The Devil May Dance by Tapper, Jake (the reading list .TXT) 📕

beside Lola’s. “They’re convinced Frank’s a Commie because he made The House I Live In a hundred years ago, he supported the Hollywood Ten…”

The confused expression on Lola’s face spoke volumes. “Oh, Lola,” Judy said, exasperated, “The House I Live In was this short film Frank made against bigotry, about these kids beating up a little Jewish boy. And the Hollywood Ten—”

“I know who the Hollywood Ten are,” Lola said. “But honestly, it can’t help that he spends time with some pretty rough guys.” She unwrapped a piece of bubble gum.

“Guys like Sam?” asked Charlie.

“Oh, Sam’s a teddy bear,” said Judy. “He’s not mixed up with any of that. He can be tough, but show me a successful businessman who isn’t.”

Martin looked at Charlie and rolled his eyes.

“Frank can be tough,” Lola said to Judy.

“Not like hitting-you tough,” clarified Judy, making Charlie wonder once again just what their relationship was. She signaled that she was dating Giancana, but the quiet looks and moments of affection between Sinatra and her were unmistakable.

“No, no,” Lola said. “Like mean tough.” She seemed to have an incident or incidents in mind. Lola was a curious sort, Charlie thought. Beneath the stereotypical bimbo veneer, she’d clearly formed some critical views of her host.

“A few years ago the papers reported Sammy said something sideways about Frank and Frank gave him the silent treatment for months,” Martin recalled as he stood and walked toward Charlie’s table, where Jacobs had placed a pitcher of orange juice, vodka, and ice after cleaning up the empty glasses and full ashtrays from the night before.

“What had Sammy said?” Charlie asked, lifting his drink so Jacobs could wipe the glass table with a wet cloth.

“I don’t remember,” Martin said. “Something true, no doubt.” He sat down and poured himself a screwdriver. “Let me ask you a question.” He leaned toward Charlie and said conspiratorially, “I heard from a reporter that Bobby’s got a bug up his ass about Frank having Mob ties. It’s all bullshit—Frank’s no closer with the Mob than anyone else in showbiz.” He emptied his drink in one gulp then returned to leering at the ladies.

“I don’t know one singer who doesn’t know at least a few connected guys,” Jacobs said, lighting Martin’s cigarette. “I mean, they own the clubs.”

“The clubs! The studios! The unions!” Martin said. “Also, I mean, a whole lot of these cats were bootleggers back in the day, back in Jersey. Well, that’s not even a crime anymore.”

Charlie looked over at Judy, who was writing in a small pink journal. Weird. What could she be writing? As she scribbled away, she and Lola continued chitchatting, unconcerned or unaware that the men could hear them.

“Why did you break up with Frank anyway?” Lola asked Judy.

The two women apparently didn’t know each other that well, Charlie realized. He had assumed they were friends. Blonde and brunette, Betty and Veronica, Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell; kind of a stupid assumption, he saw now.

“Well,” Judy said, seemingly taking a moment to reflect on it, “I suppose the final straw was when Frank brought this colored girl into our bedroom one night. That’s just not me.” Realizing Jacobs was nearby, she quickly added: “Her being colored was not the issue. A third party being in the room—that was my problem.”

Jacobs nodded noncommittally, acknowledging that he’d heard it all. Charlie wondered how often he had to shrug off comments like that.

“He’s a regular civil rights visionary, our Saint Francis,” said Martin.

A scratchy voice suddenly blared from a speaker under one of the small tables around the pool. “All right, you halfwits, apparently you weren’t aware I had this place wired for sound for TP’s visit,” Sinatra said. “Cut the gossip, schoolgirls.” He sounded halfway on the road to fury.

Lola and Judy glanced at each other and grimaced while Jacobs walked briskly back to the house. Charlie tried to remember what exactly he’d said. Had Sinatra heard his attempts to play detective?

When Hubbard returned to the room ten minutes later with Julius, his ebullient smile had disappeared, replaced by an unnerving, stony calm. He stared silently at the women sitting at the conference table.

“Christopher didn’t have any sisters,” he said to Margaret. “Who are you?”

“Your IDs, please!” Julius barked, hand outstretched.

Margaret took a deep breath and tried to slow her racing heart as she pictured their purses stowed in the trunk of the rental car and wondered about their chances of escape. “We left our purses at home,” she said.

Hubbard towered over Margaret. He had clearly figured out that she was the leader. “You are a nasty woman!” He stood close enough that a faint shower of spittle landed on Margaret, and she could see the yellow plaque that coated his teeth.

“You cannot just come into a house of worship and deceive parishioners and the church leader!” shouted Julius.

Hubbard’s face was turning pink and he was breathing heavily. Margaret saw his fists clenching and wondered if he was preparing to use them.

“Why are you here?” he shouted. “What do you want? Who sent you? Sara? The government? Are you even from this planet?”

Margaret had no idea what Hubbard might be capable of. Charlie might as well have been on the other side of the earth; Hubbard and Julius could make her and Sheryl Ann disappear without a trace.

Hubbard’s eyes were closed and his head was tilted toward the ceiling; he seemed to be trying to calm himself down. He cracked his knuckles. Julius had begun pacing back and forth, muttering quietly to himself. They both looked raving mad. Margaret glanced sideways at Sheryl Ann—her eyes were wide, her face white with fear.

Margaret made a decision.

As the men glowered and stormed, Margaret suddenly burst into tears. Shoulders heaving, tears flowing, she felt an odd relief in letting go like this. And her distress seemed to soothe Hubbard—his face softened and she saw him look toward Julius with an expression that seemed something like…victory? She reached blindly for Sheryl Ann’s hand and squeezed gently