I told her that it was said that there had been a time when he came over for the quarter horse racing season every year, but that he also had no special interest in western music beyond its use in Hollywood movies about cowboys—nonsinging cowboys. And Eric pointed out that back during the days of silent films, cowboy movies used to be called horse operas, because the incidental music played along with them in the theaters on an organ consisted of excerpts of classical compositions by European composers.
That was, I also told her, what I had heard about when he came over for the Thoroughbred races, his trips to the Kentucky Derby also included visits to hear music in New Orleans, Memphis, and Chicago. And when Eric said, And New York was his home base for the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes, right? I said, So I’ve been told, but I’ve also been told that there was a time when he used to spend the night before or after the Preakness in Baltimore because it was the hometown of so many eastern ragtime piano players, especially Eubie Blake and also Joe Turner, who was to spend a number of years touring in Europe, settling in Paris from time to time.
That was when Eric Threadcraft said what he said about his trips to Paris, so I didn’t say anything else about the Marquis de Chaumienne and he went on to say what he said about not having had a chance to see Paris and France with Celeste yet, because she had not gone back since the two of them had met, which, after all, had been a matter of several weeks rather than months.
When the waiter cleared the table and left with our orders for desserts, I asked how their production assignments were coming along, and Celeste said that her designs had been approved and were in production and that she was not needed in Hollywood until time for the fittings for the actual filming.
And Eric said, Man, as you were out there long enough and close enough to that operation to know, you’re not through with a film score and the final cutting operation until after the previews or even after the official opening—while they’re holding up distribution. But as of now, I’m feeling pretty good about how things are coming along so far, and at least nobody is squawking yet.
The cab ride downtown to the nightclub took less than fifteen minutes, and we arrived in time to get seated and to order our after-dinner liqueurs and brandies before the second set began. And it began on time. The group was a five-piece combo led by a piano player and included a drummer, a bass player, trumpet, and tenor saxophone. None of them were famous, but all of them had played and recorded with well-known leaders. Eric was more familiar with all of them than I was. He was also more up-to-date on the latest musical fads and trends—that was an indispensable part of his job as a recording studio technician and conductor.
That was also why I had deferred to his choice of an after-dinner music spot without suggesting any alternative. And he had said, Hey, no big deal. Something OK, but won’t get in the way. It’s just a thing I have about coming back to New York, however briefly. You know me, fellow, missing out on this music in New York would be like not even getting a glimpse of the plage on a trip to the Côte d’Azur.
And that was also when he went on to say, Like I said, fellow, this pas de quatre has its own sound track. Man, I must confess: if the Bossman and old Papa Joe and that gang were here tonight, it would be too much, if you know what I mean. Later for nights like that. Too much for how I feel as of now. You know what I mean.
XXI
I didn’t hear very much of what Celeste and Eunice talked to each other about in the restaurant and between numbers at the nightclub that evening. But the last thing Eunice said when the cab let us out at our address before heading up to midtown was that she would call and confirm before Tuesday afternoon.
And Celeste said, D’accord, merveilleux.
And Eric and I slapped palms.
And the cab pulled off, and as Eunice and I headed across the sidewalk to our entrance, she said she had promised Celeste that she would let her know which day next week would be most convenient for the two of them to meet for lunch and for a visit to the boutique.
They spent most of that next Friday afternoon together. And it was when Eunice told me what she told that night at dinnertime that I found out what I found out about what her impression of him was when they were introduced to each other at that producer’s party in Beverly Hills on her first trip to Hollywood.
Of all the artists and technicians involved in the production being initiated, the ones she had been most curious about were the composer and conductor of the incidental music score. She had already read the script and had already seen sketches and models for the settings. But she had no idea of what the incidental music would be like. The production was not a Hollywood musical, but she was hoping that the score would not be what she thought of as standard American drawing room comedy music featuring a light or semiclassical string orchestra playing the all-too-conventional pipe organ–derived urban soap opera variation of the old Wild West horse opera music.
She knew very well that designing a chic wardrobe for an American sitcom was not to be confused with designing costumes for an opera or ballet. Costumes could be obviously unrealistic, downright symbolic, or even outrageous. Sitcom wardrobes were perhaps not only au courant but perhaps most often dernier cri—indeed, as dernier
