The Other Side of Me

My heart began to pound. "If this is a holdup," I said, "take whatever - "

"You son of a bitch! I'm going to kill you."

It was not a holdup.

At moments like that a writer is supposed to think: This is great material. But what I thought was: I'm going to die.

"I don't know you," I said.

"No, but you know my wife," he shouted. "You've been sleeping with her."

I knew he had made a mistake. I never had affairs with married women. "Look," I said, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know who your wife is."

"Ingrid." He raised the gun.

"I - " It was no mistake. "Wait a minute! Ingrid never told me she was married."

"The bitch married me so she could get a visa to come to this country."

"Hold it," I said. "This is all news to me. She doesn't wear a wedding ring, and she never mentioned a husband, so there's no way I could have known. Sit down and let's talk about it."

He hesitated a moment and sank into a chair. We were both sweating profusely.

"I'm not like this," he said, "but I - I love her, and she used me."

"I don't blame you for being upset. I think we can both use a drink." I fixed stiff drinks for both of us.

Five minutes later, he was telling me his life story. He was a writer and he had met Ingrid in Europe. He was now unable to get work in Hollywood.

I said, "You need a job? Let me take care of it. I'll talk to Kenneth McKenna, at Metro."

His face lit up. "Would you? I'd sure appreciate it."

Five minutes later, he and his gun were gone.

I turned out the lights, went back to bed breathing hard, and had finally fallen asleep when I heard a banging at the front door.

He's back, I thought. He's changed his mind. He's decided to kill me.

I got out of bed, went to the door and opened it. Ingrid was standing there. She had been beaten up badly. Her face was bruised, she had two black eyes, and her lip was bleeding. I pulled her inside the house.

She could hardly talk. "I have to tell you - "

"You don't have to tell me. Your husband was here. Get in bed. I'm going to call a doctor."

I managed to wake up my doctor, and an hour later he was at the house, tending to Ingrid. She had a broken rib and deep bruises all over her body.

When the doctor left, Ingrid said, "I don't know what to do. I have a screen test at Universal this morning."

I shook my head. "Not anymore. You can't go in looking like that. I'll call and cancel the test." And I did.

Ingrid left that evening and disappeared.

In 1948, Cy Feuer and Ernie Martin, a new producing team, came to the studio to see me.

"We're doing a Broadway play called Where's Charley? It's based on the classic, Charley's Aunt. We want you to write it. We've cleared your name with the Brandon Thomas Estate. Frank Loesser is going to write the score. Ray Bolger will star."

Frank Loesser had written several popular songs, but he had never done a Broadway show. I knew the plot of Charley's Aunt and I liked it. I thought it could be a big hit.

"I'd like to meet with Frank."

"We'll set it up."

Frank Loesser was a dynamo. He was in his late thirties, talented and ambitious. He had written the wartime hit "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," and several other popular movie songs, including "The Moon of Manakoora," "On a Slow Boat to China," "The Boys in the Back Room," and "Kiss the Boys Goodbye."

"I have some great ideas," Frank said. "We can make this a big hit."

"I think so, too."

"I'll work on the libretto with you."

"That will be wonderful, Frank," I said, "and I'll work on the score with you."

He grinned. "Never mind."

I went to see Dore Schary. "I'm going to take my three months off," I said, "to do a Broadway show."

"What show?"

"Where's Charley? It's a remake of Charley's Aunt."

Dore shook his head. "Broadway's risky."

I laughed. "I know. I've been there, Dore."

"I don't think you should do it."

"Well, I've already committed and - "

"I'll make a deal with you. How would you like to write the screenplay of Annie Get Your Gun?"

"What?"

"If you forget about that play, I'll assign you to write Annie."

Annie Get Your Gun was the biggest hit on Broadway. It had been playing for three years and had four road companies out.

In 1945, Herbert and Dorothy Fields had gone to Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein and suggested they do a show about Annie Oakley. Dorothy Fields would write the lyrics and Jerome Kern agreed to do the score.

Three days after Kern arrived in New York, he suffered a stroke, and a few days later he died. Rodgers and Hammerstein decided Irving Berlin should write the score. The show contained half a dozen hits, including the standard, "There's No Business Like Show Business." MGM had paid six hundred thousand dollars for the rights to Annie Get Your Gun, the highest price up to then for a musical.

"What do you say?" Dore asked.

I thought about it. I was certain that Where's Charley? was going to be a hit, but I was excited about the chance to work with Irving Berlin again. It was impossible to say no to Dore's offer.

"I'll do it," I said.

That afternoon, I called Feuer and Martin and Frank Loesser, and told them of my decision.

"I know you're going to have a big hit," I said.

And I was right.