Lady Blue Eyes: My Life with Frank

Lady Blue Eyes: My Life with Frank

Barbara Sinatra

Language: English

Pages: 400

ISBN: 0307382338

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Lady Blue Eyes: My Life with Frank

Barbara Sinatra

Language: English

Pages: 400

ISBN: 0307382338

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Thirty years after she first heard his voice singing on the jukebox at her local drive-in, Barbara Ann Blakely heard Frank Sinatra take the wedding vows that began his fourth, final, and most enduring marriage.
 
In Lady Blue Eyes, Barbara Sinatra’s first public love letter to the husband she adored, she celebrates the sensational singer, possessive mate, sexy heartthrob, and devoted friend that she found in Frank.  For more than two decades, Barbara was always by his side, traveling the globe and hosting glittering events for their famous friends, including presidents, kings, queens, Hollywood royalty, and musical legends.  Among them were Sammy Davis, Jr., Princess Grace of Monaco, Bob Dylan, and Ronald Reagan.  Each night, as Frank publicly wooed his bride with love songs from a concert stage, she’d fall in love with him all over again.
 
From her own humble beginnings in a small town in Missouri to her time as a fashion model and her marriage to Zeppo Marx, Barbara Sinatra reveals a life lived with passion, conviction, and grace.  A founder of the Miss Universe pageant and a onetime Vegas showgirl, she raised her only son almost single-handedly in often dire circumstances until, after five years of tempestuous courtship, she and Frank committed to each other wholeheartedly.  In stories that leap off the page, she takes us behind the scenes of her iconic husband’s legendary career and paints an intimate portrait of a man who was variously generous, jealous, witty, and wicked.  Coupled with revealing insights about many of Frank’s celebrated songs, this is much more than the story of a showbiz marriage. 
 
It is a story of passion and of a deep and lifelong love.

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volunteered recipes for our book reads like the index of Who’s Who. Most of our Palm Springs, Washington, and Hollywood friends willingly contributed, as well as the chefs of our favorite restaurants around the world. Aside from Presidents Reagan, Bush Senior, Clinton, and Ford, we printed recipes from Clint Eastwood (spaghetti Western), Johnny Cash (old iron-pot, family-style chili—for which he said you could use snake meat), Sidney Poitier (the sweetest guy in the world, who gave us his recipe

showgirl was all that I’d hoped it might be and more. The shortest and blondest in our quartet, I reached six feet in my four-inch stilettos and had to master gliding across a stage wearing a towering headdress featuring anything from the Statue of Liberty to the Eiffel Tower. I was paid $150 a week for two shows a night, six nights a week. I earned almost twice as much as the twenty-six chorus girls who danced their feet off, learned complicated routines, and did quick changes in the wings. When

Tom Dreesen, who also spoke, said all he could think of was Frank saying, “All right, Tommy, it’s showtime. Be funny and be brief.” After prayers, the choir and congregation sang the hymn “May the Angels Lead You to Paradise.” I arranged for Frank’s casket to be covered in a blanket of gardenias, and their heady scent filled my nostrils. It brought back powerful memories of our “True Love” wedding at Sunnylands, and of every anniversary and birthday bouquet he’d presented me with since. The

wore thick glasses. She’d choose a dress and ask me to try it on. “Here, put on my glasses so I can see what I’d look like in it,” she’d say, handing them to me and squinting at my reflection in a mirror at the back of the store. Even though I was her exact opposite in shape and height, and my dress was several sizes smaller than the one she’d need, seeing me in it somehow always persuaded her to take it. I learned a valuable lesson about the power of a model. Sashaying around in fancy clothes,

suite at the Waldorf getting ready to leave when Dennis came rushing in, clearly a nervous wreck. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Elizabeth’s in the bathtub and she doesn’t want to come out yet.” “But our plane leaves in less than an hour!” I said. “I don’t know what to do,” groaned Dennis. “I do,” Frank growled. “Leave her there!” Poor Dennis, he really wanted to come with us, but his girlfriend refused to get out of the tub so we had to leave them behind. Another time Frank was touring with

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