PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
“Ring a ding ding!”
Frank Sinatra. Dean Martin. Sammy Davis Jr.
I was in the company of the three greatest musical performers of my era.
Today, the best you could do to get of sense of what I felt like in that moment would be to have a run in with that Justin Bieber kid.
And that, 3.5, is one of the many reasons why I feel sorry for you.
“Hatcher, you old hound dog!” Frank said in his baritone voice. “I heard your girl was a knockout but she is gorgeous.”
“Thanks Frank,” I said. “It’s good to see you.”
Awhile back I did some work for Frank. Nothing too serious. Old Blue Eyes had an obsessive fan who was writing him all kinds of creepy letters, so I was hired to find the wacko and tell him to knock it off.
In addition to my fee, Frank comped me a free ticket to one of his shows and let me hang out with the boys backstage.
Dino shook my hand. “Jake, are you the one making all the raucous over here?”
“Guilty,” I said. “I’m taking home some extra bones tonight boys.”
Sammy swaggered over and shook my hand with both of his. “Jakey Baby, you deserve every penny of it. You are one happening cat, you dig?”
“I dig. Say, where’s Joey?”
“He’s got a gig out in the sticks,” Frank said.
The redheaded waitress came over with a tray of champagne.
“Drinks, gentlemen?”
“No thank you, sweetheart,” Dino said. “My doctor told me I have to abstain from alcohol.”
“So what did you do?” Sammy asked.
“I did what any self-respecting man would do,” Dino said as he took a glass and had a gulp. “I found another doctor!”
Laughter erupted. We each grabbed a glass.
“To Jake’s nuptials,” Frank said as he raised his bubbly. “How long you been hitched, kid?”
“Just a few days.”
“And what, my invitation got lost in the mail?”
I studied Frank’s face. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Umm…”
I was waiting for him to tell me he was kidding but he never did.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you’d want to come.”
“Aww, stuff your sorries in a sack.”
Frank put his arm around me.
“Say, Jake, when are you back in the states?”
“End of the month.”
“Good,” Frank said. “Have your people call my people, will you?”
People. He thought I had people. I had one secretary.
“I’ve got a bunch of shows lined up in Vegas. I could use a good man like you watching my back. We’ll get you a room, make it worth your while, whaddya say?”
“I say…sign me up.”
“Good,” Frank said. “Say, we gotta call it splitsville but we’ll see you in the funny papers.”
Frank and Dino walked off. Sammy hanged back.
“Say, Jakey baby, you want to do me a solid and tell me what you think about this little ditty I’m working on?”
“Lay it on me Sammy.”
Sammy sure was smooth. My ears were in for a treat.
“I knew this cat, named Joe Spangles and he’d bake a cake for you, with blue cashews…blue cashews! Mr. Joe Spangles! Mr. Joe Spangles!”
Sammy waited for the verdict.
“Still filling in the details but that’s the gist of it, babe.”
“I like it,” I said. “I think you’re onto something there. The melody’s great but the lyrics need work.”
“I appreciate it, babe.”
Sammy walked off to catch up with his buddies but I stopped him.
“Sammy.”
“What’s the haps, man?”
“I heard you’ve been working on a duet with Peaches.”
“Oh yeah. A really swinging, outta sight number. It’s got all kinds of razzle dazzle.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Good,” Sammy said. “Better since she broke up with that Step Aside Clyde cat.”
Wowza. Peaches was available.
“You want me to tell her you said hello?”
I pondered that question. Then I spotted Muffy looking all fabulous and enchanting as she giggled and gossiped with a clique of fancy ladies.
For the first time in so many years, I realized I was over my first love. I’d moved on and not only was I happy, but I was able to allow myself to feel it.
“You there, babe?” Sammy asked as he waved a hand in front of my face.
“Huh? Oh. No. No thanks. I’m just glad to hear she’s doing well.”
“Yo Sammy!” Frank shouted from across the floor. “We catching this flight or what?”
“I gotta run,” Sammy said. “Stay groovy, babe.”
I found Count Rickard and pulled up a seat next to him at the bar.
Shortly thereafter, the casino manager arrived to hand me a cashier’s check for twenty-five large.
“Congratulations, Mr. Hatcher,” the manager said. “I assume you wouldn’t want to carry this much cash with you, so I’ve taken the liberty of issuing you a check for the sum. It’s as good as currency in any banking institution of your choice.”
I stared at it just to make sure it was real. It was. I tucked it into my breast pocket and could feel it burning a hole in my jacket already.
The Count and I sat and yakked it up for awhile until the redheaded waitress returned.
This time, she looked at me longingly and said, “Voulez vous coucher avec moi?”
“Um,” I said. “I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t speak French.”
The Count, who was multilingual, laughed.
“She asks if you wish to sleep with her, Mr. Hatcher.”
“Get outta’ town!”
“I shall remain in town.”
“No foolin’?”
“Not at all.”
“Huh,” I said. “Tell her thank you but I’m a married man.”
The Count tapped the strumpet on the shoulder. She looked at him and he said, “Je suis desole mais Madame, Monsieur Hatcher est une grande homosexuel.”
The waitress stomped her foot, shouted “Bon sang!” and took off in a huff.
“I hope you let her down easy, Fabes.”
“Something like that.”
“Fabes, have they got karma in Hungary?”
“I believe they have karma everywhere. Why do you ask?”
“As of this very second, my life is better than it has ever been. My business is successful. I just won a fortune. Every bimbo in the joint wants to dance the forbidden fox trot with me but I’m not interested because I’m married to a beautiful woman who revs my engine. My ex-girlfriend is free of a monster I accidentally introduced her to and I don’t feel bad for mucking up the relationship I had with her anymore. Oh, and just in case that’s not enough, I’m going to be paid to go to Vegas and hang out with three of the best entertainers in show biz.”
Count Rickard bit a cherry off the pointy end of the little umbrella in his drink.
“And yet, you say this all in an ominous tone, filled with doom and gloom.”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Why should you?”
I patted my pocket to make sure the check was still there.
“Karma means you can only have so much good and so much bad in your life,” I said. “Up until recently, I’ve had a life that I wouldn’t wish on a dog.”
“Then rejoice,” the Count said. “For your time has come. The universe is finally rewarding you with some good for sticking it out through so many years of bad.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe it’s too much good. Maybe if it gets any better the universe will arrange for an anvil to drop on my head to balance me out.”
“Oh Mr. Hatcher,” the Count said. He stood up and left a stack of chips at the bar to pay our drink bill. “Such negative thinking will get you nowhere. Come, my friend, let’s collect our wives and return home for dinner. This is a night to celebrate.”
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: I will now read from a statement prepared by Delilah K. Donnelly, Attorney for the Bookshelf Battle Blog:
“The appearance of Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. and Dean Martin in this story was for fictional and parody purposes only.”
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