As she began to read the program's fun for the night entertainment, and my involvement in it, my lips began to twitch.
What happened that night wasn't funny, but what I found other afterwards really was.
The show was a Broadway review type thing, with different small acts or songs. The duet that I was involved in was the song "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" a Streisand/Diamond combo, extremely popular at that time.
My singing buddy was (and probably still is) a wonderful singer. He has one of those old Irish tenor voices that make you want to close your eyes and smile.
We were partnered together many times, because a: I am a soprano and b: we are both tall, he more so than me. It's a no no for the female to loom over the male unless you are doing some kind of spoof.
Of course we had practiced this song, and had a little act to go with it. Those of you who remember the song knows that it is a lament about a couple who have lost romance in their relationship, hence, 'you don't bring me flowers anymore:
You don't bring me flowers
You don't sing me love songs
You hardly talk to me anymore
When you come through the door
At the end of the day
I remember when
You couldn't wait to love me
Used to hate to leave me
Now after lovin' me late at night
When it's good for you
And you're feelin' alright
Well you just roll over
And turn out the light
And you don't bring me flowers anymore
It used to be so natural
To talk about forever
But "used to be's" don't count anymore
They just lay on the floor
'Til we sweep them away
And baby, I remember
All the things you taught me
I learned how to laugh
And I learned how to cry
Well I learned how to love
Even learned how to lie
You'd think I could learn
How to tell you goodbye
'Cause you don't bring me flowers anymore
I mean, ain't that pitiful?
The skit: we were getting ready for some kind of formal dinner, and he came grumping in as I was putting on the finishing touches of my make-up, being gruff and hateful, wiping the smile off my face.
I turned to him and said something to the effect that used to, he wouldn't have come fussing on me, but bringing me flowers.
Then, just like in the movies, I burst into song instead of tears.
But toward the end, as we are facing each other, he takes a step closer to me, and I to him, the song ends with us singing the last line together, my hands on his chest, staring into each others eyes.
Sigh.
The music faded and stopped, and we stood frozen, waiting for the applause.
Which didn't come.
Our eyes widened as we looked at each other. My lord, were we that bad?
Then suddenly the room burst into applause, people leaping to their feet, the women wiping their eyes.
Whew. We were good, after all.
Of course, I couldn't wait to see the video of the song later. We always made sure all our productions were taped, and cast could purchase a copy if they wished.
The couple who directed this production got to see it first, and usually watched it as soon as they got home, looking for rough spots, issues that maybe could be dealt with before another show.
She called me the next morning, and she was laughing so hard I could barely understand her.
Seems that the young guy who filmed was very serious about his, uh, work.
Every time I sang, he would focus on my face, then the camera would slowly slide down to my form fitting dressed bosom, occasionally zipping back up to my face with warp speed, then slowly sliding back down.
He didn't seem to have a problem with the camera staying on my male partner's face when he sang.
I guess I was 'twice' as popular as planned.
And that's all I'll say about that!
They chastised him, of course, and decided not to release the video to the cast as it was a bit embarrassing.
I never did get to see the film, although I wanted to.
It isn't often you get double billing.
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