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While the screenplay was undergoing its patchwork genesis, Frank was casting his buddies and cutting them deals. Peter had been willing to sell the picture outright to Dorchester and Warner Bros., but Frank took care of him -- just as he had in Puccini -- by giving him $20,000 for the story, plus $300 per week for the shoot, plus -- and this was the biggie -- one-sixth of the gross: a phenomenal back-end deal which resulted in nearly a $500,000 profit on the Lawfords' $10,000 investment. Dean got $150,000 flat out; Sammy got $125,000; even guys like Richard Conte (more than $8,000 per week) and Cesar Romero ($5,000-plus per week) got healthy. (Some who were rumored to have parts, such as Jackie Gleason, Tony Curtis, and Milton Berle, never showed; others, such as Shirley MacLaine, Red Skelton, and George Raft, worked for scale.)

Frank got $30,000 for the story, $200,000 to act, and one-third of the gross -- not to mention, of course, all that he stood to make as a 9 percent owner of the Sands, which was guaranteed to be packed with high rollers during the five weeks the Rat Pack planned to spend in Vegas working on the film.

February was traditionally the nadir of business in Las Vegas, so the town went out of its way to welcome the production. Police chief R. K. Sheffer read over the script drafts -- with heart in throat, no doubt -- for accuracy; special editions of the Las Vegas newspaper welcomed the production; the owners of the five hotels featured in the film -- the Riviera, the Sahara, the Flamingo, the Desert Inn, and the Sands -- accommodated the actual filming and made rooms available to the 225 actors, extras, and crew members who stayed in town on Warner Bros.' tab (the company dropped nearly $20,000 a day in out-of-pocket costs during the five weeks). The town positively boomed. The Sands, with only two hundred or so rooms to its cluster of two-story garden buildings, turned away eighteen thousand reservation requests during the first week of the Summit alone.

[Director Lewis] Milestone and three dozen advance men converged on Las Vegas on January 12. Five days later, Frank flew in from New York (his luggage got lost in the confusion attendant on a rare southern Nevada snowstorm), and the Lawfords arrived by train with Peter's manager, Milt Ebbins, and Frank's secretary, Gloria Lovell. Sammy and Joey arrived the next day; Dean rolled into town two days later with his wife and his factotum, Mack Gray.

Work began with three days of shooting at the Riviera. The earliest call was for 5:30 P.M., and no actor had to be on the set for more than three hours. On the first day of the Summit, January 20, there was no filming done at all. Thereafter, Milestone usually got one Rat Packer at a time, occasionally two, having the whole quintet at his disposal only once -- to film the closing credits on a workday cut short by high winds. Most days found a single member of the Rat Pack on the set for about three hours, usually from about 3:00 P.M. to 6:00; Sammy and Peter had the most frequent morning calls (9:00 or 10:00 A.M.), with Sammy easily spending the most time in front of the camera throughout the month. After they finished at the Riviera, Frank worked only six more days, only two of which lasted more than two hours (he even skipped town for a few days to tape a TV special in Hollywood); the only time anyone was filmed in the wee small hours was when Frank showed up one day at 5:00 A.M. for about two hours of work. Other than that, only Joey ever had a call before 9:00 A.M. -- once.

So it really wasn't the film-all-day, perform-all-evening, drink-all-night scene that has become the legend of the Summit and the making of Ocean's Eleven. There's no doubt that there were twenty-four-hour hijinks -- "They were taking bets we'd all end up in a box," Peter recalled -- but precious few hours were actually given over to Milestone. Indeed, when the brief filming days and the relatively short stage shows are added up, nobody really put in more than a six- or seven-hour day the whole month. Oh, sure, it looked like a lot of work -- a high-profile film shoot and titanic nightclub engagement all in one -- but it was cushier than, say, shooting a western in the desert or playing a series of gigs on the road. What with all the amenities and the attention, it was more like a premiere party held while the film was still being made: a P.R. event aimed at boosting the box office. The whole world watched the Summit unfold in the entertainment pages of newspapers and magazines, and when the film came out, they dutifully lined up as if to kiss St. Peter's bronze toe.

Of course, not all of it was for the public. Take Sunday, February 7, when the boys entertained and partied with a Democratic presidential hopeful, Peter's brother-in-law Jack Kennedy. Kennedy was blitzing the West in the lull before the big eastern primaries. He had a complete entourage with him, including his youngest brother, Ted, and -- in an era of press coverage so cooperative it was virtually comatose -- he was at least as busy dallying with Peter and his chums as he was currying favor with Nevada's political powers. Kennedy and his party were ensconced at the Sands and held court there: drinking and schmoozing in the lounge, dining on Chinese food in the Garden Room, holding press conferences, attending fund-raising receptions, and, of course, digging the scene in the Copa Room as the Rat Pack entertained.

During each show Jack attended, Frank introduced him from the stage with a bunch of sugary bullshit; Jack stood and took a bow; Dean waited for the applause to die down: "What'd you say his name was?" Big laugh.