Hello, Gorgeous: Becoming Barbra Streisand by William J. Mann Page A
Authors: William J. Mann
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being “chauffeured around”the city. But for now, Barbra hauled her bags herself across the stifling subway platform then up the grimy steps to Sheridan Square.
By now, the concierge of Barré’s building knew her; the guy who ran the elevator greeted her by name. Since returning to Manhattanfrom her two-week run in
The Boy Friend
, Barbra had been living with Barré. His friends now officially considered them a couple. The only person who didn’t know they were together was Barbra’s mother, who thought Barbra was living with a girlfriend. But Cis was pleased to see Barbra looking and acting so happy for a change, even if, as was Barbra’s custom, she kept most of her friends separate from each other. Barré had met Cis only once, briefly at the Lion, despite Barbra’s describing her as her “best friend.”
The Boy Friend
had enjoyed a good run. Audiences had applauded heartily for Barbra as Hortense, even if one of the other members of the company had quipped that if Hortense’s accent was French, it was “French from the moon.”Hortense had one number in the show, “Nicer in Nice,” which everyone agreed Barbra sang humorously and energetically. But in her spare time she could be heard out back practicing “A Sleepin’ Bee.” She’d come to understand that the Bon Soir gig was vitally important. Barré might pontificate about her voice being her ticket to fame, but Barbra saw other reasons to anticipate her appearance at the Bon Soir. She knew that some of the city’s most influential columnists were likely to be in the audience. A blurb from one of them would be extremely helpful in getting casting directors to take her seriously for parts on Broadway.
She’d had fun playing Hortense—she was an actress, after all, and needed to act—but Barbra was glad to be back in the city, gladder still to be back with Barré, hunkered down in their intimate little practice sessions. Barbra loved Barré’s apartment,loved calling it home even more. Even if she could have decorated it herself, she wouldn’t have changed a thing. The place evoked a nostalgia for past decades, especially the Gay Nineties and the Roaring Twenties. Theatrical posters hung on the walls; a ventriloquist’s dummy was propped in a corner. Bookshelves were crammed full with old volumes and record albums, ornamented with fans and feathers. In the evenings, Tiffany lamps cast a soft amber glow over everything. Sitting cross-legged on the slipcovered Victorian couch, happily ensconced among Art Nouveau and Art Deco, Barbra seemed more at home here than she ever had anywhere else.
The summer was rapidly drawing to a close. More sunshine than people filled the Village streets, the usual throngs having decamped to Jones Beach or Fire Island for the long Labor Day weekend. But for Barbra and Barré, there was no such holiday. Less than a week stretched between them and Barbra’s opening at the Bon Soir. As they settled down in their living room for some last-minute polishing, they both hoped Barbra hadn’t forgotten too much during her two-week sojourn in Fishkill. Setting the needle down on the phonograph, Barré began singing the words to a song they’d been practicing almost nonstop since Barbra had returned, “Lover, Come Back to Me.” It was a Sigmund Romberg ballad from the operetta
The New Moon,
the same show from which Diana had chosen “One Kiss” when she and Barbra had made their records at the Nola Recording Studio. The words to “Lover, Come Back to Me” were simple, but one line had continually given Barbra trouble, leaving her tongue-tied: “When I remember every little thing you used to do . . .”
Maybe it was the idea of remembering things that tripped her up. Barbra rarely looked back and kept her eyes securely on the future. Whatever it was, the line always stopped her cold, and she developed what Barré called a “psychological block.” She insisted that she wanted to scrap the song from the act, but
By now, the concierge of Barré’s building knew her; the guy who ran the elevator greeted her by name. Since returning to Manhattanfrom her two-week run in
The Boy Friend
, Barbra had been living with Barré. His friends now officially considered them a couple. The only person who didn’t know they were together was Barbra’s mother, who thought Barbra was living with a girlfriend. But Cis was pleased to see Barbra looking and acting so happy for a change, even if, as was Barbra’s custom, she kept most of her friends separate from each other. Barré had met Cis only once, briefly at the Lion, despite Barbra’s describing her as her “best friend.”
The Boy Friend
had enjoyed a good run. Audiences had applauded heartily for Barbra as Hortense, even if one of the other members of the company had quipped that if Hortense’s accent was French, it was “French from the moon.”Hortense had one number in the show, “Nicer in Nice,” which everyone agreed Barbra sang humorously and energetically. But in her spare time she could be heard out back practicing “A Sleepin’ Bee.” She’d come to understand that the Bon Soir gig was vitally important. Barré might pontificate about her voice being her ticket to fame, but Barbra saw other reasons to anticipate her appearance at the Bon Soir. She knew that some of the city’s most influential columnists were likely to be in the audience. A blurb from one of them would be extremely helpful in getting casting directors to take her seriously for parts on Broadway.
She’d had fun playing Hortense—she was an actress, after all, and needed to act—but Barbra was glad to be back in the city, gladder still to be back with Barré, hunkered down in their intimate little practice sessions. Barbra loved Barré’s apartment,loved calling it home even more. Even if she could have decorated it herself, she wouldn’t have changed a thing. The place evoked a nostalgia for past decades, especially the Gay Nineties and the Roaring Twenties. Theatrical posters hung on the walls; a ventriloquist’s dummy was propped in a corner. Bookshelves were crammed full with old volumes and record albums, ornamented with fans and feathers. In the evenings, Tiffany lamps cast a soft amber glow over everything. Sitting cross-legged on the slipcovered Victorian couch, happily ensconced among Art Nouveau and Art Deco, Barbra seemed more at home here than she ever had anywhere else.
The summer was rapidly drawing to a close. More sunshine than people filled the Village streets, the usual throngs having decamped to Jones Beach or Fire Island for the long Labor Day weekend. But for Barbra and Barré, there was no such holiday. Less than a week stretched between them and Barbra’s opening at the Bon Soir. As they settled down in their living room for some last-minute polishing, they both hoped Barbra hadn’t forgotten too much during her two-week sojourn in Fishkill. Setting the needle down on the phonograph, Barré began singing the words to a song they’d been practicing almost nonstop since Barbra had returned, “Lover, Come Back to Me.” It was a Sigmund Romberg ballad from the operetta
The New Moon,
the same show from which Diana had chosen “One Kiss” when she and Barbra had made their records at the Nola Recording Studio. The words to “Lover, Come Back to Me” were simple, but one line had continually given Barbra trouble, leaving her tongue-tied: “When I remember every little thing you used to do . . .”
Maybe it was the idea of remembering things that tripped her up. Barbra rarely looked back and kept her eyes securely on the future. Whatever it was, the line always stopped her cold, and she developed what Barré called a “psychological block.” She insisted that she wanted to scrap the song from the act, but
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