Trump Tower by Jeffrey Robinson Page B

some coffee and then ate a pain au chocolate . “How’s the kid,” he asked while chewing, not looking at Belasco. “I guess I duked him too good, huh?”
    â€œI moved him and his bride into a big suite, and we’re arranging some special trips and meals for the rest of their stay. I’m also flying them home on the Concorde.”
    â€œHow bad was he hurt?”
    â€œBlack eye . . . and his ribs are tender.”
    â€œIs he really on his honeymoon?”
    â€œYes.”
    Sinatra stayed silent for the longest time. “Yeah . . . Van Cleef . . . I need them.”
    Belasco pointed toward the telephone in the living room. “May I?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Going to the phone, he called the switchboard and asked a woman there to locate the manager of the local Van Cleef’s.
    She managed it quickly.
    When he got the man on the phone, Belasco explained that Mr. Sinatra wanted to make a purchase and the man agreed to come to the hotel.
    Hanging up with him, Belasco walked back onto the terrace. “Is an hour good for you?”
    Sinatra leaned over and patted Belasco on the face. “I love you, baby. Thank you.”
    When the Van Cleef and Arpels’ manager arrived carrying a large case—with two bodyguards in tow—Belasco accompanied him up to the suite.
    The roses were where he’d put them in the living room and Mrs. Sinatra was nowhere to be seen.
    He introduced the man to Sinatra, the bodyguards withdrew to the hallway, and Belasco left them alone.
    That evening, the young bride and groom asked to see Belasco. He went up to their suite and they seemed very confused.
    â€œLook,” the young man showed Belasco a diamond-studded broach. “He gives me a black eye and thinks he can buy off my wife with this.”
    Belasco hadn’t realized that Sinatra was including them on his shopping list. “I’m sure it is meant as an apology.”
    â€œThen why didn’t he apologize? No note. No nothing. Just this delivered in a box by some jewelry store guy who said this is from Frank Sinatra.”
    â€œIt is very beautiful.”
    â€œWe don’t want it.”
    â€œYou don’t?”
    â€œNo. I’m not going to give that asshole the satisfaction of thinking he can just waltz in . . .”
    His bride reluctantly agreed. “My husband is right.”
    Belasco suggested, “I’m sure that if you wanted to exchange it for something else . . .”
    â€œNo,” the groom said. “We’re returning it.” Then he had a second thought. “And we’ll keep the cash.”
    Belasco almost smiled. “If that’s what you want, sir, I will make the suitable arrangements for you.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what we want,” the groom said, looking at his bride, who put her hand on his black eye, and nodded. “We want the money.”
    On Monday morning, at Belasco’s request, the man from Van Cleef and Arpels handed the young couple a check for $62,500.
    Later that morning, Mrs. Sinatra came to Belasco’s office to thank him for the roses. She was wearing a brand new diamond ring which, Belasco eventually learned, had cost her husband $5 million.
    Then Sinatra himself showed up. “You’re my guy, Pierre. Thank you for taking care of everything.” He handed Belasco a small gift-wrapped package.
    â€œI couldn’t possibly, sir.”
    â€œThe hell you can’t,” Sinatra grinned. “Turn me down, and I’ll give you a black eye too.”
    Belasco thanked Sinatra. “This is very generous. Shall I open it now?”
    â€œWhat the hell pal you going to wait for Chanukah?”
    Inside was a pair of gold- and diamond-studded cuff links.
    â€œThese are magnificent. Thank you, very much.”
    He patted the side of Belasco’s face and without saying anything more, walked away.
    The Van Cleef manager confided in Belasco that Sinatra had paid $30,000 for