“Just…y’know…that he liked some of these younger girls,” Sinatra said a bit defensively. “You see them at parties and restaurants, they could be anywhere from fourteen to twenty-four.”

“But you never did anything about it,” Margaret said. “A major player in your world serving up children to gluttonous robber barons and you just shake his hand when you see him?”

“Look—I didn’t know any of that for a fact—” Sinatra didn’t know how to handle what she was throwing at him. Since Ava Gardner, no woman had challenged him. “It was whispers. When Errol Flynn got pinched and tried for statutory rape, even goddamn William F. Buckley joined the—what was it called? The initials were ABCDEF—”

“American Boys’ Club for the Defense of Errol Flynn,” said Charlie.

“Right. Margaret, you’re being ridiculous,” Sinatra said, clearly growing irritated. “I didn’t do any of this crap.”

“But that’s the whole point, isn’t it, Frank?” Margaret said, her voice rising as well. “You’re sulking like a teenybopper because JFK wouldn’t stay here, and meanwhile you’re surrounded by sin and corruption and you expect the world to think you’re oblivious to it all! Giancana, Rosselli, Maheu—”

“Margaret,” Charlie cautioned.

“—and now you are simultaneously asking me to believe that, one, you didn’t know what Les Wolff was up to,” she continued, “and, two, that everyone knew what Les Wolff was up to and all sorts of men like girls—”

“Okay,” Sinatra said, “watch your mouth!”

“You deserve your due,” Margaret said. “You’ve done a whole lot for civil rights, Francis, forcing the integration of the Strip in Vegas, the anti-discrimination movie. You’ve pushed for Black musicians to be treated equally and with respect. But you couldn’t stop the Kennedys from blackballing Sammy from the inaugural gala, so I guess how effective you are is an open question—”

“You can fuck right off,” Sinatra said, “you have no idea what I’ve done, the risks I’ve taken!”

“But,” Margaret continued, “given that half the goddamn country is female, including Nancy and Tina, what have you done for women—not only women, damn it; girls—who are human chattel in the suite next door?”

“I told you, goddamn it, it’s all been rumors! What, do you want me to chase down every bit of gossip I hear? I’m not Jack Anderson! What do you expect me to do? This is Hollywood!”

“You sure do a lot when you see discrimination against Sammy and Nat King Cole!” Margaret said. “And that’s great! That’s laudable! But what about fifty percent of the population?”

“What the fuck are you on my dick about?” Sinatra yelled, boiling like a teakettle.