him the chance, Frank? He is a little young for me, don’t you think?” she cooed, in an obvious attempt to manipulate the older man.
“You can teach him a thing or two, I would think,” laughed Costello in return.
“Now there,” said Mac, “neither one of you know what I am capable of. I was not born yesterday.”
“Your charm is your naiveté, Mac. Don’t ever lose it,” chided Betty, giving him a peck on the cheek.
As the table started to eat the Cantonese spread put before them, the thin, rakish man Betty had swooned over was approaching the table.
“Mr. Costello, enjoy your meal,” said the handsome, thin, exceedingly confident man. “I just wanted to come by to pay my respects, and to meet your lovely dinner guest.”
“Frank, this is Betty Pack. She is the friend of young Tommaso here, who is family. You know what that means, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Costello. Stay away, I get it. Anyway, Miss Pack, I am Frank Sinatra. I just wanted to tell you that you look ravishing in that dress. You are a lucky man, Tommaso. Enjoy your dinner.”
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Sinatra. I am a big fan,” said Betty, as Mac merely nodded in the man's direction. “Perhaps you will stop by after dinner, and you can tell me about the rumor that I have heard that you are going solo.”
“Maybe I will,” smirked Sinatra. “If my friends here, Mr. Frank and Mr. Tommaso, say it's OK.”
“Get out of here Frank,” said Costello. “Let us eat in peace, you dog.”
The whole table laughed, including Sinatra.
“What can I say? My reputation precedes me.” Sinatra bowed at Betty; then he did as he was told, walking away with his air of confidence intact, despite being dispatched by the mobster.
“Be careful with him,” Costello said to Betty.
“Oh, she can take care of herself,” replied Mac, for her.
“I do believe that's true, Tommaso. She seems more than formidable.”
Just then, an older gentleman came over and sat on the other side of Mrs. Podell, looking a little disheveled, despite being in a tuxedo.
“Mac, this is my husband, Jules,” said Irma Podell. “He and Mr. Costello are partners. Jules, this is Mr. Martin. He is a lawyer, and a family friend of Frank. The young lady is his friend, Betty.”
“It is a pleasure, Mr. Podell. Your place is grand. The food is great! Good luck with it.”
“Call me Jules. And thank you. So far, it is quite marvelous, isn’t it?” Podell asked, crossing his fingers. “You’re going to catch the show, right? It's great. Jimmy Durante is here, but the Copa girls are what sets me afire,” Podell laughed, as his wife punched him playfully in the arm. “What do you think of the Chinese food? It was my idea; something different; a Latin-Asian fusion. Seems popular.”
“It's fantastic,” exclaimed Betty. “What a great idea. And it's delicious.”
“Anyway, enjoy your dinner. I must get back to the kitchen, and make sure the dinners are coming out right. As soon as I walk away, the help looks for a smoke.”
“Human nature, Jules,” said Mac. “Don’t work too hard, leaving your beautiful wife here by herself. I stole a dance just now. I hope you don’t mind. She is delightful.”
The older woman turned crimson, as her husband was clearly proud to take in the compliments about his wife, nodding at her, smiling.
“Thank you, Mac. That is very nice of you to say,” said Mrs. Podell. “You run along now honey, Mac and I have a lot to talk about.”
The older man smiled, bowed to the table, and left to complete his chores. His wife, leaned over, and gave Mac a kiss on the cheek.
“It's nice to be appreciated,” said Mrs. Podell. “And it is nice for my husband to be reminded once in a while that he has a beautiful wife who is delightful.”
Yes, thought Mac, the women are the unprotected soul of their men. Betty is right.
The dinner plates were being pulled from the table, as platters of fruits and pastries were brought in their stead. Just then, the lights began to dim, as the dancing couples returned to their seats.
The band started playing the musical introduction to the show that was about to begin. The stage on the other side of the dance floor filled with spotlights, as the Copa girls flitted on stage, dressed in beautiful sequined dresses, fruit matching the table platters on top of their pink hair. They paraded around the stage in a carefully choreographed number, until they were lined up on either side of the golden curtain, the center opens between the two rows of long-legged lovelies.
As the band continued playing, the curtain opened, as tuxedo clad gentlemen wheeled out Jimmy Durante on his piano stool, along with his black, baby grand piano. He was playing a ragtime melody, the band in accompaniment, which turned into the campy song, “Yes, We Got No Bananas.” As the audience stood to cheer, the big nosed entertainer stood to take a bow. “Ha cha cha!” He spent the next half hour telling jokes, singing, and being frisky with the Copa girls. It was very entertaining; the audience was totally engaged.
Except for Mac, that is, as he was distracted by Betty allowing Costello to put his hands on her during the performance. Mac was not pleased, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was thinking it disrespectful to Betty, and himself, but he had to remember that he had told Costello that she was just a friend.
Carmen Miranda just then took the stage with the Copa girls, singing and dancing to the Latin beat provided by the band. The stage was filled with color and movement, the girls sashaying past each other in another carefully choreographed number, with Carmen Miranda seemingly oblivious to what was going on behind her. Her arms were moving up and down, her fingers moving, her samba steps sensuous, all the while balancing a fruit conglomeration on her head, singing an Island medley.
The patrons were being invited up to dance with the show people, the Copa girls, Jimmy Durante, and Carmen Miranda. Just then, Mac felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, only to see Hallie Fitzgerald, all dolled up, wiggling her finger at him to come dance with her.
And here I was worried about going out on her!
He excused himself from the table, and he followed Hallie to the dance floor.
