Murder at the Kennedy Center Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned her down, but then she figured nothing ventured, nothing gained. Would you be willing to come on again and do a duet with Roseanna? We’ll find time by shortening up on the jam sessions.”
    “Hey, man, happy to. The lady’s a gas.” He continued to play the game.
    Abbatiello smiled. He knew Davis’s reputation was that of easy cooperation, but he didn’t expect him to be
this
easy.
    Things had begun to fall apart in the last hours leading up to the telecast, and Georges and his staff were in a mad scramble to straighten them out. He was used to dealing with the quibbles of performing artists, but most of the problems were coming from the political side—politicians insisting they be onstage when Ewald and his family made an appearance, security people questioning arrangements they should have thought of days before, big egos clashing with bigger egos and lesser significance. He was glad he’d earned his ulcer in show business rather than the political arena. As he’d said to his wife a few minutes before, this was his first and last contribution to politics—
anybody’s
politics.
    Davis lost the round. “I’ll beat this sucker yet,” he said, laughed loudly, and joined Abbatiello at the bar. “You want a soda?”
    “No, thanks, Sammy.” Abbatiello checked his watch. “Give me a fast rundown of how the duet goes—timing and such. And the sheets. We need the lead sheets for the orchestra.” Davis’s musical director, who’d been dozing in a large leather chair, came to life and worked with Abbatiello on the changes.
    At precisely nine o’clock, with the opera house filled with Ewald supporters and friends of supporters out for a pleasant evening—and maybe to be seen—the curtain rose, the orchestra launched into a spirited, jazz-flavored arrangement of “California, Here I Come,” and the musical gala in honor of Senator Kenneth Ewald began.
    As it turned out, the impromptu duet between Sammy Davis, Jr., and Roseanna Gateaux was the hit of the evening. They romped through a medley of old and familiar songs like “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” and “A Bushel and a Peck,” the elegant and beautiful diva the perfect foil for the talented, manic, and considerably shorter Davis. Host David Letterman delighted the largely Democratic audience with barbed one-liners about the current administration, who was manning the Manning, etc., and roasts of the Republican party in general, and Joan Baez quietly transported those old enough to remember the 1960s back to that quaint period.
    The finale was to be a jam session featuring all the jazzmusicians who’d appeared in smaller groups. Just before Letterman announced that they would play Ellington’s “Take the A Train,” Ewald and his family were brought onstage. A restriction imposed by the Kennedy Center management was that there would be no overt political speech-making during the evening. Ewald, who had no intention of violating that, simply said, “The kind of artistic and creative energy displayed here tonight is symbolic of what this great nation has always spawned … in its excellence and diversity and community.” He turned and looked at his family, smiled broadly, and went on, “And all of us thank each and every person who has made this night so memorable. We are deeply grateful.” Then, on cue, he turned to the assembled musicians and said, “Okay, they said I could count this one off.” He tapped his foot and counted, “One, two, one, two, three, four.” Oscar Peterson began the intro, and the Ewalds were led from the stage to take their seats again in the front row.
    The finale was slightly disjointed and cheerful, as such numbers tend to be, but well received. The party preceding the performance had been small, the guest list carefully considered. Now, the larger party began. Had the weather been nasty, the Grand Lobby would have been used. Because the weather had turned nice, it was held on the vast wraparound terrace of