secretary, Mr. Clune. I’m an administrative genius.
( I go into the kitchenette, drink three glasses of water and consider quitting. When I return, they are still at it )
A RT : —will always know where to find me—day or night—home three numbers, Hillcrest, studio four numbers, even on the set I have my private line. And my mobile in my car. And even my portable briefcase phone. You seen it? Stop bellyachin’.
L ARRY : All right, Art. I see we’re going to have to try it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Inconvenient as this system proved to be in the very first week, it did have its comic aspects and furnished the creative team with a good many laughs.
The prerehearsal conferences were all held at Hy Balaban’s elegant town house on East 73 rd Street because Hy insisted on using his own Steinway grand.
For the first four days, while book revisions were being discussed and new songs demonstrated and models being shown by Ivan and sketches by Alicia, Art was on the phone in the library next to the sitting room, talking to the coast most of the time. At six o’clock, he joined us.
“O.K.,” he said. “I think we’re in great shape. Great ! You’ve all done a great job and this is going to be a great show!”
“Midge,” said Larry, “remind me to buy a present for Mr. Clune. A thesaurus.”
A mistake, but Art let it pass. “I’ll see you all Monday. In the meanwhile, keep up the terrific work. Oh, and Larry, can I talk to you a minute private?”
“Certainly,” said Larry.
Art went out to the library followed by Larry, who turned to us and made a moue before disappearing. The door closed, and before long, Art’s angry voice could be heard. Then Larry’s—soft, pacifying. Art’s less loud. Larry’s. Art’s, quiet.
They came out, Larry’s arm across Art’s shoulders. Apparently, Larry had succeeded in recovering from his careless gaffe.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I wish to apologize to Art for the dumb joke I made a while ago. It was uncalled for, even though it was made in the spirit of fun. I think we’d all—especially me—do well to watch our language and our jokes and our gratuitous comments. Everybody talks too much anyway.”
Art. “Listen, I apologize, too. I mean, why get hot over a word? And he’s right. Everybody talks too much. Except me.”
A big laugh, bigger than warranted.
Art went around the room, shaking hands with the men, kissing Jenny and Alicia and me. He left and Larry resumed.
“Fred,” he said. “In the girls’ number in Scene One—”
“Yes?”
“Would you give some thought to a few more snappers in the lyrics? There’s nothing I love better than laughs in the lyrics. Remember how superbly Larry Hart used to do that? And Hy’s an expert at designing the music to make room for laughs. Cole Porter did it marvelously, too.”
Fred. “Why don’t you get Porter or Hart, then?”
Larry exploded. “Holy sweet fucking Jesus! Am I going to have to put up with touchiness from you, too? Listen, you knucklehead—With the Big Cheese, I have to apologize—it’s his ball and bat—but not with you ! If you were a professional, you goddamn daffodil, you’d be able to handle a suggestion without getting testy and sulky.”
“A great act,” said Hy. “Testy and Sulky. I used to see them at the Palace.”
“I’m just as much a professional as you are,” said Fred.
“A professional what ?” said Hy.
“If you are,” said Larry, “then behave like one.”
“See y’,” said Fred, and left.
“Wouldn’t it be nice,” said Larry, “if we only saw him four days a week?”
“He’s O.K.,” said Hy, noodling at the piano. “He’s got problems, that’s all.”
“Who hasn’t?” asked Jenny.
“His are bigger and better,” said Hy. “Bear with him. A big talent— big.” He sang, accompanying himself:
“‘I’m practical
Back t’ call-
Ing a spade
A spade.
A mistake I made
In the past
( I go into the kitchenette, drink three glasses of water and consider quitting. When I return, they are still at it )
A RT : —will always know where to find me—day or night—home three numbers, Hillcrest, studio four numbers, even on the set I have my private line. And my mobile in my car. And even my portable briefcase phone. You seen it? Stop bellyachin’.
L ARRY : All right, Art. I see we’re going to have to try it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Inconvenient as this system proved to be in the very first week, it did have its comic aspects and furnished the creative team with a good many laughs.
The prerehearsal conferences were all held at Hy Balaban’s elegant town house on East 73 rd Street because Hy insisted on using his own Steinway grand.
For the first four days, while book revisions were being discussed and new songs demonstrated and models being shown by Ivan and sketches by Alicia, Art was on the phone in the library next to the sitting room, talking to the coast most of the time. At six o’clock, he joined us.
“O.K.,” he said. “I think we’re in great shape. Great ! You’ve all done a great job and this is going to be a great show!”
“Midge,” said Larry, “remind me to buy a present for Mr. Clune. A thesaurus.”
A mistake, but Art let it pass. “I’ll see you all Monday. In the meanwhile, keep up the terrific work. Oh, and Larry, can I talk to you a minute private?”
“Certainly,” said Larry.
Art went out to the library followed by Larry, who turned to us and made a moue before disappearing. The door closed, and before long, Art’s angry voice could be heard. Then Larry’s—soft, pacifying. Art’s less loud. Larry’s. Art’s, quiet.
They came out, Larry’s arm across Art’s shoulders. Apparently, Larry had succeeded in recovering from his careless gaffe.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I wish to apologize to Art for the dumb joke I made a while ago. It was uncalled for, even though it was made in the spirit of fun. I think we’d all—especially me—do well to watch our language and our jokes and our gratuitous comments. Everybody talks too much anyway.”
Art. “Listen, I apologize, too. I mean, why get hot over a word? And he’s right. Everybody talks too much. Except me.”
A big laugh, bigger than warranted.
Art went around the room, shaking hands with the men, kissing Jenny and Alicia and me. He left and Larry resumed.
“Fred,” he said. “In the girls’ number in Scene One—”
“Yes?”
“Would you give some thought to a few more snappers in the lyrics? There’s nothing I love better than laughs in the lyrics. Remember how superbly Larry Hart used to do that? And Hy’s an expert at designing the music to make room for laughs. Cole Porter did it marvelously, too.”
Fred. “Why don’t you get Porter or Hart, then?”
Larry exploded. “Holy sweet fucking Jesus! Am I going to have to put up with touchiness from you, too? Listen, you knucklehead—With the Big Cheese, I have to apologize—it’s his ball and bat—but not with you ! If you were a professional, you goddamn daffodil, you’d be able to handle a suggestion without getting testy and sulky.”
“A great act,” said Hy. “Testy and Sulky. I used to see them at the Palace.”
“I’m just as much a professional as you are,” said Fred.
“A professional what ?” said Hy.
“If you are,” said Larry, “then behave like one.”
“See y’,” said Fred, and left.
“Wouldn’t it be nice,” said Larry, “if we only saw him four days a week?”
“He’s O.K.,” said Hy, noodling at the piano. “He’s got problems, that’s all.”
“Who hasn’t?” asked Jenny.
“His are bigger and better,” said Hy. “Bear with him. A big talent— big.” He sang, accompanying himself:
“‘I’m practical
Back t’ call-
Ing a spade
A spade.
A mistake I made
In the past
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