phone number at Schribman's, just in case
something comes up."
He gave me the number-he already had my phone number, so that
was that. Going home, my father didn't say anything about Bobby. I don't
think he even noticed. The only time he said anything was if I went out
with some guy three times. Then he'd say, "What's goin' on?"
I would say, "It's just a date, nothing serious," and that would calm
him down.
That night when we got home, I told my mother about Bobby. I
didn't say a word about how I felt, just told her about him, Kay Kyser and
all that. I mentioned I had a date with him to go to the opening of Gene
Krupa and that I needed the car tomorrow night.
She said, "Ask your father."
I said, "No, he won't give it to me. You just tell him I need the car
tomorrow night, please mother."
She said, "All right."
I couldn't sleep at all. I really felt so funny and I said to myself, "I
guess I'm in love. I never thought it would feel this way. It was like somebody hit me on the head and it hurt!"
The next day, I was all thumbs. I couldn't wait for six o'clock. I got
ready, got in the car. . .with my father's words in my head, "Be careful with
the car." Not "Have a good time," or anything like that. My mother always
said, "Home by midnight." By the way, I never had a key to the house.
"Only whores have keys," my father said, "Why would you be afraid to
knock?" Therefore, no key.
I drove over the George Washington Bridge and went down to 57th
Street, to his apartment. There was Bobby, waiting for me outside. I pulled
up in front, he came around and I moved over to the passenger seat so he
could drive. He smiled and got in. Years later he told me that really impressed him that I would let him drive. (I don't know why!)
Driving to the Terrace Room took about half an hour. During that
half hour, he said, "I've got to talk to you. It's important."
I thought, Oh my God, he's going to end this! He can't! I know he loves
me. Ii . ust know it. He never said it, but I just know it.
He went on to say that he didn't know when he would get discharged
from the army. His life was in California, not New York, and he knew that
all my work was in the East. He knew that he would get his job back, but
not make the money he made before the war. Kay's band had broken up,
but he had the same musicians doing the radio show only-he said he
really didn't know too much about that, but he would find out when he
got back to California. He planned to go back and asked if I would stick it
out and wait. Would I go with him to California when he got out?
I looked at him, smiled and said, "Yes!"
That was my proposal of marriage!
Bobby and I went out quite a lot. We went to the opening of Harry James
at the Astor Hotel. We'd see a Broadway show, go to movies, eat Chinese
food. I met Joe Schribman and always saw four or five guys in uniform up
at the apartment. It was a hangout for musicians in the army who were
stationed close to New York. I learned another part of the biz: musicians
and music. Who played in what band, who was good, who was all right,
and so on. Another notch in my education.
One night we went to see the Claude Thornhill Orchestra (he was
managed by Schrib) and I dropped Bobby off at the apartment on my way
home. Before he got out of the car, he leaned over and kissed me ... finally.
He backed away and just looked at me.
I asked him, "What's the matter?"
He said, "Either you're giving me the greatest line, or you're the dumbest thing I've ever met."
I said, "What's wrong? Why did you say that?"
"Go home, it's late," he replied. "Call me when you get home."
I thought, Its over. What did I do wrong? I just kissed him. Why did he
say that? It took him two weeks to kiss me in the first place. Maybe I shouldn't
have let him kiss me.
I couldn't wait to get home. As soon as I got in the door, I called him
and asked, "What's wrong?"
He said, "Nothing, sweetheart, I just love you very
something comes up."
He gave me the number-he already had my phone number, so that
was that. Going home, my father didn't say anything about Bobby. I don't
think he even noticed. The only time he said anything was if I went out
with some guy three times. Then he'd say, "What's goin' on?"
I would say, "It's just a date, nothing serious," and that would calm
him down.
That night when we got home, I told my mother about Bobby. I
didn't say a word about how I felt, just told her about him, Kay Kyser and
all that. I mentioned I had a date with him to go to the opening of Gene
Krupa and that I needed the car tomorrow night.
She said, "Ask your father."
I said, "No, he won't give it to me. You just tell him I need the car
tomorrow night, please mother."
She said, "All right."
I couldn't sleep at all. I really felt so funny and I said to myself, "I
guess I'm in love. I never thought it would feel this way. It was like somebody hit me on the head and it hurt!"
The next day, I was all thumbs. I couldn't wait for six o'clock. I got
ready, got in the car. . .with my father's words in my head, "Be careful with
the car." Not "Have a good time," or anything like that. My mother always
said, "Home by midnight." By the way, I never had a key to the house.
"Only whores have keys," my father said, "Why would you be afraid to
knock?" Therefore, no key.
I drove over the George Washington Bridge and went down to 57th
Street, to his apartment. There was Bobby, waiting for me outside. I pulled
up in front, he came around and I moved over to the passenger seat so he
could drive. He smiled and got in. Years later he told me that really impressed him that I would let him drive. (I don't know why!)
Driving to the Terrace Room took about half an hour. During that
half hour, he said, "I've got to talk to you. It's important."
I thought, Oh my God, he's going to end this! He can't! I know he loves
me. Ii . ust know it. He never said it, but I just know it.
He went on to say that he didn't know when he would get discharged
from the army. His life was in California, not New York, and he knew that
all my work was in the East. He knew that he would get his job back, but
not make the money he made before the war. Kay's band had broken up,
but he had the same musicians doing the radio show only-he said he
really didn't know too much about that, but he would find out when he
got back to California. He planned to go back and asked if I would stick it
out and wait. Would I go with him to California when he got out?
I looked at him, smiled and said, "Yes!"
That was my proposal of marriage!
Bobby and I went out quite a lot. We went to the opening of Harry James
at the Astor Hotel. We'd see a Broadway show, go to movies, eat Chinese
food. I met Joe Schribman and always saw four or five guys in uniform up
at the apartment. It was a hangout for musicians in the army who were
stationed close to New York. I learned another part of the biz: musicians
and music. Who played in what band, who was good, who was all right,
and so on. Another notch in my education.
One night we went to see the Claude Thornhill Orchestra (he was
managed by Schrib) and I dropped Bobby off at the apartment on my way
home. Before he got out of the car, he leaned over and kissed me ... finally.
He backed away and just looked at me.
I asked him, "What's the matter?"
He said, "Either you're giving me the greatest line, or you're the dumbest thing I've ever met."
I said, "What's wrong? Why did you say that?"
"Go home, it's late," he replied. "Call me when you get home."
I thought, Its over. What did I do wrong? I just kissed him. Why did he
say that? It took him two weeks to kiss me in the first place. Maybe I shouldn't
have let him kiss me.
I couldn't wait to get home. As soon as I got in the door, I called him
and asked, "What's wrong?"
He said, "Nothing, sweetheart, I just love you very
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