Yes I Can: The Story of Sammy Davis, Jr. (57 page)

“Yeah, baby, being a star has made it possible for me to get insulted in places where the average Negro could never
hope
to go and get insulted.” I was surprised by the edge of bitterness in my voice, but I liked it. “Things are so beautiful for me that maybe by 1999 I’ll even be able to rent an apartment in one of those buildings where they throw parties in my honor. But, all things being equal—and they never are—until then I’ll keep reminding myself I’m a star in the only way I know. And if you’re going to be a drag then go back to your meeting ‘cause if I need a drag I’ll call an agency.”

We kept walking down Fifth Avenue, neither of us speaking for several blocks. As we reached Saks he looked at the windows and mumbled, “My God, when I think what a wardrobe I could have if only I were colored.”

I laughed. “You’re catching on. But baby: where would you wear it?”

After the show George came into the dressing room. “There are two limousines downstairs. One says he’s supposed to take you to a benefit in Great Neck and the other one says you’re supposed to be somewhere up in the Bronx.” He was looking at me like: they’re not
both
right?—
are
they?

“Tell the guy from Great Neck to follow us to the Bronx. He can wait for us and then take us to Great Neck.”

“But this makes ten benefits this week.” His voice had the sound of a man helplessly asking a friend: Do you realize you’re drinking yourself to death? He was looking at me with compassion. “Sammy? This afternoon—all the money you spent—didn’t it help?”

I laughed, to get it light, “It’s like a Chinese dinner, baby.”

As I put my feet on the jump-seat he gave me a vicious look. “Oh? Settling down for a long winter’s rest?”

I loosened my collar. “Yes, said the little brown bear.”

As I fell asleep he was muttering “ ‘Where does he get all the energy?”

I finished the show in Great Neck, got back into the car and held the second plaque against my shirt sleeve. “George, do you think these are too big for cuff links?”

“Well! The little brown bear certainly revived himself.”

“I guess
that’s
where ‘he gets the energy.’ Driver, you can drop us in New York at the Harwyn, please. But don’t drop us too hard because I’m pregnant.”

George fell back against the seat. “The
Harwyn
? At this hour?”

“We’ve gotta swing by there for a quickie. I’ve got a few people meeting us.”

George gaped at the twenty-foot-long table running down the center of the back room. “What did you do? Run a call for a general audition?”

“Baby, bear with me. They’re just some kids from
Bells Are Ringing
and
Fair Lady
.” I sat down at the head of the table. After about thirty minutes, I spoke quietly to George, Michael, and Jane and Burt. “Let’s split and go back to the apartment.”

Burt said, “Sam, I think we’re going to go home.”

“Hey, it’s only four o’clock …”

“Well, I’ve still got the column to do and we’re getting up early tomorrow to be at the record session.”

“Holy Toledo, baby, I’m not worrying about it and I’m the one who’s got to sing.”

Jane said, “Sammy, don’t you think you should get some sleep, too?”

I gave her the withering stare. “No, Jane. I
don’t
think I should get some sleep. But far be it from me to keep you guys up one second later than you want to be. See you at the session tomorrow.” I turned to George and Michael. George said, “Well, it really wouldn’t hurt you to get some sleep.” Michael yawned and started to make an excuse but I cut him off. “Don’t even bother. So the family’s deserting me again. Okay, get your sleep. See you all when you have time for me.”

I tapped my glass with a fork. “Drink up everybody and it’s a definite move the party over to the Gorham.”

My eyes felt gritty, and my throat was tight. I finished the hot tea I’d sent out for and walked over to the mike in front of the window of the control room. Milt Gabler pressed his talk-back button and spoke into the studio. “Let’s go for it this time, Sammy?”

A photographer who’d been shooting pictures for some magazine kept flashing the bulbs in front of me. I waved him away. I cleared my throat. The red light went on. The orchestra started playing and I waited for my cue, my right hand cupped behind my ear to catch the sound of my voice, hoping the tea had done it some good. But one cup of tea can’t beat only three hours of sleep and I barely climbed in under the big note.

While the band ran through the next number I walked over to a bunch of the kids who’d been at the apartment the night before. “Sammy, that was fantastic. Beautiful.” … “If that’s not a hit then I never heard one.” … “Great sound …”

“Thanks, kids. We’ll see what the public wants to buy.” I went over to the group. They all smiled at me.

