That Old Dead Magic

That Old Dead Magic (#12 in the Rat Pack Mystery Series) by Robert J. Randisi    360 pages

I look forward to the release of each new Rat Pack Mystery Series. It’s a lot of fun to journey back to the 1960s when Las Vegas was not a place for the kiddos and all the lights hid more than they showed.

Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joe and Peter had lit up the Strip when their Summit came to town to appear at the Sands Hotel.  The crowds loved and adored the guys’ act. But now it is 1965, and the Summit is losing its audience. The guys, and the Sands’ management, believe that people are getting tired of the same old act. Frank and Dean are even performing at other hotels.

But the Sands pit boss, Eddie G is still the man to know; the man who can get things done.  So when Sammy Davis, Jr., asks for help because he thinks legendary comic Jerry Lewis is going to kill somebody, Eddie G comes to the rescue.  Eddie G never cared much for Jerry’s comedy; he didn’t get it, but when one of the guys asks, he does what he can to help.

Jerry isn’t the loveable goofball he comes across as on stage. He’s a very, very serious fellow who scowls more than he smiles. And his temper is almost as legendary as his comic ability.

While Jerry stews at the Sands about blackmail and kidnapping, Eddie G is also helping out his PI buddy, Danny Bardini, who is working on a sex-trafficking case. He even agrees to let Danny use one of the Sands waitresses as bait.

To round the picture out, a Rat Pack Mystery wouldn’t be complete without Big Jerry Epstein, a Brooklyn-man with an appetite as big as his body. Jerry E will do whatever it takes to protect Mr. G, Danny, and the guys.

As Randisi writes more and more of these mysteries, the guys seem to drift further and further into the background.  Still, the stories are a lot of fun: the heyday of the Strip, the mob, the girls, the money, and the booze light up the casinos as they don’t seem to be able to do these days. As the bodies piled up, I sank further and further into 1965 until I did not want to come back to 2020.

It may not be high literature, but it is high stakes fun. “That Old Dead Magic” receives 5 out of 5 stars in Julie’s world. 

 

Park Avenue Summer

Park Avenue Summer by Renee Rosen     368 pages

 I first became aware of “Cosmopolitan” magazine when its intrepid editor-in-chief, Helen Gurley Brown, visited “The Tonight Show” with Johnny Carson in the late 1970s. It was on those shows that I learned of her radically feministic book “Sex and the Single Girl,” which was published in 1962.

This story takes place three years later, in 1965 Manhattan. The publishing world is still the old boys’ network and women were supposed to be at home. Alice Weiss (a fictional character) has left her Ohio home for New York, with dreams of becoming a photographer. Thanks to an old friend, she gets an exciting job as the secretary to HGB, a woman who knows what she wants but doesn’t know a thing about publishing a magazine.

The Hearst Corporation wants to shutter Cosmo, but HGB wants to bring it into the twentieth century and revitalize its contents and looks. She wants to aim it at young women who want something more before they settle down to a home and a family. It’s HGB’s job to turn the magazine around but not offend old conservatives. Easier said than down when the old boys’ network is sabotaging her every move and decision.

Readers get to see the birth of Cosmo and how HGB raised it from the ashes. Daily life is hectic in the magazine world, and readers get a chance to see what life was really like back in those days: the cigarettes that everyone chain-smoked, the lunchtime drinks, the deals.

Author Rosen was fortunate to meet and talk with Lois Cahall, the woman who probably knew HGB better than anyone else. I’m sure that’s why the story feels so intimate. With Alice as its narrator, modern readers get a glimpse into a storied past. Along the way, Alice finds a way to have everything HGB says she can have, and more.

 “Park Avenue Summer” receives 6 out of 5 stars in Julie’s world.

I Only Have Lies for You

I Only Have Lies for You by Robert J. Randisi   324 pages

This is the eleventh book in the Rat Pack Mystery Series. I have really enjoyed the previous ten, and I’m already anxiously awaiting the arrival of Number 12. 

It’s 1965. Eddie G, one of the Sands Hotel’s pit bosses, has come to be known as the “go-to guy” when it comes to getting celebrities out of trouble. Thanks to all the help he’s provided, he can call the Rat Pack---Sinatra, Martin, Davis, Bishop and Lawford, his pallies.

Frank calls Eddie on behalf of his friend, television superstar Jackie Gleason. Frank even sends his private plane to take Eddie to Miami to confer with “The Great One.” All he can learn from Jackie is that somebody has been tailing Jackie’s sweetheart, Marilyn Taylor, sister of the famous June Taylor (and her dancers that were always a hit on Jackie’s shows.).” Before readers can turn too many pages, the bodies are piling up, and without more info, Eddie isn’t sure if he can help, and it appears that Eddie maybe on the receiving end of murder.

The usual cast of characters populates the pages. Jerry from Brooklyn, who has recently been diagnosed with diabetes and is on a diet. Danny, Eddie’s private dick pal who does some snooping back in Vegas. Jack who is the Sands’ head honcho.

I do love these tales, and I’m worried that Randid may be coming to the end of the series. Eddie makes a statement in the last third of the book that he is “getting tired of this.”  I sure hope Eddie isn’t considering retiring.

The story is predictable, but I knew that going in. For me, the fun of the read is the guys, Eddie and Jerry, not to mention all the glitz and glamor from the days when Vegas was cool. The biggest problem that I have is that Randisi has changed publishers. The guy on the cover’s left is supposed to be Frank Sinatra, but it sure doesn’t look like him. Then there is the lack of any kind of proofing reading. YIKES!  For those reasons,  “I Only Have Lies for You” receives 4 out of 5 stars in Julie’s world.