“Sammy even gave those dark moods a nickname—‘Stormy Weather.’” Leigh chuckled. “But I’m talking about real problems. He tried to kill himself a couple times after breakups with Ava. And I don’t mean like threatening to do it or taking two extra aspirin or any of that bullshit Hollywood drama. I mean gun in hand, Ava trying to wrestle it away, bullet goes through the door. Scary stuff.”

Leigh reached into her purse and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a gold lighter. She offered a smoke to Margaret, who accepted, feeling wild.

“I don’t know much about…celebrities’ personal lives,” Margaret said not particularly truthfully, searching for a more respectful term than gossip.

“You don’t?” Leigh asked. “Well, I wish more people were like you. It’s bad enough Tony’s shtupping a teenager, but soon enough the whole world’s going to find out.” She downed her cosmo and motioned for another. “Worst thing is, Charlotte Goode tried to warn me and I dismissed her.”

“You know Charlotte?” Margaret asked.

“Everyone knows Charlotte—and she knows everything,” Leigh said. “Thank God she prints only a fraction of it.”

“Really?” Margaret asked. “Why does she hold back?”

“I don’t know,” Leigh said. “She’s barely touched anything relating to Frank. She wrote about how horrible Ava was to him, though—just awful. Really cruel. But she didn’t print anything about the abortions Ava got that broke Frank’s heart. Or his suicide attempts.”

“How do you know Charlotte even knew about them?” Margaret asked.

“Sweetie, Charlotte told me herself,” Leigh said. She sighed and looked at the main table. “And now Frank is getting his revenge on our whole gender. Poor Juliet better watch out or she’ll end up just like Betty.”

Margaret knew “Betty” was the actress Lauren Bacall, the widow of Sinatra’s idol Humphrey Bogart. But that was where her understanding ended.

Someone in the dining room turned up the volume of the background music, blasting Joey Dee and the Starliters singing “Peppermint Twist”: In a night like this, a peppermint twist. Round and round, up and down…

“I’m afraid I don’t know what Frank did to Betty,” Margaret said.

Leigh looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Frank idolized Bogie, you know. Worshipped him. Him and Bogie and Bacall and Judy Garland—they were the original Rat Pack, the real Rat Pack. This is all just nonsense.” Her expression turned sour and she waved her hand toward the main table and then around the room, as if everything at Toots Shor’s that night was a joke.