Sinatra let out a short laugh. “Worthless. A bum.” He said it loud enough for Lawford to hear, but the Kennedy in-law, well oiled by now, was focused only on the young women dancing on the pool deck. Charlie and Sinatra watched Lawford wrap a towel around the waist of the gal with the Texas twang, then pull her toward a lounge chair and onto his lap.

“Thing is,” Sinatra said, “they owe me. TP owes me. Peter and I flew to Palm Beach three summers ago, in ’59, to meet with the Ambassador. He had lots of asks—money, benefit concerts, a goddamn theme song. But he also wanted me to hit up Momo for help with the unions. And I did. Skinny D’Amato got the miners for the West Virginia primary, and you better believe Momo was busy in Chicago on election night. I made that happen.”

Charlie took it all in. The whispers of Mob assistance had never been investigated by law enforcement, so he hadn’t known what to believe. But here was the Chairman of the Board, confirming it all.

Before he could respond, Judy and Lola approached them. Judy kicked off her leopard-print mules, sat next to Sinatra, leaned close, and whispered in his ear; whatever it was, it made him smile. With one languorous move, Lola took off her shirt, revealing a bikini, and joined Charlie in the hot tub.

Lola draped her arms along the Jacuzzi edge and surveyed the scene, then leaned back and closed her eyes. Judy, meanwhile, worked double time to make sure none of the other young near-naked women were able to get Sinatra’s attention.

Jacobs’s next tray included much-needed solid food. Lawford reluctantly accepted a sandwich; he balanced the plate on one leg and Texas Twang on the other, as if she were a side order of chips.

“Oh, Charlie,” Lawford said absentmindedly. “I saw your cousin the other day.”

Charlie didn’t know what he was talking about.

“That girl, the young girl,” Lawford said, looking at him. “With the—” He motioned with his hands, suggesting two immense scoops of breast.

“My wife’s niece?” Charlie asked.

“That’s the one,” Lawford said.

“Where?”

“A party,” said Lawford.

“A party where? When exactly?”

Then, to Charlie’s amazement, Lawford turned away and went back to the dish on his lap.

Lola’s eyes were trained on Charlie. “This isn’t your scene, is it?”

“I don’t really ring-a-ding-ding,” Charlie said.

She gave a knowing grin, rooted in the confidence of youth. Charlie had never felt that kind of assuredness. Folks might have inferred strength from his reticence or from the wounds he’d carried out of a trench in France. What trenches had Lola fought in? Charlie tried to look away but found that difficult. He felt his heart beating faster.

Lawford came over to the hot tub; he was holding hands with Texas Twang, who was in turn holding hands with Freckles.