Til the Real Thing Comes Along Read online

  YOU’LL ALWAYS HAVE A GOOD TIME READING IRIS RAINER DART!

  ’TIL THE REAL THING COMES ALONG

  “The characters are romantic and lively and the plot moves along with engaging force…. She understands people and that’s Dart’s strong point as an author. $he takes us into their emotions and makes us understand them, mainly because they make the same mistakes and have the same dreams as the readers.”

  —Ocala Star-Banner

  “Iris gives you her world in her voice. The behind-the-scenes of ;i comedy star show, the survival of writers who are used to big salaries, the male-dominated suites of the networks…. [She can] make you laugh, cry, and think.”

  —California Jewish Press

  “Dart, the author of Beaches, writes with…humor and compassion.”

  —Cleveland Plain Dealer on Tbe, Stork Club

  “If Iris Rainer Dart were a performer instead of a writer, she’d almost certainly be Bette Midler…Midler’s brash style is Dart’s fiction made flesh.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  Books by Iris Rainer Dart

  ’Til the Real Thing Comes Along

  Beaches

  The Stork Club

  Beaches II: I’ll Be There

  Show Business Kills

  Copyright

  Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint lyrics from the following songs: “CANT TAKE MY EYES OFF OF YOU” By Bob Crewe and Bob Gaudio. Copyright © 1967 Saturday Music, Inc. & Seasons Four Music. Used by permission only. All rights reserved. “I’M GLAD THERE IS YOU (IN THIS WORLD OF ORDINARY PEOPLE)” by Paul Madeira and Jimmy Dorsey. Copyright 1941,1942 MORLEY MUSIC CO. Copyright © renewed 1969, 1970 MORLEY MUSIC CO. International copyright secured. All rights reserved. Used by permission “IT’S ALL IN THE GAME” (Dawes-Sigman). Copyright 1912 and 1951 renewed and terminated and assigned to Larry Spier, Inc. and Major Songs Co. Reprinted with permission of The Copyright Owners. “WHEN YOU WORE A TULIP (AND I WORE A BIG RED ROSE),” words by Jack Mahoney, Music by Percy Wenrich. Copyright 1914, renewed 1942 LEO FEIST, INC. Rights assigned to CBS CATALOG PARTNERSHIP. All rights controlled & administerd by CBS FEIST CATALOG INC. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission. “THEY ALL LAUGHED” by George and Ira Gershwin. Copyright 1937 by Gershwin Publishing Corp. Copyright renewed, assigned to CHAPPELL & CO. INC. International copyright secred. All rights reserved. Used by permission. “SMALL WORLD, ISN’T IT?” by Stephen Sondheim & Julie Styne. Copyright © 1959 and 1960 by Norbeth Productions & Stephen Sondheim Williamson Music Co., and Stratford Music, Owner of publication and allied rights throughout the world. CHAPPELL & CO. Sole selling agent. International copyright secured. All rights reserved. Used by permission. “GETTING TO KNOW YOU” by Richard Rodgers & Oscar Hammerstein IL. Copyright 1951 by Richard Rodgers & Oscar Hammerstein IL Copyright renewed, Williamson Music Co., owner of publication and allied rights throughout the Western Hemisphere and Japan. International copyright secured. All rights reserved. Used by permission “RHINESTONE COWBOY” (Larry Weiss). Copyright © 1974 WB MUSIC CORP and HOUSE OF WEISS MUSIC. All rights reserved. Used by permission. “YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO YOUNG” (Joseph Myrow and Mack Gordon). Copyright 1946 WB MUSIC CORP. (Renewed). All rights reserved. Used by permission. “I’M FOREVER BLOWING BUBBLES” (John William Kellette and Jean Kenbbrovin) Copyright 1919 WARNER BROS. INC. (Renewed). All rights reserved. Used by permission. “ON THE BOARDWALK IN ATLANTIC CITY” (Joseph Myrow and Mack Gordon). Copyright 1946 WB MUSIC CORP. (Renewed). All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  WARNER BOOKS EDITION

  Copyright © 1987 by Iris Rainer Dart

  All rights reserved.

  This Warner Books Edition is published by arrangement with the author.

