The Other Side of Me

"We have half a dozen stars lined up. You'll write about two minutes for each one."

"I'll get to work on it."

The next day I brought in a two-page script I had written for Van Johnson, who was to be photographed first. Selznick read it. "Good. Take it to Van. He's in a bungalow on the back lot."

I carried the two pages over to Van Johnson's bungalow. When he saw me, he opened the door, and I introduced myself. At that time Van Johnson was one of the biggest stars at MGM.

"Here are your pages," I said. "We're ready to shoot as soon as you are."

"Thank you." He added, ruefully, "I had a terrible dream last night."

"What was that?"

"I dreamt that this big star coming over from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer learned his lines, and then they kept changing them, and he panicked. The dream woke me up."

I laughed. "Don't worry. These are your lines."

He smiled and glanced down at the pages. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."

I went back to Selznick's office.

"It's all set," I said.

"I have an idea," Selznick replied. "I want you to change Van's lines."

"David, I just left him. He was nervous. He had a nightmare about his lines being changed."

"To hell with him. Here's what I want." And he gave me a new direction for the scene. I hurried back to my office, rewrote it, and showed it to Selznick.

"Good," he said. "That's it."

I hurried back to Van Johnson's bungalow. He opened the door.

"I'm ready."

"Van, there's been a slight change. Mr. Selznick thought this would be better." I handed him the new pages. He turned pale.

"Sidney, I wasn't joking about my dream. I really - "

"Van, it's only two pages. It's a cinch."

He took a deep breath. "All right."

I went back to David Selznick's office.

"I have another idea," he said. "It would be better if we took this angle with Van . . ."

I was horrified. "David, he's already panicky. We can't keep changing his lines."

"He's an actor, isn't he? Let him learn them."

He told me what he wanted. Reluctantly, I went back to my office and rewrote the scene.

The hardest part was facing Van Johnson again.

I walked up to his bungalow. He started to say something, then looked at my face. "You didn't . . ."

"Van, it's only two pages. This is the last time."

"God damn it. What are you doing to me?"

I finally got him calmed down. "Come over to the set when you're ready," I told him.

I did not go back to David Selznick's office. The rest of Van's segment went smoothly.

Richard telephoned the next day.

"Bro?"

It was great to hear his voice. "How are you doing, Richard?"

"Whatever I've been doing, I have to do for two now. I'm getting married."

I was thrilled. "That's great news! Do I know her?"

"Yes. Joan Stearns." Joan and Richard had gone to school together in Chicago.

"When is the wedding?"

"In three weeks."

"Damn! I have to be out of the country, shooting a segment for this project I'm doing for National Brotherhood Week."

"You'll meet her when you come back. We'll come for a visit."

As promised, Richard and his lovely, upbeat wife arrived in Los Angeles a month later. It was obvious that they were very much in love. We spent a delightful week together, until it was time for them to return to Chicago.

The next morning, when I arrived at my office, my secretary said, "Mr. Selznick would like to see you."

He was waiting for me. "Sidney, I have some news for you."

"What's that?"

"I'm changing the name of the picture. We're not going to call it Suddenly It's Spring."

I was listening. "What are you going to call it?"

"The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer."

I looked at him a moment, thinking he was joking. He was serious.

"David, no one is going to pay money to see a picture called The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer."

Fortunately, it turned out that I was wrong.

Chapter 17

The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer opened at the six-thousand-seat Radio City Music Hall, the largest movie theater in the world. It played there seven weeks and was the top grosser in the history of the theater. In England, it was the biggest grosser after Gone With the Wind.

The reviews delighted me:

"I beg you, please don't miss The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer . . ."

"One of the best comedies to hit this town in more than a year . . ."

"A blessed concoction of fun, whimsy and heart . . ."

"A first-rate comedy. You'll laugh out loud . . ."

"Sidney Sheldon has created the most agreeable film fare . . ."

The cast was praised, the director was praised. The reviews were unanimous. The movie won the Box Office Blue Ribbon Award and I was nominated for an Oscar. I knew that nothing could stop me now. Careers in Hollywood were like elevators constantly going up and down. The trick was not to leave the elevator when it was down.

The elevator for me was definitely up. I was on top of the world.

I had written an original treatment about a troubled marriage, called Orchids for Virginia. Eddie Dmytryk, a director at RKO, liked it.

"I'm going to ask the studio to buy it for me. I want you to do the screenplay. I'll get you thirty-five thousand dollars."

"Great." I was more than pleased because I needed the money.

One week later, Dore Schary was made the executive producer in charge of production at RKO. He called me into his office and I knew he wanted to congratulate me on Orchids for Virginia. I was going to ask him how soon I could start the screenplay.