concert in Barré’s apartment. Carole Gister and the rest of the UCLA contingent were stunned. The song on Barbra’s lips was “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” from the Disney cartoon
The Three Little Pigs.
It had started as a joke. One day while rehearsing for the Bon Soir audition, Barbra had said she “wanted to do somethingcompletely wrong” and out of place for the “sophisticated, posh little nightclub.” Sophistication “annoyed” her, she told Barré. She felt like going in there and singing “a nursery rhyme or something.”
A bell went off in Barré’s head. He knew part of the reason Sgroi Jr. had recommended Barbra to his father was her irreverent style. So he located the sheet music for “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” in an old record shop, brought it home, and was stunned by how “double-entendre” the lyrics were. Barbra would sing them just as they were written, he decided, but with a little of her own razzmatazz.
That razzmatazz was evident from the moment she stepped onto the stage the night of her surprise tryout at the Bon Soir. As soon as the spotlight was on her, Barbra removed the gum she’d been chewing and stuck it on the microphone. It was something she often did during practice, and both Barré and Bob had suggested she keep it in the act. As they predicted, the audience howled with laughter. Barbra would tell people she’d forgotten the gum was in her mouth, but that, too, was part of the act, part of the saucy, impertinent stage persona they were developing. So when she capped her set with her sexy rendition of “Big Bad Wolf,” the cheers went through the roof. “Kid, you are goingto be a very great star,” headliner Larry Storch told Barbra. Right on the spot, Sgroi hired her for a two-week run starting September 9 at $108 a week.
For the crowd in Barré’s apartment, “Big Bad Wolf” went over just as well. Barbra bounded throughout the living room, looking into the faces of each person present, trilling lots of tra-la-las and rolling her r’s. “Forrrr the big bad, very big, very bad wolf, they did not give three figs!” Her voice was full and rich and utterly confident. But after she was finished and her friends all applauded, she covered her face with her hands and blushed a deep scarlet.
She was uncomfortable with their acclaim. Singing just came too damn easy. “It just seemsthe right sounds come out of me in the right way,” she said. Barré thought singing came so effortlessly for her that Barbra “didn’t consider it valuable.” At the end of the night, as people filed out of the apartment praising her voice as a “gift from God,” Barbra’s attitude in response was “Well, yeah, but that’s not what’s important.” Her voice wasn’t anything that she had worked on or studied for. To become an actress, she’d worked very, very hard, harder than she’d ever worked for anything else. But when she sang, Barré said, it was as if she were “on automatic pilot.”
He remained convinced her voice was her ticket to the top, however, and he tried to persuade her of the same. She wanted to be successful, didn’t she? She wanted to find a way to beat all those agents who wouldn’t take her on at their own game, didn’t she? She wanted the whole world to know who she was, didn’t she?
Barré pulled her close to him on the couch and kissed her forehead. “When you make your first record, promise you’ll let me produce it.” She nodded against his chest. “Promise?” he asked again, lifting her chin so he could look her in the eyes.
She returned his smile. “Cross my heart,” she said.
6.
Transistor radios all over the city were blaring the summer’s number one hit “Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” as Barbra lugged the last of her stuff out of Fifty-fourth Street and downtown to Barré’s via the hot and sweaty subway. Likely this was one of the times she dreamed about a future as a successful actress
The Three Little Pigs.
It had started as a joke. One day while rehearsing for the Bon Soir audition, Barbra had said she “wanted to do somethingcompletely wrong” and out of place for the “sophisticated, posh little nightclub.” Sophistication “annoyed” her, she told Barré. She felt like going in there and singing “a nursery rhyme or something.”
A bell went off in Barré’s head. He knew part of the reason Sgroi Jr. had recommended Barbra to his father was her irreverent style. So he located the sheet music for “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” in an old record shop, brought it home, and was stunned by how “double-entendre” the lyrics were. Barbra would sing them just as they were written, he decided, but with a little of her own razzmatazz.
That razzmatazz was evident from the moment she stepped onto the stage the night of her surprise tryout at the Bon Soir. As soon as the spotlight was on her, Barbra removed the gum she’d been chewing and stuck it on the microphone. It was something she often did during practice, and both Barré and Bob had suggested she keep it in the act. As they predicted, the audience howled with laughter. Barbra would tell people she’d forgotten the gum was in her mouth, but that, too, was part of the act, part of the saucy, impertinent stage persona they were developing. So when she capped her set with her sexy rendition of “Big Bad Wolf,” the cheers went through the roof. “Kid, you are goingto be a very great star,” headliner Larry Storch told Barbra. Right on the spot, Sgroi hired her for a two-week run starting September 9 at $108 a week.
For the crowd in Barré’s apartment, “Big Bad Wolf” went over just as well. Barbra bounded throughout the living room, looking into the faces of each person present, trilling lots of tra-la-las and rolling her r’s. “Forrrr the big bad, very big, very bad wolf, they did not give three figs!” Her voice was full and rich and utterly confident. But after she was finished and her friends all applauded, she covered her face with her hands and blushed a deep scarlet.
She was uncomfortable with their acclaim. Singing just came too damn easy. “It just seemsthe right sounds come out of me in the right way,” she said. Barré thought singing came so effortlessly for her that Barbra “didn’t consider it valuable.” At the end of the night, as people filed out of the apartment praising her voice as a “gift from God,” Barbra’s attitude in response was “Well, yeah, but that’s not what’s important.” Her voice wasn’t anything that she had worked on or studied for. To become an actress, she’d worked very, very hard, harder than she’d ever worked for anything else. But when she sang, Barré said, it was as if she were “on automatic pilot.”
He remained convinced her voice was her ticket to the top, however, and he tried to persuade her of the same. She wanted to be successful, didn’t she? She wanted to find a way to beat all those agents who wouldn’t take her on at their own game, didn’t she? She wanted the whole world to know who she was, didn’t she?
Barré pulled her close to him on the couch and kissed her forehead. “When you make your first record, promise you’ll let me produce it.” She nodded against his chest. “Promise?” he asked again, lifting her chin so he could look her in the eyes.
She returned his smile. “Cross my heart,” she said.
6.
Transistor radios all over the city were blaring the summer’s number one hit “Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” as Barbra lugged the last of her stuff out of Fifty-fourth Street and downtown to Barré’s via the hot and sweaty subway. Likely this was one of the times she dreamed about a future as a successful actress
Similar Books
