The Other Side of Me by Sidney Sheldon

One evening when Ben and I were writing, I dropped a pen and as I bent down to pick it up, my disc slipped out, and I fell to the floor in agony, unable to move. Ben called for an ambulance and I spent the next three days in a hospital. Bad timing. We had a lot of work to do.

When I got out of the hospital, we started again, and finished the libretto.

Dorothy, Ben, and I sat in the theater watching the rehearsals, which were breathtaking. On the stage was a dazzling array of colorful costumes, beautiful backgrounds, and the exquisite dancing of Vera Zorina.

The romantic scenes between Vera Zorina and Ronald Graham, our leading man, played well. Richard Kollmar watched the dress rehearsal and said, “We’re ready.”

Natalie and Marty had come to New York for opening night. We all sat near the front of the theater, in the house seats. The theater had filled quickly. Through some mysterious alchemy, theatergoers always know when they are about to see the opening of a hit show. There is an excited, knowing buzz in the audience. Ben and I looked across at each other and smiled. Three hits in a row.

The orchestra began the overture, filling the theater with the bright, melodic music of Clay Warnick and Edward Eager. The show had begun.

Stewart Chaney had arranged for an enormous silk pink bow to be sewn on the outside of the house curtain.

The overture was over and the house curtain began to rise. We could feel the anticipation of the audience. The curtain was halfway up, when the beautiful pink bow caught on a beam, loudly ripped off, and slammed into the orchestra pit. The audience gasped. What none of us knew at that moment was that that was going to be the best thing to happen that evening.

Dream with Music consisted of two acts and thirteen scenes, and the first scene opened with a dozen beautifully costumed African-American showgirls, nude from the waist up, gaily walking on the huge treadmill. But moments after the scene began, the treadmill started to speed up, and the girls began tumbling to the stage floor, one by one. The audience looked on, unbelievingly.

That was just the beginning. Things were about to get worse.

Vera Zorina, one of the most acclaimed ballerinas in the world, who had danced at the rehearsal perfectly, began her ballet, and halfway through it, in the middle of a jeté, she slipped and fell, sprawled out on the stage floor. The audience was watching in horror. Ben and I were sinking in our seats. But the fates had not finished with us.

Two scenes later, Vera Zorina and Ronald Graham, in gorgeous period costumes, came out and walked to center stage, to play their love scene, in soft moonlight, with beautiful forest scenery behind them. They began speaking the tender words that Dorothy and Ben and I had written. The scene was going well and the audience was listening intently.

Suddenly, every light in the theater blacked out. The audience and the actors were plunged into total darkness. Zorina and Graham stood on the stage, not sure what to do. They began haltingly trying to continue with the dialogue, and then stopped in confusion, wondering whether to go ahead, or wait for the lights to come back on.

At that moment, out from the wings came the stage manager in rolled-up shirtsleeves, carrying a flashlight. He ran to the center of the stage and held the flashlight over the heads of the two lovers. It was so incongruous to see the contrast of the two beautifully costumed stars with the man in shirtsleeves holding a flashlight over their heads that the audience began to giggle. The actors bravely started to go on with the love scene. And suddenly every light in the theater blazed on.

That night was probably the most disastrous opening in the history of Broadway. There was no celebration at Sardi’s. Natalie, Marty, Ben, and I went to a quiet restaurant, stoically waiting for the reviews.

A few of the critics tried to be kind.

“What conscientious fuse wouldn’t blow itself out over the responsibility of lighting Dream with Music . . .”