For the common cold robs Sinatra of that uninsurable jewel, his voice, cutting into the core of his confidence, and it affects not only his own psyche but also seems to cause a kind of psychosomatic nasal drip within dozens of people who work for him, drink with him, love him, depend on him for their own welfare and stability.

A Sinatra with a cold can, in a small way, send vibrations through the entertainment industry and beyond as surely as a President of the United States, suddenly sick, can shake the national economy.[image id='6b8616d7-696e-4604-92d6-db3fb5824177' media Id='082061d1-531c-4277-bec2-03c09dd39531' caption='' loc='L' share='true' expand='true' size='L'][/image]For Frank Sinatra was now involved with many things involving many peoplewhich are only a portion of the power he is and has come to represent.

Just when you thought you’d seen all sides of every Kardashian, Kourtney Kardashian follows up sister Kim’s attempt to break the internet with a nude photo shoot conducted while nine months pregnant with her third child.

Kourtney’s no stranger to exposing viewers to the wonders of childbirth, of course; who can forget, for better or worse, the memorable scene of out her second child?

The shoot, done in collaboration with Brian Bowen Smith, only reinforces the oldest sister’s role as the pacifying, nurturing one, though, especially since she says her decision to publicly de-robe was contingent on the fact that she’s pregnant.

“It’s such an amazing feeling…this is what my body was meant to do.” What made you want to take these pictures?

Standing near the door was Jim Mahoney, Sinatra's press agent, a somewhat chunky young man with a square jaw and narrow eyes who would resemble a tough Irish plainclothesman if it were not for the expensive continental suits he wears and his exquisite shoes often adorned with polished buckles.

Also nearby was a big, broad-shouldered two-hundred-pound actor named Brad Dexter who seemed always to be thrusting out his chest so that his gut would not show.

I had done a nude shoot when I was pregnant with Mason, really last minute just for myself, and I love it.

The photo is hanging in the entry of my mom’s house.

The piece conjures a deeply rich portrait of one of the era's most guarded figures and tells a larger story about entertainment, celebrity, and America itself.

Frank Sinatra, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, stood in a dark corner of the bar between two attractive but fading blondes who sat waiting for him to say something.

Undoubtedly the words from this song, and others like it, had put millions in the mood, it was music to make love by, and doubtless much love had been made by it all over America at night in cars, while the batteries burned down, in cottages by the lake, on beaches during balmy summer evenings, in secluded parks and exclusive penthouses and furnished rooms, in cabin cruisers and cabs and cabanasin all places where Sinatra's songs could be heard were these words that warmed women, wooed and won them, snipped the final thread of inhibition and gratified the male egos of ungrateful lovers; two generations of men had been the beneficiaries of such ballads, for which they were eternally in his debt, for which they may eternally hate him.