The Other Side of Me

The Other Side of Me Page 14

I was busy and happy, but I kept waiting for that momentous phone call.

For the next three weeks I spent my mornings working on The Merry Widow, my afternoons working on Jackpot, and my evenings working with Ben on both shows. I was getting exhausted. I decided I needed some relaxation.

On a Sunday, I went to the USO, a New York entertainment center for soldiers on leave. There was music, beautiful young women, dancing, and food. It was like an oasis from the war.

An attractive blond hostess came up to me. "Would you like to dance, soldier?"

Indeed, I would.

Just as we began to dance, I felt a hand tap my shoulder.

I said, "Hey, we just started. No cutting - " I turned around. There were two large MPs standing there.

"You're under arrest, soldier. Let's go."

Under arrest? "What's the trouble?"

"Impersonating an officer."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're wearing an officer's uniform. Where's your officer's insignia?"

"I don't have any. I'm not an officer."

"That's why you're under arrest. Come along." They took hold of both my arms.

"Wait a minute. You're making a big mistake. I'm allowed to wear this."

"Who gave you permission, your mother?"

They started to pull me off the dance floor.

I was in a panic. "You don't understand. I'm in a special branch of the Air Corps and - "

"Right."

I kept talking while they were shoving me toward the door. "I'm serious. Have you ever heard of a division of the Army called War Training Service?"

"No."

We were outside. There was an official car parked at the curb.

"Get in."

I dug in my heels. "I won't go. You've got to make a phone call. I'm telling you that I'm in the Army Air Corps, in a branch called War Training Service, and we can wear anything we damn please."

The two MPs were looking at each other. "I think you're nuts," one of them said, "but I'll make the call. Who do I call?"

I gave him the number. He turned to his buddy.

"You hang on to him. We're going to throw in 'resisting arrest.' I'll be back."

Twenty minutes later the MP returned, a bewildered look on his face.

"What happened?" the other MP asked.

"I talked to a general and got chewed out for not knowing about an outfit called War Training Service."

"You mean it's legitimate?"

"I don't know if it's legitimate, but it's real. It's a branch of the Army Air Corps."

The other MP released my arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "I guess we made a mistake."

I nodded. "It's all right."

I went back inside. My girl was dancing with someone else.

Guy Bolton was a pleasure to work with. He had written many successful plays and was very knowledgeable about the theater. He spoke in English idioms and it was our job to convert them to American phrases. I remembered the line of George Bernard Shaw: "The Americans and the English are divided by a common language."

Guy had rented a beautiful home on Long Island and on weekends Ben and I worked with him there. He was very social and had an interesting group of friends.

At a dinner party there one evening, I was seated next to one of the most beautiful young women I had ever seen.

"Guy tells me that you're writing a Broadway musical with him," she said.

"Yes."

"That's interesting."

"What do you do?" I asked.

"I'm an actress."

"I'm sorry. I didn't get your name."

"Wendy Barrie."

Wendy was British and she had made half a dozen pictures in England. Her godfather was J. M. Barrie, and he had used Wendy's name in Peter Pan. I found her fascinating, but she seemed to be preoccupied.

When dinner was over I asked, "Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "Let's go for a walk."

We went outside and started walking down a moonlit gravel path. Because of the wartime blackout there were no electric lights and the only illumination came from a full moon. As we walked, Wendy began to cry.

I stopped. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing . . . Everything . . . I don't know what to do."

"What's happening?"

"It's my - my boyfriend. He - he beats me." She could barely get the words out.

I was filled with indignation. "Why would you let him?" I said. "Nobody should be allowed to behave like that. Why don't you leave him?"

"I - I - don't know. It's - it's difficult."

She began sobbing. I put my arm around her.

"Wendy, listen to me. If he's beating you now, you can be sure it will only get worse. Leave him while you can."

"I know you're right," she said. She took a deep breath. "I'm going to."

"Good for you."

"I feel better. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Do you live in New York?"

"Yes."

"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

She looked at me and said, "No."

"Let's have dinner."

"I'd love to."

The following night, Wendy Barrie and I had dinner at Sardi's and we enjoyed each other's company. We were together for the next two weeks.

One Friday morning, I got a telephone call.

"Sidney?"

"Yes."

"Do you enjoy your life?"

"Very much. Why?"

"If you do, stop seeing Wendy Barrie."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know who's paying her rent?"

"No. We never - she never told me."

"Bugsy Siegel."

The hit man for the mob.

I never saw Wendy Barrie again.

I met our two Jackpot stars, Allan Jones and Nanette Fabray. Allan Jones was movie star handsome, just under six feet, with a powerful physique and a wry smile. He had a wonderful singing voice and was a recording icon. Nanette Fabray was a real charmer. She was in her early twenties, had a great body, an upbeat personality, and was a natural comedienne - perfect for the part.

I had a good feeling about the show.

After rehearsal one day, Roy Hargrave, the director of Jackpot, said, "You boys are doing a great job on the script."

I thought of Yolanda Mero-Irion. A disaster. "Thank you, Roy."

"I have a friend who's producing a musical and he's looking for a writer. I told him about you. Would you like to meet him?"

Impossible. Ben and I were already writing two shows, and I was going to be called back to the Air Corps any minute.

"Love to," I said.

"His name is Richard Kollmar. He's married to Dorothy Kilgallen."

I read Dorothy Kilgallen's popular newspaper column. She and Kollmar were a power couple on the Broadway scene.

"I'm going to call and make an appointment for you with Dick."

Roy Hargrave made a telephone call and when he finished, he said, "Ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

Richard Kollmar had produced, directed, and acted in hit Broadway musicals, and he was only in his early thirties. He was slim, enthusiastic, and welcoming.

