The Other Side of Me

For some reason, I felt no excitement. I had had too many disappointments. I managed to sound enthusiastic. "That's great, Gower."

I hung up the phone and thought of all the dreams that had never come true.

I waited to hear from Gower, and five days later he called. He sounded angry.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"No. I told Strouse and Adams that I wanted them to do the music for this show and they're asking for a bigger percentage. They're ungrateful bastards. I told them I wouldn't give it to them."

"So who do we - ?"

"I'm not going to do the show."

A year later, someone else opened a show on Broadway called Bajour. It was about Gypsies living in New York.

At a time when I should have been depressed, I felt elated. I remembered what Dr. Marmer had said about manic depression. It's a brain deviation that involves episodes of serious mania and depression, where moods swing from euphoria to despair . . . a major contributing factor in thirty thousand suicides a year. I was euphoric. I felt that something wonderful was going to happen.

It came in the form of a phone call.

"Sidney Sheldon, please."

"Speaking."

"This is Robert Fryer." A very successful Broadway producer.

"Yes, Mr. Fryer?"

"Dorothy and Herbert Fields asked me to phone you. They're writing a musical for me called Redhead, and they would like to know whether you would be interested in working on it with them. Are you interested?"

Was I interested in working with Dorothy and Herbert Fields again? Was I! I tried to sound cool. "Yes, I would be very interested."

"That's wonderful. How soon can you come to New York? We want to get started as quickly as possible."

Two weeks later, Jorja, Mary, and I were moving into a rental apartment in Manhattan. Our one disappointment was that Laura was unable to travel with us. I had paid her all the salary I owed her, plus a large bonus. It was an emotional farewell.

"I can't leave my family, Mr. Sheldon. I'll miss you and pray for you."

That was Laura.

Robert Fryer was in his middle forties, a handsome, elegantly dressed man with a passion for the theater. We met in his office on Forty-fifth Street.

"Redhead is going to be a really great show," he said enthusiastically. "I'm glad you're going to work with us."

"So am I. Tell me about the show."

"Dorothy is writing the lyrics. The music is being written by Albert Hague. You and Herbert will write the book. The play takes place in turn-of-the-century London. Our lead is a young woman who makes figures that are exhibited in the chamber of horrors in a wax museum. A serial killer is loose, and he leaves no clues. When he murders his latest victim, our heroine sees him and makes a wax model of him. He sets out to murder her. It's a mixture of mystery, suspense, and songs and dances."

"That sounds exciting."

We met Dorothy at her home.

After the greetings were over, Dorothy said, "Let's go to work."

Dorothy and Herbert had conceived a dream of a plot. I had not seen them since Annie Get Your Gun and it was a joy to be working with them again.

The Fieldses introduced me to Albert Hague, the composer, who had done half a dozen Broadway shows. He was a brilliant musician.

Hague later gained fame as Mr. Benjamin Shorofsky in the television series Fame.

Because the basic idea the Fieldses had was so exciting, the writing of the book went smoothly. Herbert and Dorothy were professionals who worked business hours. We worked from nine in the morning until six P.M. and then everybody went home. I thought of the frantic days when Ben Roberts and I were working on several shows at once, until the wee hours of the morning.

Jorja and I got a nurse for Mary, and when I was not working, we explored New York. We went to the theater and the museums and enjoyed some of the restaurants. The first one I took Jorja to was Sardi's, and Vincent Sardi was still there, as warm as ever. We had a wonderful meal, with a complimentary bottle of champagne.

Herbert and I finished the first draft of the libretto as Dorothy and Albert were finishing the score.

When we were ready, we gathered in Robert Fryer's office and ran through the book and score.

"Great," Fryer said. "It's everything I hoped it would be. Now, who are we going to cast in it? Who is going to play the lead?"

We needed a leading lady who was attractive, sympathetic, and could sing and play comedy. Not an easy combination to find. We went through a list of actresses and finally came across a name that we all liked: Bea Lillie. She was an English stage star who played comedy, and sang and danced.

"She would be perfect. I'm going to send her the book and the score," Fryer said, "and pray."

Five days later, we were meeting again in Fryer's office. He was grinning. "Bea Lillie loves it. She's going to play it."

"That's great."

"Now we need a choreographer and we're in business."

It was not to be. Bea Lillie wanted her boyfriend to direct the show.

We went through the list of available actresses again.

"Wait a minute," Dorothy said. "What about Gwen Verdon?"

The room lit up.

"Why didn't we think of her before? She's perfect. She's a beautiful, talented musical star - and she's a redhead. I'll get the play to her this afternoon."

This time there was only a two-day wait.

"She'll do it," Robert Fryer said. He sighed. "But there's a catch."

We all looked at him. "Oh?"

"She wants her boyfriend to direct it."

"Who's her boyfriend?"