Frank & Charli

by Frank Yandolino

  To tell the truth, the closest I ever came to paying for sex was when I was very young. My cousin Joe D paid for it. It was my first time at a cathouse, at a bachelor party for his brother-in-law, my cousin (I won’t mention names), and five other cousins. I was scared to death, but at least I didn’t have to ask for sex. It was the same back in Moscow; I refused to ask or pay for it.

  Now, Isalda the ballerina continued her quest as we drove out to the middle of nowhere. “Where are we going?” I asked again. She answered with a slight giggle.

  “We will go to my place, have a glass of champagne and a little something to eat. The radio I want is only $250. Can we buy it?”

  I again avoided answering. We arrived at a building complex, parked her car, and went up the elevator to an unmarked floor. Once inside her apartment, she excused herself, returning in a robe, champagne in hand.

  “I really want a radio.”

  “I’m not buying a radio.”

  I thought to myself, This is totally against my principles. I will never pay for sex. Besides, how would I explain it to Charli? Maybe if I was seduced and raped by a Bolshoi Ballerina, but not for the price of a radio.

  Isalda was not being kind to Tristan. In one swoop, she guided me to a steel side door, pushed me out to a landing and staircase, and bolted the door. I had no choice but to go down and out.

  Now standing in the fog on an almost paved street, I realized I was in the middle of nowhere on a deserted road walking back to Moscow, wherever that was. There was nothing. I walked past a closed factory-looking plant, and to my amazement a car came out of the fog and screeched to a halt. As the window rolled down a cloud of weed came rushing out. The kid in the car saved my life, got me high, and drove me back to the hotel to meet Joel, who was waiting for me. We were going to Khrennikov’s home to finish the interview.

  During our talks, I did actually ask about Shostakovich. He got a little excited, summoned his wife, and asked her something in a loud Russian tone. She answered, “I’m a Jew.”

  Khrennikov added, “You see, I married a Jew. My kids are Jews. I was a colleague of Shostakovich. On the side we wrote music together. I didn’t suppress him. I was protecting him as best I could under the circumstances.” He paused for a beat, reflecting. “What could I do? I worked for Stalin.”

  Upon my return to New York, after release of the Khrennikov article, I tried several times to defend that position, especially to the Jewish Defense League (JDL), who were now calling and threatening me with just short of death for my position on the issue. They didn’t want to hear the truth. Condemning Khrennikov made them feel better and gave them something to spread more propaganda and guilt.

  I enjoyed my trips to Russia during that period. It was an exciting adventure. I liked the history, people, and the food, however, I couldn’t care less if I ever go back. Instead, Charli and I often go to Brighten Beach, Brooklyn, now called Little Russia, where we eat in Russian restaurants and buy classic Russian food in the supermarkets.

  Whenever I’m there I’m reminded of the propositions for sex I received from those Russian women. As I say, I never have and never will pay a dime for sex. I will, however, accept payment from them. Charli, of course, doesn’t want to hear anything of the kind, but as she thoughtfully doesn’t begrudge me for taking advantage of the special moments of my life, she has made me promise that if anything with another woman were to happen, she must be a queen or a princess and I’ve always kept this understanding in mind.

  CHAPTER 19

  Back at Bert’s

  Iwas now back in New York full time. Michael decided he wanted to move on and out of the office we shared at Bert’s on 57th for many reasons, but that’s another story. Charli and I as usual were spending a lot of time together, especially since we had just bought our new thirty-eight-foot sports fishing boat. I was working on several projects at the same time and interacting more and more with Bert Padell.

  He was at the peak of his career. New clients and companies were given office space everywhere, even right outside the men’s room. Everyone wanted an office at Bert’s. It was a prestige thing, to have your own spot in the center of the entertainment industry. We hung out all day and sometimes into the night, often inviting friends and clients to come interact with each other. You never knew who would pop in. It was the height of the music business in New York.