  Warner Books, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: October 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56761-9

  This book is dedicated to the memory of

  my parents, Rose and Harry Ratner.

  and

  to my blessings, my son and daughter,

  and

  to Stephen Dart,

  my knight in shining armor

  Prairie Hili Books

  6508 Old Independence Rd.

  Brenham, TX 77833-6634

  (979) 836-9226

  [email protected]

  www.prairiehillbooks.com

  THANK-YOUS

  Barry Adelman

  Doctor Howard Allen

  Sylvia Angel

  Ann Beckett

  Mary Blann

  Hank Bradford

  Francois R. Brenot

  Joyce Brotman

  Ethel Eisner

  Sandy Ferguson

  Joe Mansfield

  Elaine Markson

  Doctor Alfred Pasternak

  Fanny and Benny Rabinowitz

  Elliot Ratner

  Joe Singer

  Meg Sivitz

  Susan Sivitz

  and a special thank-you to my

  editor, Linda Grey, for the confidence,

  enthusiasm, and support she’s given

  me since the very first day.

  Contents

  Books by Iris Rainer Dart

  Copyright

  THANK-YOUS

  BOOK ONE: R.J.

  BOOK TWO: DAVEYAND ROSIE JANE

  DAVEY’S STORY

  ROSIE JANE’S STORY

  DAVEY’S STORY

  ROSIE’S STORY

  DAVEY’S STORY

  R.J.’S STORY

  BOOK THREE: R.J.

  BOOK FOUR: DAVEY AND ROSDE JANE

  DAVID’S STORY

  ROSIE’S STORY

  DAVID’S STORY

  R.J.’S STORY

  DAVID’S STORY

  BOOK FIVE: R.J. and David

  BOOK ONE

  R.J.

  1979-1981

  It was three o’clock in the morning and a thick gray cloud of cigar smoke hung in the air over the conference table. R.J. took another sip of coffee from a white mug that had the words THE BROAD printed boldly in red on the side, then held the mug next to her cheek, hoping the heat would soothe her pounding headache.

  “Patsy’s gotta say it right out on the air,” Harry Elfand announced. “‘My husband left me for a younger woman.’ America is gonna love her for tellin’ the truth, so let’s run with it.”

  “How young is the other woman?” Eddie Levy asked, knowing the other writers would rise to the bait.

  “She’s so young, when he takes her out to dinner he has to cut her meat,” Marty Nussbaum offered.

  “He has to strain the food.”

  “He comes home with pablum on his breath.”

  “The only social disease he worries about is diaper rash.”

  The voices of the writers were strained with exhaustion.

  “You’re makin’ the girlfriend too young,” Harry Elfand said. Then he absently put a lit match to the cigar he was chewing, even though the cigar was already lit.

  R.J. wriggled her toes inside her boots. She would never get through another hour of this. She was freezing and sleepy. A younger woman. What’s funny about a younger woman? she thought.

  “Everyone reads the Enquirer. We’ve gotta make Patsy come out smelling like a rose. She caught her old man cheating. The girlfriend’s eighteen. Patsy’s thirty-six.”

  “How’d Patsy catch him?” Eddie Levy asked.

  R.J. put her cup down on the table and answered in a sleepy voice. “She found Clearasil on his collar.”

  “That’s funny,” someone muttered very quietly.

  “Good one,” Harry Elfand said to R.J. “Stay with it.”

  “Freddy’s so cheap, he’ll marry the girl ’cause he can get her into the movies for half price,” R.J. said. She was so punchy that she laughed a sharp little laugh out loud at that one. No one else even cracked a smile.

  “Okay, two jokes about the girl is enough,” Harry Elfand said, turning to face R.J. “Now gimme one about why he left Patsy.”

  Why he left Patsy. Why he left Patsy? Because she was…

  “Boss, I got a great idea,” Marty Nussbaum said. “Since R.J. is on a roll, why don’t we all go home and let her stay here and finish it?”

  “Because it’s gotta be done by nine this morning,” Harry Elfand answered, tapping his cigar out—which usually meant he was considering ending the meeting.

