I Could Go on Singing Read Free

The emotional strain and the working strain had worn her down to a shadow of her normal self. But never having known her when she was up, I couldn’t see it. She was trying to hide from the world and from herself, and I thought that was the normal Jenny Bowman. But she started to recover in Mexico, and she was more like her normal self in New York, and by the time she had finished the tour, she was herself again, all that fabulous incredible energy, all that outgoing warmth and joy and confidence, loving the people milling around her every minute. I soon realized that I could only be peripheral in her life, an appendage, a Mr. Jenny Bowman. She wasn’t looking for my strength any more, and when she stopped looking, the imitation collapsed and she saw me as I am, a sort of uncertainguy, mildly neurotic I guess, often confused, too emotional about some things and not emotional enough about others. But I do know I helped her when she needed it most. I was there at the right time, and the imitation was good enough, I guess. But when we were together again, we knew we weren’t the same two people any more. One of the sources of her strength, Sid, maybe the key source, is that she had a strongly developed sense of the ludicrous. In her blackest moments, she gets a hearty, healing reaction to absurdity. And she was the one who made the opening when we were both trying to break it up, in such a way we could both save face and not hurt each other. Across a table she gave me a mocking and wonderful look out of those huge dark brown eyes and said, ‘Darling, what were the names of those two types who went to Acapulco? You’d think we’d at least hear from them once in a while. The last I heard they were going to get married, but somehow I never quite believed it. Did you?’ It was a masterful escape, Sid, for both of us, and out of that special kind of wild wisdom she has, she provided it. Yes, we parted friends. And it’s too easy to look at it, perhaps, as one of those ordinary little affairs that pop up like out of a toaster every time any movie is made, and get chilled out when it’s over. But it wasn’t like that, Sid. She marked me. You see, I fell in love with the Jenny Bowman that was trying to hide from a world that hadn’t been using her very well. And when she stopped trying to hide, that woman was gone, the one I loved. But it is a real and valuable memory and I don’t have many of those, and I am not going to mess it up by getting back into her life—or allowing her back into mine—in any way, shape or form. I married Joyce on the rebound from Jenny Bowman. And when Joyce rolled her car into the sea, Jenny was singing in Chicago. She flew out to the funeral. That was the only time I have seen her since. And she didn’t say a word then. She just hugged me very hard for about three seconds, and looked at me and went away, and that meant a hell of a lot more than anything anyone else did during that whole horrible week. She has a capacity for friendship. I’m probably boring you with too much of all this, Sid, but what I want to get across is that it wasn’t trivial. And it isn’t … usable. If you’ve taken me on because you think I can talk her into something easier than some of your other boys, then you made a bad guess.”
    Wegler was silent for three full minutes, swiveled around,looking out his windows. He turned back slowly. “It is a warm and touching story and again, Jason, you force me to say that I value you for your integrity. I value you highly. It hurts me to have to use people in the ways I have to use them. It makes me feel shabby, believe me.”
    “But I tell you I …”
    Wegler raised a hand. “Please. Let me pick one remark out of your fine account, Jason. ‘But I do know I helped her when she needed it most.’ It does you credit. It is an honorable way to feel. She came to you in your hour of heartbreak. Can you do less for her? If she needs you now?”
    “What are you getting