June Moon

God-given melodies ringing in his ears. Lucille What’s the use of talking about it? There haven’t been any volunteers. Women can’t go wrong if they’re not invited. Eileen All I can say is, if you don’t break away from him, you’re crazy! Lucille And if I did, do you know what would happen? He’d write ten smash hits in a week. That’s my luck.⁠ ⁠… God! It would be wonderful to have some clothes and hold up my head again! Eileen I’m through arguing with you. You’re hopeless. Lucille You’d better be thinking about Mr. Hart. You may be as bad off as I am. Eileen Don’t you worry about me! If he wasn’t crazy about me, why would he be so insanely jealous? He’s insanely jealous! Lucille Has he ever said anything halfway definite? About marrying, I mean? Eileen Not in words, exactly. Lucille What did he say it in? Eileen He must be thinking of it. He doesn’t ever go out with anybody else. Lucille Trying to recall what Eileen had said. How long’s he going to be gone this time⁠—three weeks? Eileen Yeah⁠—about. He’s got to go to Chicago, and⁠—a lot of places. Lucille What are you going to do with yourself all that time⁠—just sit around? Eileen Maybe he’ll treat us to some shows⁠—I’ll ask him tonight. Maybe he’ll get us seats for some shows. Lucille Do they still have seats at shows? Eileen Restless again. Only I wish that thing would ring! Lucille Why don’t you go out with Bert or somebody, while he’s gone? It might be a good thing for him. Eileen Do you want to get me murdered? I tell you he’s insanely jealous. The door bell rings. Who’s that? Lucille Maxie, I guess. Starting for the door. Or maybe that lyric-writer. Eileen Who? Lucille Disappearing into the hallway, talking as she goes. You know, that’s coming to see Paul. From Albany or some place. Eileen Oh! Lucille Of course he couldn’t meet him in the daytime. He has to bring him up here in the middle of the night⁠—Having opened the outside door. Oh, it’s you! Maxie Outside. Hello, there! Paul comes back into the room. Paul Who is it? Maxie? Maxie Yah, Maxie. He is a man in his late forties, easygoing, kindly. Wears a dinner coat. He is an arranger for Goebel’s, and he knows the popular song business backwards. Paul Hello! Maxie Well! All staying home on a Saturday night? Lucille All nights are alike up here. Eileen You didn’t come right up from the office, did you? Maxie Indicates his dinner coat. Do I look it? I’m playing down at the Orchard this week. Pounding the piano for a lot of morons. I envy you people that can spend an evening at home. Lucille With emphasis. Yes. It’s a great treat. Paul I want the girls to hear the “Montana” number, the way it sounds when it’s really played. Eileen starts to go. Maxie OK. Paul Stopping Eileen. Hey! He’s going to play the “Montana” number. Eileen That’s all right. I’ll close the door. She leaves. Paul Go ahead, Maxie. She don’t know anything. Maxie Think of me slaving down at the Orchard while you people enjoy all the comforts of home. An impatient movement from Lucille.. Paul Go ahead with “Montana.” Maxie It certainly was a tough day for me when Edison invented the piano. Fixing up other people’s tunes⁠—there’s a life work for you. Paul Go on. Maxie His fingers rambling over the keys. You know, I might have been a songwriter myself but I got stuck on my own stuff. I wrote tunes nobody ever heard before⁠—they wouldn’t stand for it. Paul Prompting with a gesture. “Montana.” Maxie About to start, but resumes talking instead. That was a great idea of Fagan’s, writing a lyric about Montana. I’ve often wondered why lyric writers stayed out of the Northwest. Paul Maybe Fagan was born there. Maxie Naw! Shamokin, Pennsylvania. If songwriters always wrote about their home state, what a big Jewish population Tennessee must have. He starts playing a popular tune⁠—the telephone rings. Paul takes it up. · · Paul Hello. This is him.⁠ ⁠… Oh, hello!⁠ ⁠… Where are you at now?⁠ ⁠… Well, you better hop in a taxi⁠—it’s quite a ways yet. Eileen makes another expectant appearance in the doorway⁠—departs in disappointment as she learns that it still isn’t her call. 448 Riverside Drive. Tell him just above 116th Street.⁠ ⁠… That’s it. He hangs up; addresses Maxie, who continues to drum. That’s Stevens, the lyric writer I was telling you about. From Schenectady. Maxie Thank God he can’t get that in a lyric. Paul He had the phone number, but he didn’t know the address. Lucille How’d he get the phone number? Paul Telephone book, I guess. Lucille And then he called up for the address? She shakes her head⁠—it’s too much for her. I want to meet him. Paul To Maxie. You’ll like this fella. He’s young yet. He’s got a fresh slant. Maxie What does he do⁠—write about counties instead of states? Paul I’ve been thinking maybe he and I could do something together, if I can get rid of Fagan. Maxie Fagan isn’t so bad. Only he’s using up his ideas too fast. “Montana Moon.” He puts a state and a moon all in one song. Paul

Are you going to play it? Maxie plunges into the preliminary chords; Paul comes to life and sets himself to sing. Raises a warning finger in the direction of Lucille. Now listen!

“Golden West that seems so far away,
Golden girl for whom I’m always pining,
Don’t you know I love you night and day,
But chiefly when the full bright moon is shining!”

He takes new breath for the chorus. Lucille, meanwhile, is listening intently, but hardly enthusiastically. In fact, you might almost think she didn’t like it so much.

“Montana moonlight,
As bright as noon light,
Oh, may it soon light
My way to you!
I know you’re lonely,
My one and only,
For I am lonely,
Yes, lonely, too.”

At this point Lucille simply goes back to her