“It was very nice.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Michael.” George made one of those faces which says: I hated it but I don’t want to hurt him so I’ll look pleasant. I turned to Burt and Jane. Burt gave me a George Gilbert look.

“And what about
you
, Jane? What’s
your
opinion?”

“Well … I’ve heard you sound better. You
are
tired and I could hear it in your voice.”

“Everybody’s a critic, right? Well, it’s very strange that
you
didn’t like my voice because the president of Decca Records is inside that control room and
he
didn’t seem to mind it.”

George murmured. “That’s show biz.”

I glared at him. “What’s that, George?”

“I said, ‘I’ll have a gin fizz.’ ”

I called out to the other kids. “It’s a definite one o’clock at Sam’s place tonight.”

Burt said, “Sam, you look kinda beat. Don’t you think you oughta get some rest tonight?”

“Hey. I don’t remember asking how I look. And I have no desire to get some rest.”

I sat behind my bar watching all the action, digging the party sounds. One of the chicks from
Bells
was wearing levis and she had my twin holsters slung low on her hips. She wasn’t trying to draw, she just dug walking around, flinging her butt out as she leaned her hands against the guns. One of the other chicks was on the phone rounding up some of her friends. The group was sitting at the bar like there was nothing going on around them.

Jane watched me pouring a coke into my silver goblet. She said, “What is
that
?”

“That, my dear lady, is my glass. I’m a star, and I don’t drink out of the same sort of a glass that the common people use.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll settle for some ginger ale in a common glass.” She walked behind the bar.

“Jane! Get out from behind my bar.” She looked up, surprised. “That’s right. Out out out! You can have anything you want, but just ask for it.” I poured a glass of ginger ale for her.

George said, “That’s his toy; you know you’re not allowed to play with it.”

I nodded, sipping from my goblet. “You can go to El Morocco; I sit behind my bar. Now, if my friends, the inner circle, are through finding fault with me …”

The door bell rang and George glanced vaguely over his shoulder at the throng of new arrivals. “Anyone you know?”

I looked away from him. “Michael, it’s time for a little Stage. Order about forty roast beefs and corned beefs, will you, baby?”

He blinked. “You don’t mean you’re going to
feed
all these people?”

“Michael, please, just order the sandwiches, like a buddy? Don’t give me any raised eyebrows, no ‘Well, really!’ Okay?”

George came over to me as I was doing gun tricks for a group of kids. He said, “Well, it’s ‘30’ for tonight. The Big Producer is going to sleep.” Within fifteen minutes, he, Jane and Burt, Chita, and Michael had gone.

I sat behind the bar watching the chick with the holsters slithering toward me, smiling.

“Darling, whatever you’re auditioning for—you’re hired.”

I skimmed through some fan magazines, then called Arthur Silber on the coast. “I didn’t wake you, did I, baby? … Crazy. Listen, Arthur, I’ll be back in L.A. soon and I don’t have a swimming pool. Will you get moving on it for me? … Arthur, what in hell do I know about swimming pools? I don’t plan to hold the Olympics in it, but on the other hand I don’t want a bathtub…. Fine. And figure on a little cabana, too. You know, out-of-their-slacks-and-into-a-bikini, right? As a matter of fact you’d better make two dressing rooms with showers, one for the guys and one for the chicks. Y’know, baby, the more I think about it, we ought to make it like a Playhouse, a self-sufficient unit, so when I have parties I won’t need to worry about the kids running all over the house bothering Mama. We could do a thing where the dressing rooms are at one end, y’dig, and the rest of it is one large room, as wide as you can make it and maybe thirty feet long so we could even show movies…. Arthur, what am I working for if I can’t have a little joy out of life, the niceties. Now look, put a bedroom in there too, so in case it’s late at night and I don’t want to go back to the house I’ll be all set. Or I can use it for a guest room…. Well, then build a second floor. Hey, that’s wild. Put the bedroom over the dressing rooms, and make the main room studio-style—two stories high. And you’d better give me another bathroom upstairs so it’s a complete suite…. Hey, let
me
worry about that, please! I’ll get it from somewhere. As long as we’re going to do this, let’s do it right. You’d better get a pencil and write all this down: put in a slate floor and a bar with a refrigerator and all the jazz with maybe six comfortable stools, with backs and arms and leather padding, right? And you’d better use cork walls so if we’re a little noisy we don’t get heard all over the hills. And about the movie setup: I want it so I can sit on a big curved couch in the center of the room, in a smoking jacket, press a button and zzzzzz a screen comes out of the ceiling; I press
the next button and the lights go out; I press another button and the guy in the projection room starts showing the movie. And get two projectors, hooked up so we go directly from one reel to the next. I don’t want one of those Mickey Mouse setups like when you’re at a guy’s home and you’re watching a picture and you have to wait around for ten minutes between reels. And find the best sound system that we can wire into every room, including the three Johns, and give them each their own volume control and turn-offs … You know the kind of stuff I dig. Make sure the Johns all have full length heaters in the wall so when people get out of the shower it’s not goose pimple time…. What’s the difference? If you’re gonna be a star be a star! And make sure the pool lights up at night.”

