Chapter 3

Some time had passed since we last sat down together and worked on this; Audrey used the ‘Let’s separate to see what we can think of away from each other’s premises’ concept, which actually worked. I called her to come over, telling her I had the words and a possible rhythm to another new song, called “Why?”

She was there in less than ten minutes, I asked her to sit down in front of the piano and start a 50’s Motown backbeat. She did and I placed a piece of paper in front of her.

She glanced at this, asking “You ready for this, Richard?” and without my answer she went into one of those great musical setups that begs the singer to start to sing, so, I started to belt...

JIM “Why don’t I know
that she loves me?
Why don’t I know
that she cares?
Oh Oh, Why don’t I know
that she wanted to have kids?
And, why don’t I know
why she colors her hair?
And why don’t I know
that she loves...
Somebody else but me...”

“Wow, Rich!” she said as she took over the singing...

NORMA “Why don’t I know
that I love him?
Why don’t I know
why I care?
Oh-Oh, Why don’t I know
if he’ll come back to me?
Why don’t I know,
if I’ll be happier as a blonde?
Why don’t I know
why he’s going off to war?
He loves his country
more than me.”

Audrey just kept playing it over and over; we sang it a couple more times.

“I see Marilyn and her manager Johnny Hyde doing the number early in the Second Act; this same melody with a different set of lyrics,” I said.

“Have you written those yet?” she asked.

“No, maybe they’ll come to me on the toilet like these did?”

“These beautiful words were written ... while you were on the throne? Aaaaarrrrrggh, Richard! Even if true, don’t tell me any more stories like that, OK?”

“OK, sorry, we always told each other everything, thought you’d like to know, jeesh.”

“Let me take a stab at the Second Act Lyrics, Richie-poo?”

Did she just call me... ?

“You go ahead, you sing better than me, any way,” I said.

“Hey Rich sing, ‘Why, tell me why, ‘ under whatever comes out of my mouth, OK?”

“Like it already ... your mouth, I mean.”

“Sit down, you flirt you!”

So, she never stopped the base beat, which I’m singing now, using the words, “Why, tell my why?”

MARILYN “Why tell me why
you hate me?
Making you sing...
all by yourself
Why tell me why,
the notes, just fly by?
All the way – to the sky
we’ll get high – while I lie
Oh, Why-yy-yy-yy
tell me why?”

“Okay Richie boy – it’s your turn, open that brain up wide. ‘Why, tell me why, Why, tell me why’”...

JOHNNY “Why tell me why
they want me?
To sing ... and to dance
and to laugh...
Why tell me why
you just know that I cry?
I’ll deny – that I’m high
to the stars in the sky
Oh, Why-yy-yy...
tell me why?”

“Attaboy, pretty good, now this time through, we swap verses, Johnny goes first. I’ll try doing it as Marilyn so you can hear how it sounds,” she said.

We went through it again, and I’ll be damned, she sounded really good as Marilyn. But, we first needed to get it on paper. I went to my laptop, and she got out some more musical score paper. I had a small copier, so she could make more as needed. The last thing we needed was a reason to break our concentration.

Thirty minutes later, after making some corrections, and fixes, we had another completed song. I went over to Audrey, grabbed her hand and kissed it, like a gentleman of old.

“At this rate, Audrey, we might have a completed script and score in six more weeks. I don’t know how to thank you?” I said.

Since we were still in a clinch, we kissed and kissed some more. Damn!

We finally separated as I said, “Come back tomorrow, we could inspire each other again?”

Shaking her head, no, she said, “Richard, I’m not leaving here tonight, so I hope you’re ready to inspire me?”

I took first, a deep breath and then her hand; we walked into my bedroom. It had been over five years since I’d been with a woman, and Audrey Bradshaw was not who I expected my next girl to be.

After we had officially ‘Inspired one another, ‘ a couple of times, then we took a shower, and we were back to work having lots of fun writing music, she taught me how to read the key register on a piece of music. That always looked like a bunch of Latin letters put on the page to intimidate the singer.

We saw each other at least three times a week, to work on the show, and another two nights, to go out and relax from those three nights.

On one of those nights, we went out to a restaurant for dinner, a place known as something of a hangout for theatre people from all around the community. We ran into the director of the current show on at GUM, that is called THE DROWSY CHAPERONE. His name is Brent Simpson.

“Hi, Rich - Audrey, somebody told me that you two were a couple,” Brent said.

“It’s not like it’s a secret, we haven’t been hiding in dark corners, unless we’re afraid of running into a director or a producer wanting us to do something for him. We have a project we’re working on, the ‘Unnamed Musical;’ we might just keep that the title. I really like it, don’t you Audrey, honey?”

“Yeah, Rich, it’s easier that way, nobody knows what it’s about,” she said.

“Well, Richard; I have it on good authority that it’s a rousing musical about Marilyn Monroe,” Brent said with a cheesy smile.