  “I’ll come in at seven,” R.J. said, knowing it was the only answer that could get all of them out of there and to their respective homes to sleep, even for a few hours. She stood, hoping Harry Elfand would take a cue from her. As she did, she could feel the stiffness in her neck and back and legs.

  Someone sang a few bars of “Thank Heaven for Little Girls,” and all the men stood too.

  “Well, if you ask me, writing for television is a hell of a way to make a living,” Marty Nussbaum said. It was what he always said when a meeting ended at this hour.

  “You call this living?” everyone muttered. It was what they always muttered as they searched for their car keys and made their way out the door. When they were all in the hallway, moving, shuffling toward the elevator, too tired to talk—which for them was very tired—R.J. switched off the lights in the conference room, closed the door, and turned to join them.

  OPENING MONOLOGUE

 
(TIM CONWAY, BETTE MIDLER, RAY CHARLES)

  MUSIC: PATSY OPENING THEME

  FROM BLACK, THE PATSY SUNSHINE HOUR LOGO

  MOVES FORWARD AND FREEZES WHEN IT PILLS FRAME.

  ANNOUNCER (VOICE OVER)

  From Hollywood… it’s the Patsy Dugan

  Sunshine Howr!!!!

  IMAGES OF PATSY EXPLODE ALL OVER FRAME. DOZENS OF SHOTS PER MINUTE. LAST SHOT GOES TO BLACK.

  ANNOUNCER (V.0.)

  …And now, ladies and gentlemen, the rhinestone cowgirl herself… Patsy Dugan!!!

  PATSY (SINGING V.O.)

  LIKE A RHINESTONE COWGIRL

  RIDING OUT ON A HORSE

  IN A STAR-SPANGLED RODEO.

  DISSOLVE TO: PATSY LIVE

  PATSY

  Howdy, everybody.

  AUDIENCE (0.S.)

  Howdy, Patsy!!!

  PATSY

  Well, if y’all have been readin’ the papers I guess y’all know by now that my husband Freddy who used ta be on the show with me has left me for a woman half my age. Now, ain’t that the pits? Only thing worse was the way I figured out he was cheatin’. (BEAT) I found Clearasil on his collar. And ya know how cheap Freddy is. He’ll probably many the gal on accounta he can get her into the movies for half price. Ain’t it just awful? Freddy told The National Enquirer he left me ’cause I was dumb. Now ya see, that’s where me and him are different. I would never use name-callin’ in the press against that two-timin’, lowlife, redneck piece of trash.

  He also told everybody I was a lousy housekeeper. But I proved he was wrong about that. After the divorce I’m keepin’ the house in Beverly Hills, the house in Malibu, and the house in Hawaii. Hey, who needs him anyway? There are still some men around who think that I’m a cute young chick. ’Course, most of ’em are in nursing homes and institutions. I’m jokin’ because I want y’all to know that I am not one bit bitter about this situation. I have me a very positive attitude about my future. As soon as I can, I’m gonna start goin’ on dates and meetin’ people, because I believe it’s possible to go out there and find a man. After all, that young gal found mine!!!

  I’m real glad y’all are here ta keep me company tonight. We’re gonna have us a real good time. My special guests are Tim Conway…

  APPLAUSE

  The fabulous Ray Charles…

  APPLAUSE

  And my good friend, the Divine One, Bette Midler.

  APPLAUSE

  So stay tuned, hear? We’re comin’ right back, with Patsy’s Sunshine Hour.

  MUSIC: RHINESTONE COWGIRL

  PATSY (SINGS)

  THERE’S BEEN A LOAD OF COMPROMISIN’

  ON THE ROAD TO MY HORIZON

  BUT I’M GONNA BE WHERE THE LIGHTS

  ARE SHININ’ ON ME.

  LIKE A RHINESTONE COWGIRL…

  MUSIC: OUT

  DISSOLVE TO BLACK.

