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not do the play." "Just a minute, just a minute," said Bobby. "We're going to get somebody else, another composer-" "No," I said, "No, I have to go home." Next day Joe called with fresh news. He'd got Leonard Bernstein. Well, I couldn't say he was lousy, so we had another meeting. Comden and Green had agreed to do the lyrics. The noose was tightening. We were all in my agent's office, and I phoned Freddie in Hollywood. Bobby and Joe went out in the hall to give me privacy. "I'm trapped," I wailed when Freddie came on the line. "They've had me in here all day long, and I've had nothing to eat but a soggy cheese sandwich. Get me out of this." Freddie started laughing. "You got yourself into it, get yourself out." My decision was not to do the show. I told Joe and Bobby I was sorry I'd cost them so much time and money. "I'd like to pay for the phone calls, the wires, even the cheese sandwich." It was like talking to myself. Bobby and Joe were still beside me as I walked back to my hotel. Suddenly I landed against a lamppost and to my chagrin began to cry. "I've been away from Freddie and Lance [her son] too much lately," I said. "You've put together a fabulous team for the show and I know you'll find the right star." Joe said no. "We won't do it without you." "Roz," said Bobby Fryer, "if we put this show on with you for just three months, would you do it?" "You couldn't get your investment back on such a short run," I said. "I think we could get it off the ground with you," he said, "and then maybe we could keep it flying with someone else, and you could go back to your family-" I was touched. He was talking about taking a very big chance. "You're silly," I said. "And I'll do the show. And now will you guys please get the hell out of here? I have to take a bath, and there isn't room in the tub for the three of us." Next day we began. Leonard Bernstein had an apartment in the Osborne, the big stone building diagonally across from Carnegie Hall, and we all met there, George Abbot, and Comden and Green, and the set designer, and the costume designer, and they talked while I listened, bug-eyed. I didn't know what they were saying, I'd never been around a musical before. Bernstein said he wanted to hear my voice. "As soon as the others leave." That was my cue. When I saw George Abbott stand up and put his coat on, I fled down four flights of stairs without waiting for the elevator. Other days, other flights. Bernstein's apartment is stamped in my mind. There were posters on the walls, a piano in every room, and once in a while we'd catch a glimpse of Felicia Bernstein with their baby boy. Sometimes, as I was sneaking out at the end of a session, I'd hear Lennie saying, "Where did Roz go?" All I could think was, He's a great musician, and I cannot let him hear this voice, this foghorn. Toward the end of the first week he trapped me. "Roz," he said, "I have to hear your range." "Range," I said. "Gas range, firing range, mountain range-" He waited until I was finished. Then he sat down at a piano and riffled up and down the keys, singing, "Why, oh why, oh why oh, why did I ever leave Ohio?" "I'm so nervous," I said, but I tried to imitate what he was doing. "Lovely," he said. "Now we'll just change the key." He moved it up a little. We did it again. "I'll have it learned by tomorrow," I said, only wanting to get out of there. "Oh, you don't sing that?" "Why don't we practice what I sing?" He corrected himself. "You sing that, but you don't sing the melody, you sing the harmony-" "The harmony? I'll never learn the melody, much less the harmony, what are you talking about? The harmony is what you make up as you go along, isn't it?" Late the night I held an emergency meeting in Central Park with Josh Logan. Josh had problems of his own (he'd been on the road directing Picnic, the playwright Bill Inge was drinking heavily and had gone into a hospital), but he was married to my old friend Nedda, and I'm sure she'd bullied the poor man into walking around the reservoir under a full moon with a half-hysterical actress. "My God, Josh," I said, "I don't know [[end page]] [[start page]] [[advertisement]] [[image color photograph of Goofy, a little boy and his grandparents in a "cup" at Disney World]] We've got your sunshine. This winter, let Eastern Airlines, the official airline of Walt Disney World, show you the way to the Magic Kingdom. Our exclusive Walt Disney World vacations are especially designed to let you do what you want, when you want, and at a price you want to pay. Fun in the Florida sun has never been easier than it is this winter with Eastern. Walt Disney World. $79-$86* plus airfare. Here's our bargain way to enjoy Walt Disney World. 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