“I mean it. You’re beautiful and you’re bright, but you’re so square. You don’t know how to take advantage of the opportunities you’re being offered. You don’t walk through any of those open doors.” An angry note had entered Sinatra’s voice, a neediness that bordered on hostility. Sinatra’s playfulness was turning belligerent. Margaret threw Charlie a look above the pages of Franny and Zooey, but he didn’t respond to it for fear Sinatra might see.

The singer lit a cigarette and then pointed it, clamped between two fingers, in Judy’s direction. “Sometimes you remind me of a silly schoolgirl.” He must have realized he was getting overheated because he paused, found a smile that almost looked sincere. “Come on, baby. Swing a little. You only live once.”

Judy lit a cigarette and walked away, presumably to the ladies’ room. Sinatra gave an uncomfortable chuckle and turned to Charlie for some masculine commiseration, but Charlie looked steadily at his book until the moment passed. Sinatra, clearly searching for a graceful exit from his failed pursuit, picked up a random newspaper and snapped it open.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“The Ambassador had a stroke,” Sinatra said.

“Which ambassador?”

“Kennedy,” Sinatra said in a daze, handing the newspaper to Charlie.

West Palm Beach, Fla. (AP)—President Kennedy’s father, Joseph P. Kennedy, suffered a stroke at his Palm Beach home today and was rushed to St. Mary’s Hospital.

The 73-year-old former ambassador to England is reportedly in serious condition. The elder Kennedy and his wife arrived here December 11 to start the Christmas holidays at their home.

“Christ, what time is it?” Sinatra asked.

“Almost three back east,” Martin said.

“Oh, maybe that’s why Peter called,” Britt said. “He left a message last night.”

“Shit, he left me a message too,” said Sinatra. He rushed off to return the call. The pool had been cordoned off for Sinatra and his party, and he swiftly pushed past the rope and onlookers by the stairs to the elevator.

“That’s nice that he’s so concerned,” said Margaret to Charlie.

“The ambassador’s his in with the family,” observed May quietly.

Judy reappeared and Margaret looked at her, her giant black sunglasses reflecting the sun above them, her skin flawless and tight. Youth and the assuredness that came from having experienced no consequences of anything, she thought, not even gravity.

Charlie, too, regarded the young Judy, though less lofty thoughts ran through his head. He’d been perfectly content as a faithful spouse in a marriage built on family, but he could also see clearly that the Rat Packers had fun. Amoral, vacuous, meaningless, exploitative—sure. And? Was this virility not what America embraced? Charlie wanted a drink, and luckily enough, there was a bar at the other end of the pool. Martin was heading toward it.

“Want an orange juice or anything, ladies?” Charlie asked, standing. “Coffee? Lemonade?”