  Now working on my own for the first time, I could make my own plans and decisions, and accept the opportunities I wanted to work on. My reputation was growing with every new encounter, event, and person who came my way. I was now able to pursue projects that I could totally control and, in a sense, if you’ll pardon my French, grab my own balls. And I met some of the most interesting and extraordinary people you could meet along the way.

  “I’ll Try Anything. If I Don’t Die I’ll Do It Again”

  Peter Friedman was one of those new clients. Bert gave him a desk straight across the hall from my secretary’s desk outside of my office. Peter was very young. He represented the beginning of a new breed, the new managers, movers and shakers, some of whom were gay and wouldn’t hide in the closet anymore. He was developing his new band, Live, and several other up-and-coming acts. I really liked Peter, who would ask me a hundred questions a day. I learned a lot from him as well. He was a lot like Joe Lombardo, constantly working the phone, the room, the record companies, and anyone who passed by his desk. Everyone liked him, and it didn’t hurt that he was very friendly with Clive Davis. Their personal preferences and lifestyle had much in common and Peter was part of Clive’s private inner circle. Peter was doing well, on his way up until his untimely death at the hands of AIDS.

  Murder á la Carte

  Another company sitting in makeshift offices in the outside hallways was also a new client of Bert’s. On their way up as well they were headed by a very creative Tom Chiodo, producer of road tours of popular Broadway shows. Tom had a concept he called Murder á la Carte. Seeing an opportunity, I grabbed the ball and became the managing director of the company.

  Murder á la Carte became one of the first murder mystery event producers, staging real lookalike murder mysteries for audiences in hotels, restaurants, trains, planes, and other locations. On one occasion we presented a murder mystery at the famous restaurant Club Régimes at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City. The idea of this event was to surprise the invited guests who were positioned throughout the restaurant. Sitting among them were our actors, who were part of the scripted show. The guests never knew who was who.

  At my table was my family, Charli, Mom, and Dad, sitting next to Joe Franklin, other guests, and several actors of all ages and sizes, dressed to fit their part. After the first course was served and everyone was settled in intermingling at their tables—all in all about sixty people in the room—no one had a clue what was going to happen. In walks a good-looking woman and a suspicious looking guy dressed smartly. The next thing, a couple at the next table start arguing, and our waiter approaches and spills a drink on a woman, who jumps up screaming. Her date starts an argument with the waiter and then the maitre d’. The tension and action builds, people are stirring everywhere, total confusion, then suddenly, a gunshot rings out, the guy who was arguing, sitting next to my mother, is now dead with his face in the soup (a personal touch I added to this scene, á la Joe Cocker in the soup at the Kurhaus in The Haag in Holland).

  Two detectives now on the scene focus in on the investigation. They’re asking guests who shot this guy and why? The couple that walked in is nowhere to be found. Mom freaked; she never experienced anything like this, nor had most people. It was done very well and completely convincing. On the other hand, my father was cool as a cucumber, never showed any emotion, sort of like he’d seen it before. Just kept on eating and refused to answer questions directly. That’s my dad. Mom still talks about that night; she had a ball. Throughout my life I have always included my family at my events. They’re one of the main reasons I do it.

  The B
each Boys

  Steve Altman was someone who would come in and out of my life for years. He touted himself as a producer of events and knew everyone. Steve was similar to Norman, who at Arlan’s constantly bit off more than he could ever eat, not knowing when to stop or how to say no. But Steve had a great personality and everyone liked him. It was with him that I formed a company to develop and produce special events for Caesars World Casino in Atlantic City, including a circus, karate competitions, TV commercials, and the July 4 Beach Boys outdoor concert and TV special.

  The day before that Independence Day concert, I picked the Beach Boys up on the tarmac at the airport and sat in one of the limos with Mike Love, his girlfriend, and Brian Wilson. Brian was out of it, staring into space and rambling on. In order to make sure the show went on as planned I had to lock Brian in his room with a doctor in an adjoining room and a nurse in the opposite one to make sure he didn’t get away and get into trouble. Just like Joe Cocker years before, he of course got out anyway.

