Letters to the Dead: Things I Wish I'd Said. Ann Palmer
nails with their teeth” and I don’t mean fingernails!
I was still very “green.” As a non-drinker, I didn’t know the names or content of different drinks, which caused some embarrassment for me. I went to work at the bar popular as a dance spot with very heavy weekend traffic. I do recall a man ordering Scotch and I asked if he wanted it with coke. I got a weird look and quickly learned the mixes. I met lots of guys. It was great for dating. It was hard work. I remember that I had rather go dancing than work there. “Caribbean Woman” was the popular song that I loved dancing to.
I don’t recall how the offer to have the coat and cigarette concession came up for the new nightspot, “Jilly’s.” You may have been part owner. I know that Jilly was one of your best friends. I got the job and created a cute uniform of a white blouse, short white leather skirt with a gold chain hanging belt. I bought the cigarettes at the drugstore across the street and put them in the tray selling for about twice what I paid. Very few coats came in when I took the job – it was before Thanksgiving and still warm in Palm Springs. Being a non-smoker, I knew nothing about purchasing cigarettes. I depended on the cocktail waitresses to tell me what to buy and what price to charge. I was not very smart about getting good tips. That seems to be a learned trait. I felt like such a novice among the cocktail waitresses who made it their profession for years. In those days, unlike today, a woman had to be older and experienced to get the really good cocktail waitress jobs. I finally learned that by changing the price of the cigarettes so that I gave the customer back only dimes. The little dimes seemed too small to pick up but not showy enough for a tip, so it increased my tips greatly.
When one entered Jilly’s on Indian Avenue, there was a dining area and the bar that had a small stage for entertainers. In the larger back dining room was my little coat check booth. This room was not always occupied so that I could get away from the smoke-filled bar area. It was the room that you and your guest usually occupied.
Being from New York, Jilly attracted many New Yorkers, thus, better coat tips. Jilly wasn’t there very often. The manager, Jimmy, who was my boss, was a very typical not-to-bright Brooklyn “hood” type man. It took a lot of psychology to get along with him.
You came in several times a week. I was seeing Frank Sinatra IN PERSON for the first time – THE legend! “Old Blue Eyes” known the world over! Your eyes were very expressive but I saw in them great loneliness. You stared at me often. I didn’t just imagine it because you seemed to find some excuse to come over and talk to me when I was at the coat booth. I watched your groups come and go – puppets all.
No doubt you had your reasons for a bit of paranoia. I had never seen anyone insist on all unopened bottles of booze and mixers. I was amused at the show – you were the puppeteer. Famous and rich people were your puppets. You were the king – You spoke, they listened - you stood, all rose! I am sure you enjoyed that kind of power and adulation; yet, we each live in our own cocoon with our own personal needs, insecurities, etc. You definitely had yours.
Dear sweet, Ruby, of Ruby Dunes, your favorite restaurant, was always so kind to me. Ruby always liked me but knew, of course, he was much too old for me. He had allowed a friend and me to stay at his house on occasions when visiting Palm Springs. He would often talk to me about you. “Match Maker, Match Maker, make me a match!” Ruby wanted us to get together. Ruby’s was the “hot spot” in the desert in those days. If anyone wanted to see stars, they went to Ruby’s. Your booth was in the corner and rarely occupied by anyone except you and your guest. I rarely saw you with a date. On Thursday night large fresh lobsters were flown in from New England and were they good! They were consistently huge and the best! Consistent good meals are never forgotten.
Speaking of lasting memories at Ruby Dunes, one evening a friend and I went there on a rainy evening. After having drinks at the bar, we decided it leave. As we stood under that small half round awning awaiting our car, Lucille Ball’s husband, Gary, came barreling out the door, pushing us out into the rain stating, “Step aside, Miss Ball is coming through!” “What the hell right does MISS BALL have to have us pushed out in the rain!” I said.
I felt a bit weird with Ruby trying to “fix” me up with you. After all, you had your choice of the most beautiful and the richest women in the world! Still, that never kept our eyes from fixing on each other each time you came into Jilly’s as well as at Ruby’s. I certainly was not going to make any forward advances toward THE Frank Sinatra and you seemed a bit shy toward saying anything very personal to me.
I remember Barbara Marks often sitting at the bar in Ruby’s. I assume she had her “eye” on you at the time but you didn’t seem interested or pursue her at all. I knew of her from my friend, John Guedel, who produced Grocho Marks’ show, John pointed her out and told of her marriage to one of the Marks brothers. John had also opened his house to some of my friend and me when we wanted to go to Palm Springs for the weekend. If my memory is correct, it was in the same complex with your house as well as some of the Marks brothers.
At Jilly’s I was making just enough to barely get by. Christmas was upon me with no money to spend. My brother’s son had been killed in August in a car accident. I wished that I could send gifts to his family as well as making Debbie’s Christmas special.
You had several guests in your home for the holidays. One was a cook from New York. We talked often at Jilly’s. I explained my plight to him one evening when he gave me a ride home from work. Debbie had used my car. We talked about the sterility of Jilly’s at Christmas time and that a few decorations would help. When I started to get out of the car, he pushed some bills in my hand and told me to spent no more than $50. for decorations, buy a special cigarette lighter for him and use the rest for Debbie’s and my Christmas.
When I got in the house, sitting on my bed, I opened the bills – a hundred dollar bill, another and another – at least five one hundred dollar bills or more! It looked like thousands to me at that time! My heart leaped with joy. I awoke Debbie to tell her there really WAS a Santa Clause! My sleep was restless – what could he “expect” in return? No man gives THAT kind of money without expecting some sort of sexual favors! NO! I could not accept it! I would not have any sort of obligation “hanging over my head!” I never would accept money from any man! As I have grown older, sometimes I regret that I did not make wiser decisions regarding men and their money when I was young and cute.
I did as he requested. I found the lighter he wanted and purchased ample Christmas decorations. I went to Jilly’s around noon to decorate. When I gave him the lighter, he took out a small piece of paper - lit it and it denigrated before my eyes! I did not want to know more! I assumed there might be some sort of Mafia affiliations and I wanted no part of it. I did not want to know a thing! I thanked him for his caring and concern for us but I could not accept his money. I made it very clear that I had nothing to offer him in return. As I explained and handed him the money he walked away saying he expected or wanted nothing from me.
It seems I still had around $500. left which I held onto like gold! I remember keeping it in the house terrified someone would steal it. I wrapped it in plastic and taped it behind my nightstand or under a drawer, moving it from one to the other. It was my emergency “stash” and gave me comfort to know it was THERE after bankruptcy and having nothing. I held on to it through the spring when I found it necessary to return to L.A. to look for work when tourist season ended in the desert that became disserted.
Danny, one of your best friends, lived in both San Francisco and Palm Springs. He was in your group in Jilly’s having dinner. He wanted to have a party for you at his house. Jimmy, the manager, was sending the band over to play. Jimmy came up to me and said Frank wants you to go to the party as his date. I told Jimmy it was too early for me to leave. Jimmy looked at me stunned. “If Frank wants you to go – you GO!” I WAS curious to know more about the real Frank Sinatra! Maybe this was the opportunity to see what was behind the loneliness I saw in your expressive blue eyes.
We went in Ruby’s car. He drove; you and I sat in the front seat with him. Like many “macho” men, seems the two of you carried on a conversation with each other more than with me. You did manage to show some affection, like a simple kiss. I noticed a very prominent scar behind your ear. Vaguely, I remembered stories about how you got it. There were