Jacobs supplied plush towels from the briefing-room closet and brought Charlie a book he’d left in the kitchen—an early review copy of Cuba Betrayed by Fulgencio Batista, the deposed former dictator. Batista hadn’t seen Castro coming, and Charlie was unconvinced by his attempts to explain himself, though he found insightful the descriptions of fumbling and duplicitous U.S. policy. The two women positioned themselves to face the sun; Charlie took a seat at a glass table a short distance away and motioned for Jacobs to join him.

“Say, George,” Charlie said quietly, putting his book to the side. “I hear Mr. S. is unhappy about a favor Mr. Giancana had asked of him. Do you know what it is? Anything I can help with?”

Jacobs looked earnestly at Charlie, seemingly taking him at his word. “I don’t know, Congressman,” he said. “I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you. Discreetly.” Perhaps Jacobs could actually help him. Charlie felt a moment of relief.

Lola propped herself up on an elbow and tilted her chin in Charlie’s and Jacobs’s direction. “What was eating Frank this morning?”

“Oh, the papers,” said Jacobs. “Some garbage in there about the Mob.”

“What specifically?” asked Judy.

“A wedding performance Sinatra supposedly gave for Angelo Bruno of the Philly Mob. Carousing with the Giacalones of Detroit,” Jacobs said. “But it’s nonsense,” he added staunchly. “Mr. S. doesn’t know them.”

Lola rolled her eyes. “Why do they constantly go after him?” She affected a mock pout.

“Go after who, chickadee?” asked Dean Martin, emerging from the kitchen looking sleepy, satin dressing gown loosely tied over pajama pants and a deeply tanned torso, Bloody Mary in hand.

“Frank, Dino,” said Lola. “Why does the press attack him so much?”

“Some of it’s those crazy John Birchers,” Martin said, collapsing dramatically onto a chaise beside Lola’s. “They’re convinced Frank’s a Commie because he made The House I Live In a hundred years ago, he supported the Hollywood Ten…”

The confused expression on Lola’s face spoke volumes. “Oh, Lola,” Judy said, exasperated, “The House I Live In was this short film Frank made against bigotry, about these kids beating up a little Jewish boy. And the Hollywood Ten—”

“I know who the Hollywood Ten are,” Lola said. “But honestly, it can’t help that he spends time with some pretty rough guys.” She unwrapped a piece of bubble gum.

“Guys like Sam?” asked Charlie.

“Oh, Sam’s a teddy bear,” said Judy. “He’s not mixed up with any of that. He can be tough, but show me a successful businessman who isn’t.”

Martin looked at Charlie and rolled his eyes.

“Frank can be tough,” Lola said to Judy.