When I hung up I beckoned to the chick with my holsters. “I dig you. What’s your name?”

I woke up around noon, went to the kitchen for some tomato juice, and almost broke my neck on a high-heeled shoe some idiot had left behind. I opened the blinds. The sun spotlighted dozens of half-filled glasses with cigarette butts floating in them, used coffee cups and little pitchers of cream with wrinkled yellow skin on top. There was a scotch bottle on the floor under a stack of my record albums that had been strewn around like old newspapers, and everywhere I looked there were overflowing ashtrays and twisted pieces of bread. The place smelled like a garbage pail. I stood there looking at it all. It hadn’t seemed that bad when I went to sleep.

Cliff called. “Sammy, have you seen the columns today?”

“What is it this time?”

“ ‘Sammy Davis Jr.’s long unpaid bill at a midtown book shop now totals $1,460.’ It’s none of my business but—”

“Cliff, you’re right, it isn’t any of your business. I don’t mean to be rude, but between Will Mastin and the Morris office I’ve got all the damned managers I need.”

“Look, spend your money any way you like, but don’t be surprised if a lot of this kind of item starts to break. I’ve been hearing it all over town for months. It’s like a mark of distinction. People love to say ‘Sammy Davis owes me …’ ”

We hung up. Once it started becoming public it would destroy the illusion, the atmosphere of a star.

I pulled a suitcase out of the closet and began opening the hundreds of bills I’d stuffed into it as they’d come in. I put all the dangerous ones in a pile and totaled them. The very least I needed
would be about forty thousand. I called the Morris office and told them to set up Steve Allen and all the variety shows they could. Then I got busy on the phone with a few out-of-town clubs and lined up $25,000. I dialed the Copa and waited for Julie Podell. I was clean with him and borrowing money now would mean committing myself to play there in the spring, only a few months after we closed the show. After so much exposure on Broadway I’d planned not to play New York for a full year. But I had no choice. Better to have to fight to draw crowds than to have a lousy name to do it with.

The night man at the desk called out, “Mr. Davis, your father said to tell you to stop off at his apartment no matter what time you come in.”

Peewee and the kids had gone to bed. He was sitting in the living room, wearing a bathrobe and slippers, waiting for me. There was an almost empty scotch bottle on the table next to him but he was cold sober. “Sit down, Poppa. I’ve got something to say.”

“You okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine. Sit down.”

I took off my coat and pulled up a chair.

“I’m leavin’ the show, Sammy. I’m quittin’ the act and I’m retiring.” He looked straight at me. “Don’t you think it’s time, Poppa?” There was no sympathy seeking, no hidden hope that I would deny it—just the calm of a man offering the intimacy of honesty. “Poppa, I wish I could go to Will and tell him: Let’s both quit, and we could do it right, maybe take an ad in
Variety
sayin’ how we’re puttin’ you out on your own—that’d be good show business and I’d love to go out that way—but you know Will and you know he’s got the same damned sickness I had all these years only he’s got it worse: he’s gotta be on, gotta see his name up.” He paused. “Maybe when he sees me out of the act he’ll get the idea and quit, too. But I know if I was to tell him I’m quitting, he wouldn’t let me, he’d talk me out of it. So I’ve got it in my mind how I’ll do it but it’s best you don’t know. Only reason I’m telling you is so no matter what you hears about me in the next coupla days, you don’t worry …” While he was talking I noticed that the scrapbook of our press clippings he’d been keeping since we first went on tour with the Mickey Rooney show was open. He must have been going through it earlier in the evening.