As the two shimmied about the dance floor, Hallie gave him her sexiest of looks. She kept calling him closer with her finger waving in his face. She said nothing, letting her expressions, and her body, say it all. When the song was ended, Mac walked Hallie back to her table, where he saw her date was Walter Winchell.
“Walter asked me to come,” said Hallie, reading Mac's mind. “I tried to call you to tell you I wanted to go. I did not want to miss the opportunity, opening week, and all. Who is the girl you are with, Mac? My God, she is beautiful.”
“Yeah, believe it or not, it's business; she is actually a spy. I draw them, don’t I? I just met her tonight at that meeting I told you I was attending with Dulles and Vincent Astor. I was told to show her a good time. She is returning to Washington tomorrow. I tried to call you as well, to tell you.”
“It's alright, Mac. Enjoy yourself. Thank you for trying to be thoughtful. Call me later; if you are alone, that is.”
Mac gave Hallie a kiss on the cheek, and gave Winchell a big hello, and a handshake. He returned to his table just in time to see Betty getting up to dance with Frank Sinatra.
“There she goes, Tommaso,” said Costello laughing. “Here, have a cigar with me. It's from Havana.”
“Thank you, don’t mind if I do. She has a mind of her own, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, she is wonderful, a real catch for a man of substance. She is not only beautiful; she is fucking smart. Scary smart,” said the mobster. “You should be all over that, Tommaso. She told me she is married, but I wouldn’t let that bother me; it doesn’t seem to bother her.”
“We just met. She is off to Washington tomorrow, and I am off to Italy.”
“What? You’re going to Italy? You didn’t tell me.”
“I just found out myself. They are sending me to the firm's office in Rome for a bit, obviously because I speak the language. I am going to do some work for the Vatican.”
“God bless,” Costello laughed, blessing himself. “I wish I had known. I could have set you up over there, real good, particularly if you get down to Sicily.”
“Thanks, Mr. Costello, but I will not be there that long, I would think. If war breaks out, I will have to come home.”
“So, you wouldn’t mind if I slip Miss green eyes my number?”
“Go for it, sir, but be careful. She is a handful. Pretty packages do not always hold what you might expect.”
Just as the mobster was about to ask Mac what he meant, Betty returned to the table with her dancing partner.
“Thank you, Mr. Sinatra,” said Betty, in a sweet, drawn-out voice, as he held the chair for her.
“Until we meet again,” said the crooner, with a golden smile, as he bowed to the table, and walked away.
Mac stood up, taking hold of Mrs. Podell's hand.
“How about another dance?” Mac asked the older women, as the band was playing a slow song.
“I would be delighted,” said the tickled woman.
Mac held the woman close, as the band played “Only Forever,” which was being sung by a surprise guest, Bing Crosby.
“He is my favorite, Mac!”
Mrs. Podell was seemingly in heaven, her favorite crooner was serenading her, and she was being held in the arms of a beautifully handsome young man.
“I could just die right now, as I am already in heaven,” remarked Mrs. Podell.
“Now that would be a shame,” chided Mac, breathlessly in her ear. “What a waste of a delightful woman, if that were to happen right now.”
The woman had a tear in her eye, as she leaned back and smiled at Mac. She knew she was being played, but she loved every minute of it.
Betty was right. This is too easy; look how much Mrs. Podell is enjoying herself. If only she had information I could pass on.”
As Mac returned to the table with Mrs. Podell, he saw Frank Costello pass something to Betty, which she quickly put in her clutch. They both looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“It's getting late,” said Mac. “I have work tomorrow, and you have a train to catch. Ready to say goodnight?”
“Oh, it's early, Tommaso, stay awhile,” ordered Costello.
“No, Mac is right, Frank. I do have to be able to get up tomorrow. But thank you so much for a wonderful evening. I enjoyed myself more than I can tell you. You are a splendid host, and a charming man.”
The mobster leaned in, giving Betty a kiss on her cheek.
“The pleasure was all mine, Betty. Please join us again when you are in town.”
“I will do just that, Frank,” Betty said, as she squeezed his hand.
Costello held out his hand to Mac, as the two men shook on a nice evening.
“Oh, come over here,” Costello said standing up, as he gave Mac a big hug, and kissed him on both cheeks. “You be a good boy in Italy, now, you hear? And if you don’t, well, good for you. If you need anything over there, you get in touch with me, you hear?”
“Will do,” said Mac, as he bowed to Mrs. Podell, and thanked her for a wonderful evening. He took Betty by the arm and led her away.
Mack and Betty left the club, walking the block back to the Sherry Netherland in the evening chill.
“Thank you, Mac, for getting me out of there. It was getting a little bit out of my control; too much champagne. I didn’t want to offend him. You saved me. My hero!”
“I saw what was happening. I am a watcher, remember?”
“The horses have gone home, Mac,” said Betty, smiling at Mac's remark.
“Yes, even a horse needs to sleep.”
“I leave at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon, Mac. Will I see you?”
“Maybe I can come by at lunchtime. I am going to sleep in.”
“Yes, we did drink a lot of champagne. Maybe you would take me on a buggy ride in the park?”
“Sure, I would like that, but not that early. My head will be pounding tomorrow morning.”
“How's noon?” asked Betty laughing. “I will be up, and ready to go.”
“Sounds great,” said Mac, as they got to the entrance of the hotel.
Betty turned to Mac, held both of his arms, giving him a memorable kiss in the dim lights of the Sherry Netherland.
“Just so you know, I so want you to come up,” she cooed, as she kissed him again. “Really, I do.”
“So do I, Betty. So do I,” said Mac, as he began to walk away still holding Betty's hand, until it dropped from the distance between them.
Her sparkling green eyes, filled with tears, said all that she needed to say.