Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

How Do You Get to Carnegie Hall?

New York City

1976

Gerry did not give up, and Dena continued to break date after date. A few times she had said yes and cancelled at the last minute until he finally managed to pin her down for a definite commitment. He had invited her to a concert at Carnegie Hall, and said, rather insistently, uncharacteristically, before he hung up: “Dena, promise me you won’t back out at the last minute. These tickets were almost impossible to come by. Please, give me your word.”

“Listen, Gerry, you better ask someone else. With my work I can’t promise.”

“Please try. These tickets cost an arm and a leg. OK?”

Dena looked through her appointment book. She hated to be pinned down. “When is it again?”

“Next Friday, the ninth.”

“Well, I have a cocktail party at five. What time does this concert start?”

“Eight.”

“All right, but I’ll have to meet you there.”

“Carnegie Hall. At eight. And Dena, if you can’t make it, call me and—”

“OK. OK, I will. I’m writing it down.”

On Friday the ninth, at about seven-forty, Dena looked at her watch and groaned. Late already. She knew she shouldn’t have made this date. He was probably there already waiting for her and she was all the way downtown. She said good-bye to her host and as she was going downstairs in the elevator she made a vow to herself, again, not to ever make plans so far in advance. It was raining. She could always just not show up and say she couldn’t find a cab. But when she got into the cab she changed her mind. She loved riding in New York in the rain, the way the colors of neon took on a fuzzy glow through the wet windows, the way the lights reflected on the wet streets. The city looked so soft and so magical, she enjoyed the ride.

But by the time they made it through the theater district and up to Fifty-seventh Street, it was ten after eight when she got out of the cab. The sidewalk in front of Carnegie Hall was deserted. Everybody had already gone in, except for a man in a stocking cap playing a violin and another man standing with a bouquet. She pulled the big brass handle of the glass door and walked into the lobby; the young man with the roses ran after her. “Miss Nordstrom?”

Dena turned. “Yes.”

“Miss Nordstrom, I am supposed to take you to your seat.”

Dena said, “Oh,” and followed him to the left down the stairs into a small auditorium. He held the door open for her. “Right this way.” The auditorium was empty but he did not give her a chance to say anything, walked her down the aisle, seated her in the fourth row center, handed her the roses and a program, and was gone.

The stage was empty except for a piano, a bass, and a set of drums. She looked around; she must be in the wrong place. She glanced at the program and then read more intently:

A SPECIAL CONCERT FOR MISS DENA NORDSTROM, PERFORMED BY G. O’MALLEY & CO., WITH HIGH HOPES OF FAVORABLY IMPRESSING THE LADY WITH DR. O’MALLEY’S UNDYING DEVOTION.

At that moment the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the lights on the stage came up and Gerry O’Malley walked out in black tie with two other tuxedoed men. He bowed and sat down at the piano. After a moment, he nodded and the trio started to play an old Lerner and Lane tune he had chosen that said exactly what he had been unable to say. And he sang it right to her:

You’re like Paris in April and May

You’re New York on a silvery day

A Swiss alp as the sun grows fainter

You’re Loch Lomond when Autumn is the painter

You’re moonlight on a night in Capri

And Cape Cod looking out at the sea

You’re all places that leave me breathless

And no wonder

You’re all the world to me.

Dena, horrified, wanted to drop through the floor, but Gerry continued, singing in an astonishingly good voice.

You’re Lake Como when dawn is a-glow

You’re Sun Valley right after a snow

A museum, a Persian palace

You’re my shining Aurora Borealis

You’re like Christmas at home by a tree

The blue calm of a tropical sea

You’re all places that leave me breathless

And no wonder

You’re all the world to me.

Among the thousands of things Dena did not know about Gerry O’Malley was that he had worked his way through college with his own jazz combo, playing every weekend at parties. Tonight, he had managed to get both of the other guys, one a doctor and the other with his own venture capital business, to come into Manhattan for the evening to back him up.

Dena sat, as he continued to play every love song he knew and a few really funny ones with lyrics she suspected were his, as well. Dena had no choice but to smile. She also wanted to run. What in the world had she gotten herself into? He was either completely off his rocker or else he thought she could get him on television, but whichever it was, it was very embarrassing. But after a while, she began to relax and to really enjoy herself.

When it was over, she stood and applauded and handed him the roses. He came down to where she was sitting and said, “Well?”

He stood smiling and waiting and she said: “Well, wow! You really can play. Great, what can I say? You’re quite a piano player.” He introduced the other musicians to her and she told them how much she had enjoyed the concert.

Gerry said, “OK, guys—that’s all for this evening. I owe you one. Or two. Or twenty.” They said good-bye.

Gerry took Dena to dinner next door at the Russian Tea Room. He had heard that it was a place show business people liked. He was pleased with himself. “I just thought this might be a way for you to get to know me a little better—and give you a better idea of how I feel about you.”

“Gerry … that was very sweet of you. And don’t think I didn’t enjoy it and appreciate it. But don’t you think this is all a little sudden? I’m really not ready for any kind of serious relationship. My job takes up most of my time and, well, I just can’t do it. Right now. At the moment, I don’t know how I feel about anybody.”

“Dena, I am not going anywhere. You can have all the time in the world, all the time you need. I’m here. If it’s one year or five years, whenever you are ready. Believe me, I’m the last person in the world who wants to pressure you. All I want you to know is that I’m here—and I’m in love with you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Gerry said. “I told you on the phone. Or tried to.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I thought you were kidding. Or I didn’t know you were serious. I mean, you’re a psychiatrist. Aren’t you supposed to know better or something? I don’t know what to say.”

“Dena, I am serious. But listen: just because I know that you are the one for me, I may not be the one for you. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

At home, she thought about the evening. She had certainly heard many lines from many men, but this one was unique. She had to give him that. But he’d get over it, they always did. She’d heard that J.C. was already engaged to some stewardess. Granted, everyone said she looked like a younger Dena, but J.C. was over her. Give this one some time.

Then a terrible thought hit her. What if the network suddenly started looking for a younger Dena? She was good but she had better get in there and be the best, make sure she was irreplaceable. There wasn’t any time to waste. Too many younger and tougher girls were waiting in the wings, waiting for her to make a slip. She didn’t have time to get involved with anyone, much less a piano-playing shrink who thought he was in love with her. If she was going to stay on top she had to strike while the iron was hot—and right now she was hot. She had just been on the cover of TV Guide and there was talk of an Emmy.