The elevator was up.
“Mr. Hartman wants to see you.”
When I walked into Don’s office, he said, “I have a project I think you’re going to enjoy. Did you ever see The Lady Eve?”
Indeed, I had. It was a Preston Sturges movie starring Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda, about a card shark and his attractive daughter who fleece a naive millionaire during a transatlantic cruise. Complications begin when the daughter falls in love with the victim.
“We’re going to remake it with George Gobel,” Don said, “and call it The Birds and the Bees.”
George Gobel was a young comedian who had had a meteoric rise in television, using a low-key, self-effacing style. Norman Taurog was to direct.
The adaptation of Preston Sturges’s screenplay went quickly. David Niven, a charming and amusing man, was signed for the part of the father and Mitzi Gaynor for the daughter, and the picture went into production.
In the middle of shooting, Don called me into his office. “I just bought Anything Goes,” he said. “I want you to write the screenplay.”
It was a smash Broadway musical, with music and lyrics by Cole Porter, and a libretto by P. G. Wodehouse and my former collaborator Guy Bolton.
The score was one of Cole Porter’s best. The problem was the libretto. The story involved a group of people who came in contact with public enemy number thirteen, who had slipped onto the ship to avoid the FBI. I felt that the libretto was old-fashioned and unworkable for a movie, and I told that to Don.
He nodded. “That’s what you’re here for. Make it work.”
I came up with a new story line about two partners who were producing a Broadway play. Each partner, unbeknownst to the other, had met an actress and promised her the starring role in their new production. I showed my outline to Don.
He nodded his approval. “Fine. This will work great with our cast.”
“Who’s our cast?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Bing Crosby, Donald O’Connor, Mitzi Gaynor, and a beautiful ballet dancer named Zizi Jeanmaire. She’s married to our choreographer, Roland Petit.”
Bing Crosby! A whole generation had grown up listening to his songs.
Bing Crosby had started out with a singing group and when he was too drunk to show up for a broadcast one night, he was banned from the airwaves. That should have been enough to finish any singer’s career, but Bing Crosby was not just any singer. He had an inimitable style that captured people’s approval. He was given a second chance and he shot to the top. Before his career was over he had sold more than four hundred million records, and had made one hundred eighty-three films.
I went to his dressing room to meet him. Bing was charm itself, friendly and easygoing, with a relaxed, laid-back manner.
“I’m glad we’re going to be working together,” he told me. He had no idea how glad I was. It was a dream come true.
The shooting of my script, Anything Goes, went smoothly. Roland Petit was a world-famous choreographer and Zizi Jeanmaire did full justice to his work. Donald O’Connor was incredibly talented. It seemed to me that he could do anything, and he and Crosby complemented each other very well.
The production went off without a hitch. When it opened, everyone was happy with the movie, including the critics.
It was not until years later that Bing Crosby’s dark side was revealed. His first wife, Dixie, who was dying of ovarian cancer, told friends that Bing neglected her. After she passed away, Bing became a single dad, and a strict disciplinarian. Two of his sons, Lindsay and Dennis, committed suicide.
While I was working on Anything Goes, Jorja was at Twentieth-Century-Fox, co-starring with William Holden and Jennifer Jones in Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing. Shortly after Jorja started the picture, she said to me, “I have some news for you.”
“About the picture?”
“No, it’s about us. I’m pregnant.”
The two most exciting words in the English language.
I grinned like an idiot, hugged her, and then quickly backed away. I didn’t want to hurt our baby.
“What are you going to do about the movie?” I asked. Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing was in the middle of production.