  We built the stage on the beach along the pier across from Caesars Casino. Herb Wolf, president of the casino at the time, was a nervous wreck. He came to my room the day of the concert at six in the morning after having been to the site, very concerned. I have done many shows all over the world and it’s always been the same; just prior to the start, all promoters and clients ask the same question: “I don’t see anyone here. Are you sure they’re coming?”

  “Oh, they’re coming. Don’t worry. They will be here.’’

  Later that morning, a crowd of over three hundred thousand people was swarming on rooftops, the boardwalk, on the beach, and on a hundred boats offshore. There were so many people there that we had to hoist the mayor of Atlantic City with a cherry picker to the rooftop so he could see the show. People came to show support for the Beach Boys, who had been banned for the first time from performing an outdoor concert in Washington, DC. When we learned about the ban, ordered because their lyrics were not politically correct for the administration, we immediately hired them to play the Atlantic City show, knowing we would get plenty of free publicity. The show was filmed for a TV special and commercials for Caesars. The event got worldwide press and more importantly my mom, my dad, Charli, and my kids were right there.

  In Charli’s Words

  Frank had just started a new project—producing outdoor concerts and other events in Atlantic City. This one turned out to be a concert that drew a few hundred thousand people.

  All of the production for this concert and festival had to be done on site, so Frank and I and the kids were actually living at Caesars Palace for about six weeks before the show. A typical day for me would be to take the kids for a walk on the boardwalk, then to the beach. We would walk through the casino, eat in the best restaurants, and of course have access to room service twenty-four hours a day. The kids and I loved to eat a huge little-of-everything breakfast and snacks all day and of course shop. I never paid for anything—since Frank was the producer the casino paid for everything. After being there for a while it was a true learning experience I’ll never forget. It was like living on another planet, another world. People who go to casino resorts and those who work there live in a bubble, a totally controlled environment. All they hear are the sounds of slot machines and horns announcing winners. Some never go outside; the casinos even have walkways and tunnels connecting each other. In Atlantic City the beach was empty most of the time—maybe a hundred people scattered throughout the the miles of beach. Luckily, I was not a gambler.

  The members of the Beach Boys were and are a great group of guys, and so terrifically talented. Being behind the scene is totally different than being in the audience. Through all of the shows that we have done all over the world my kids and I have been backstage, and I’ve missed a lot of music from the audience’s point of view, but I’ve learned a lot about the artists and their true personalities through what goes on backstage and what they do to prepare for shows. They are all different; some stay secluded, others surround themselves with so many people you can’t move.

  The show was very complicated to coordinate and produce. They had to bring in sand to extend the beach and build a gigantic stage for the band and the Corvettes and palm trees. I helped Frank as much as I could but he had the entire production in hand and as always he made it look easy. Suddenly I looked up and there were the people, the entire beach, boardwalk, and rooftops of Atlantic City covered with thousands and thousands of people. Many came by boats anchored offshore. The music was amazing. I remember sitting on the bleachers (VIP) with my son, Frankie, a year old and my daughter, Jaime, three years old, and with Frank’s Mom and Dad. Frank always made sure they were there; they were so proud of him. One of the things that was constant with Frank is no matter how busy he was he always made sure his family was safe and always found time to spend with us. It was a huge, exciting event, as always, and I am lucky to have been a part of it.

  Michael Jackson

  Steve and I even tried our hand with the Michael Jackson family and their reunion tour, the Victory Tour. We developed and presented our proposal to Marlon Jackson. It seems in order to keep some sort of peace and sharing of the pie, it was agreed by all in the family that each Jackson would be responsible for some part of the total tour and all its rights. Marlon was in charge of movies and films, among other things. Our involvement was made possible because as a kid, Steve grew up in California living next door to the Jackson family. Because he was Jewish and maybe ate a lot of them, they lovingly called him Bagel.