  Michael had a whole routine that he did with a cigarette. First he’d light one, take a few long drags, and exhale volumes of smoke through his mouth and nose, and, R.J. was sure, sometimes a few bursts even came out of his ears. Then he’d make a kind of nest in the crook of his hand, where he’d cradle the cigarette while he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and stare at the glowing end. Then he’d blow on the lit end, which would make the orange part look even brighter, and tiny ashes would fly all around his face. After that, he’d take another few drags, let out more raging smoke, and look at the cigarette with distaste, as if he was sorry he’d ever started smoking it in the first place. So he’d smash out what was left of it wherever he happened to be at the time. He’d smash it into a telephone pole if he was walking down the street. He’d smash it into the bricks of someone’s pool deck if his host had neglected to provide him with an ashtray. Or—and this was the one that made R.J. cringe—he’d smash it into his half-full drinking glass at a party. At the moment, R.J. was watching him smash the remains of the most recently smoked cigarette into the freshly mowed lawn of the Four Oaks School, not six feet from the sign that said SMOKING FORBIDDEN ANYWHERE ON CAMPUS.

  It wasn’t that Michael hadn’t seen the sign. It was that he just didn’t care. He was nervous. Very nervous. R.J. had seen him nervous before, but never this bad. Maybe the loud music and all the kids running and squealing were upsetting to him. Probably he’d never been around this many kids at once. Never at a school fair. But that was all part of what he’d have to get used to, now that he was going to be Jeffie’s stepfather in a few days. Five days.

  R.J. felt queasy. Probably she was just worried that the wedding plans could go awry. Nothing serious. Michael was lying on his stomach on the grass now. He had a new cigarette going, and he was doing the part where he blew on the lit end. R.J. looked at his carefully combed prematurely silver hair and his perfectly manicured nails, and the queasy bubble in her stomach felt as if it were growing from Ping-Pong ball to tennis ball size. She glanced across the lawn to see if there was a line waiting to get into the ladies’ bathroom, actually the girls’ locker room. There was. When she looked back at Michael, and saw his contorted face, at first she thought it must be a joke he was playing… but no. This wasn’t funny. He was sobbing. Silently. His cheeks and the backs of his ears were bright red, and his body was shaking with the effort of holding in what, if he hadn’t contained them, would be mighty cries.

  “Michael.”

  He couldn’t answer.

  “Michael, my God, are you okay?” Maybe she should get him out of there before the children saw him, or before he let go and the children heard him. Her eyes scanned the fairground trying to spot Jeffie. Fifth-grade boys. There were so many of them, and almost all of them were wearing the same red school sweat shirt. It was impossible from this distance to pick out her own son from the rest.

  “Michael, let’s get you to the car,” she said, “and I’ll ask one of the other mothers to look after Jeffie. Michael,” she said again, touching his shoulder. “Please.”

  “I can’t,” he said, moving his shoulder away from her touch.

  “Of course you can,” she said in a voice she often used to encourage Jeffie. “The parking lot is just across the street”

  “I mean”—he narrowed his puffy red tear-filled eyes—“that I can’t marry you.”

  The queasiness bubble was now a medicine ball that filled R.J. from her throat to her groin. She looked back toward the ladies’ room, positive that she would have to run over there any second, push all those other people out of the way, scream “emergency,” and lock herself into a cubicle and throw up. Instead she took a deep breath and said, “That’s fine. Now let’s go.” She stood and helped Michael, who was still trembling, to his feet.

  She took him back to her house after asking Harriet Wallace, another fifth-grade mother, to promise to locate and look after Jeffie. Now she sat in her living room across from Michael, who was blowing on the ash of the current cigarette nested in his hand. In front of him on the coffee table, an ashtray was already filled with the gold filter butts of several recently completed Dunhills.

  “This is going to break my mother’s heart,” he said quietly. “She’s not going to believe it when I tell her I couldn’t do it. I’m a forty-year-old man, for Christ’s sake. You’d think by now I could settle down. But I still can’t make a commitment to one woman.” His voice broke in a way that R.J. thought sounded as if it had been rehearsed. “It isn’t you. You’re a hell of a gal. I mean, you must be if I thought I could marry you. Look how close we came. Christ, we had blood tests. We had wedding rings,” he whined, as if she didn’t know. “I never came this close with anyone. But I can’t… I…” He burst into tears and threw himself at R.J., put his arms around her, and buried his wet face in her neck.