In this 2002 memoir, Frank Sinatra's valet of over a decade spills the beans. Or does he? This isn't a gossip book. It pretty much just adds color to the image we already know: talent, women, gangsters, politicians and ultimately seclusion as Sinatra's Hollywood became a thing of the past.
This is a wonderful time capsule of Hollywood as it names names and addresses. We learn about Mia Farrow's hippie-ness and longing for children, and Marilyn Monroe's poor grooming habits and lack of interest in material things. (Which explains the pictures of her empty bedroom at her death and why she moved to that house.) The allure of Ava Gardener and Humphrey Bogart as well as the shadiness of Joe Kennedy senior is palpable when told by someone who served them drinks and pool towels.
And Johnny Fontaine, the singer given the Vegas gig by the mob in "The Godfather" film? Yeah, that's totally the Sinatra story. There may not have been a decapitated horse, but he dealt closely with killers so there was probably a bloody something left somewhere.
A good read if you are a romantic for Old Hollywood.
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