  The Jacksons appeared to be very close in the early years as kids growing up, even though Joe Jackson was reportedly a tyrant. The Victory tour proved that, like most families, sibling rivalry develops to various degrees and tends to stick around in one form or another. In my family it is minor—a little here and there but never to the point of not talking to your sister or brother. Neither my parents nor Charli nor I will tolerate that; we were taught and teach our kids love and respect for each other no matter what. There is just no other way. Unfortunately it took Michael’s death to bring the Jacksons back together, at least for now.

  We partnered with NFL Films. I had come up with the idea of interspersing the concert footage with behind-the-scenes events, sort of telling a story by combining the live action scenes and funny events á la The Beatles in A Hard Day’s Night. The first day of shooting was the last day of shooting. I flashed my pass to the security guards in the Hilton Hotel lobby and got on the elevator. The most beautiful girl in the world got on as well, and we both pushed the same floor. She was sort of petite, a light-skinned black girl with perfect long black hair, eyebrows, and colored eyelids, red lipstick with liner, and most importantly real gold-tip fingernails. I never saw anything like her. We both got off the elevator on a floor completely secured for the Jacksons. I entered the room where our partners and coproducers from NFL films were setting up. It quickly became total chaos. One of our producers noticed another camera crew setting up as well across the room, and when Michael Jackson was asked, “Who are they?” Michael’s shy, put-on reserved comment was, “Oh it’s just my own personal crew, for my personal movie.”

  After hearing that, our crew and producers walked out. That was the end of our movie. The beautiful girl was La Toya Jackson.

  A short time after the failed Michael Jackson film, the FBI contacted me. My partner Steve Altman had suddenly disappeared, and was being investigated by the FBI. An agent came to see me at our office. I convinced her Steve never did anything to me or I to him except produce our shows. After the meeting she determined I posed no problem for the FBI. I never heard from Steve again, but maybe it had something to do with his brother-in-law, the famous Chuck Barris of The Gong Show, who as it turns out was allegedly a secret agent for the CIA. As I always say, what you see is not always what you get, and sometimes what you get is not always what you want. Some balls are funny that way.

  Fantasy Fest

  I was producing another concert on the beach, t
his time in Key West, Florida, billed as Fantasy Fest with Peter Allen and friends. At the time Peter was a very popular pop singer briefly married to Liza Minnelli. Peter was known to be gay, but like Ricky Martin he didn’t flaunt it. The day of the show, Peter’s manager, Dee Anthony was stressed, sweating and high as hell. “I need $10,000 more or no show,” was all he kept saying. To make matters worse, Dan Coglin, the producer who hired me, was a big problem. I had just bailed him out of jail a few minutes before for being drunk and fighting and resisting arrest. All the while Peter was involved in his own fight with his boyfriend. This dramatic sideshow was starting to resemble the stage, which I had designed to look like a wrecked cruise ship colliding with the shore and landing on the beach.

  In Charli’s Words

  Frank was producing an event with Peter Allen in Key West, Florida, and we were lucky enough to spend a few weeks there with our children, who were really young at the ages of two and five. Key West during October is very famous for the annual Fantasy Fest, when literally thousands of people come to participate in the parade. It’s around the same time as Halloween and it attracts a lot of amazing characters, both gay and straight. Everyone comes dressed in amazing, elaborate costumes and headdresses, playing instruments, singing and dancing. It’s very similar to the Mardi Gras Festival in New Orleans, mixed with the Halloween and Gay Pride Parades of Greenwich Village.

  Peter Allen was the star performer of the Fantasy Fest Parade. He rode though town on the lavishly decorated lead float. Peter and his band and backup singers were great to hang out with. They had a great vibe, our children loved him, and we met the most fun people. The parade was a great success for us, our family came to visit, and Dan and his family were there too. This was a first time experience for Dan, though: all his money was on the line and he struggled to handle the pressure.