"Roy told me that you're a really good writer," he said. "I'm doing a fantasy musical. It's going to be a big production with great sets and costumes. It's about a soap opera writer who falls asleep and dreams that she is Scheherazade and that she must continuously tell stories to the sultan or die."

"Sounds interesting. Who's playing Scheherazade?"

"Vera Zorina."

The world-famous ballet dancer who had become a Broadway star, and who was, incidentally, married to George Balanchine.

"Ronald Graham is playing opposite her. Would you like to write the show with Dorothy?"

"I'd love it," I said. "By the way, I have a collaborator."

He nodded. "Ben Roberts. How soon can you start?"

"Right away."

Ben and I could get some sleep after the war.

I called Ben as soon as I got back to the hotel.

"We're writing a musical for Richard Kollmar called Dream with Music."

"Wait a minute," he said. "Why did the other shows drop us?"

"They didn't. We're still doing those."

"We're writing three Broadway shows at once?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

I was still wearing my uniform, waiting for the call to report for advanced flight training. But now I was so busy writing all three shows that I hoped the call would be delayed. I needed only two or three more months.

The gods must have been laughing.

Two hours after I met with Richard Kollmar and accepted the assignment, the Phone Call came.

"Sidney Sheldon?"

"Yes."

"This is Major Baker. You have orders to report tomorrow morning at 0900 to Captain Burns at Army headquarters in the Bronx."

My heart sank. The timing could not have been worse. We were deserting three shows. Ben was available only at night, and I would be overseas somewhere.

Captain Burns was a tall, bald man, wearing a neatly pressed uniform. He looked up as I walked into his office.

"Sheldon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sit down."

I took a seat. He studied me a moment. "You finished primary flight training?"

"Yes, sir."

He glanced at a paper on his desk. "And you're scheduled to go to a secondary flight school?"

"Yes, sir."

"Those plans have been changed."

I was puzzled. "Changed?"

"The war has taken a new turn. We're on the offensive now. We're going after the bastards. What we need are fighter pilots. You're not qualified because of your eyesight. We have orders to disband the entire War Training Service unit."

It took me a moment to digest it. "What does that - ?"

"All the volunteers in WTS are being given a choice. You can report to an infantry unit as a private in the Army or we can turn your name back to your draft board."

Hobson's choice. But I needed the time. It would probably take the draft board at least a month to process my papers before they sent me overseas and I could use that time working on the shows.

"I prefer the draft board, sir."

He made a note. "Fine. You'll hear from them."

I did not doubt it. The question was when? How much time would I have to work with Ben and Guy and Dorothy to get the shows in shape? I knew we could do a great deal in one month, working seven days a week. If the Army gave me one month . . .

When I returned to my hotel, I immediately called Ben. "We'll be working very late tonight."

"What's happened?"

"I'll tell you when you get here."

"Late" turned out to be three A.M., when Ben finally stumbled out of our hotel room and returned to Fort Dix.

Ben had been as dismayed by the news as I was. I tried to reassure him. "Don't worry. Draft boards move slowly."

During the next three days, I worked feverishly, going from theater to theater, working against the time that the call would come from the draft board.

On the fourth day, when I returned to my hotel, the hotel clerk handed me a letter. It began: Greetings.

My heart sank. I was to report to the draft board in the Bronx the following day. My career as a playwright was over before it had begun. I was deserting three shows that had been counting on me, and I would be going overseas to face possible death. And suddenly I was filled with an overwhelming sense of elation.

I knew my emotions were completely out of control. I had no idea what was the matter with me. I looked at the idiotically happy face in the mirror and I began to cry.

The next morning at nine o'clock, I reported for my physical examination at Army draft headquarters. It was the same examination I had had in California. It was over in thirty minutes and I was asked to report to the doctor's office.

He was studying a sheet of paper. "Your medical report shows that you have a herniated disc."

"Yes, sir. But they knew that when I had my first examination and they - "

He interrupted me. "They had no business accepting you. If you suffered an attack during a combat engagement, you could endanger not only yourself, but everyone around you. That is not acceptable."

"Sir - "

"I'm marking you 4F."

I was speechless.

"I'll notify your draft board in California. You're dismissed."

I sat there for a long moment, stunned, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then I got up to leave.

As I walked toward the door, he said, "And take off that uniform."

I was a civilian again.

It was with a feeling of unreality that I went into a clothing store that afternoon and bought two suits, some shorts, shirts, and ties. I was ready to go back to work being a playwright.

On August 4, 1943, The Merry Widow opened at the Majestic Theatre, and it turned out to be one of the most successful revivals ever to play on Broadway. The reviews were raves.

The New York Times: "A worthy revival."

The Herald Tribune: "Gives the town something to be proud of and happy over."

The Mirror: "Beautiful, opulent, tasteful and tuneful."

The Journal-American: "A lovely, relaxing, charming, laughing love story."

Walter Winchell: "August had a first night boom. The Merry Widow was revived into a sellout."

Howard Barnes: "The new season has been gladdened by a delicious revival. The Merry Widow has been brought to the Majestic with taste, melodic eloquence and pageantry."

Frank Sullivan: "I'm happy to report that The Merry Widow book has been dusted off and reupholstered very deftly by the Messrs. Sidney Sheldon and Ben Roberts."

One down, two to go.

The show ran on Broadway for nearly a year and toured for another two years. On opening night, after the show, the whole company went to Sardi's to celebrate. Vincent Sardi was standing near the door.

I walked up to him and said, "I can pay you back now, Mr. Sardi."

He smiled. "You've already paid me back. I saw the show tonight."