The File on Bobby Darin, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The day after Prima and Keely took over at the Copa, an abbreviated rehearsal was held with the band.  Bobby, looking small and a bit pale, took a seat on the bandstand and conferred quietly over that evening’s show.  It had been many months since Dick had observed the aftermath of one of Bobby’s attacks, and they always surprised him, as Bobby was usually so energetic and full of life.  Dick was a little amused to see Bobby appear dressed in a white shirt and ascot.  This reminded him of their high school days.  That ascot, a startling affectation for a boy from his neighborhood, was actually his ticket into Bronx Science.  In the public schools, such neckwear, on an under-sized boy like Bobby, was a blank invitation to be beaten up by the high school toughs.  Polly had taken one look at the ascot and had promptly begun researching alternative schools where her Bobby, her treasure, would be safe.  He would have to pass a special test to be allowed to enter the school, but her boy was a bright one, smart as a whip!  Dick thought it funny that Bobby was sufficiently intelligent to pass the entrance exam for Bronx Science but not cognizant of the fact that the ascot was like a red flag to the bulls in their city schools. 


Bobby wearing an Ascot tie

It was about twenty-four hours since Dick had seen Bobby in Winchell’s room at the St. Moritz, after the chase outside the Copa.  Now he was very different from the usual Bobby, being careful not to over-tax himself.  This was the anti-Bobby, Dick thought.  Or maybe it was the real one?  The energetic young man who bounced around on the stage was actually a put-on, a theatrical device that Bobby Darin had created in order to connect with his audience.  On-stage Bobby was there to hide and protect the anti-Bobby.  The only problem was, they both had to use the same physical presence, the same heart, and anti-Bobby could not always stand up to the grueling schedule that on-stage Bobby committed him to.  Dick himself was a simple soul, and he was glad that he did not have to be two people at once.

Those assembled for the rehearsal bent their heads and worked out a series of cues that would allow Bobby to leave the stage at just about any time in the show, if necessary, so his departures would not appear too abrupt.  These little feints and dodges would be of increasing importance in Darin’s live act in the years to come, as he would exit the stage to inhale a bit of oxygen from a tank parked in the wings to support himself through a show.  The rehearsal broke up, the band dissolved to follow their own pursuits that afternoon before the evening’s performance, and it was just Dick and Bobby together on the empty Copa stage.

“So,” Dick said as he packed away some sheet music, trying not to appear to be studying Bobby too closely, “how’s it going?”  He wanted to ask about the minor medical emergency of the day before, but he knew not to refer to it directly unless Darin broached the subject himself. 

Darin rose from his chair, stretched and looked about him.  The subject would not be broached.  “Just fine.  Come with me over to the Brill,” Bobby said to Dick.  “I have to see a man about a song.”

Bobby and Dick engaged a taxi in front of the Copa to go over to 1619 Broadway, just north of Times Square.  After his last experience, Dick was not eager to ride in the Copa car with Podell’s men, and Bobby was happy to demonstrate his independence from them by getting his own cab for the errand.  During their cab ride, anti-Bobby turned by degrees back into the regular Bobby, alert, chatty, endlessly fascinated and amused by the world around him.  By the time they reached their destination, Dick could barely recall the weakened figure he had seen slumped on Walter Winchell’s sofa.  It was as though it had never happened.  As they emerged from the taxi at their Broadway destination, Darin was sniffing the hot afternoon air, squinting in the daylight after emerging from the cavelike Copa, happy to be out in the sunlight again. 

The Brill Building, where Bobby’s career began, was the hub of the popular music industry in New York City.  It provided one-stop shopping for would-be songwriters, music producers and performers looking for record contracts.  The Brill Building housed music publishers and printers, radio promoters, as well as recording studios for the production of demos.  It was the center of the pop music universe in North America, and the natural place for top 40’s hopefuls to begin knocking on doors. Only in this one location could every facet of the music-producing industry be slammed in your face, all at a single address.  In terms of rejection, Bobby used to say, it was quite efficient to experience it all under one roof, as it really saved on taxi fares and shoe leather.  Those were the days before he had penned Splish Splash, after which all of the doors of this magical building opened to him, accompanied by a plush red carpet along with the perks of the music industry of that era. 

They went into the elevator to go up three flights.  The elevator door opened on the second floor to admit a young woman, a lovely dark-haired lass with a creamy complexion, long dark eyelashes and a figure nicely outlined by a crisp white blouse and black and white checkered skirt.  Bobby, in the middle of the elevator, stepped over a bit closer to Dick to allow a spot for the beauty to stand.  Bobby acknowledged her presence with a duck of his head and immediately turned to Dick and began talking in his best Groucho Marx voice.  He hung his head on Dick’s shoulder, looked up into his eyes and said, “I could dance with you until the cows come home. On second thought, I'd rather dance with the cows until you come home.” Bobby wiggled his eyebrows in the Groucho manner. 

The dark beauty smirked ever so slightly, but she kept her eyes front and center on the elevator door, not wanting to acknowledge Darin’s presence. 

Dick took a step away from Bobby.  “I’m not dancing with you in this elevator,” he said.

Bobby dropped a wink in the direction of the girl, looked back at Dick and said, as Groucho, “Very well, then go!  Go, and never darken my towels again!”

Now the dark beauty emitted a delicate little ripple of laughter.  Bobby sidled up to her and began to sing softly in Groucho’s voice:

My name is Captain Spaulding,
The African explorer.
Did someone call me Schnorer?
Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Dick could see the merest spark of electricity pass between Bobby-Groucho and the elevator cutie.  In his travels with Bobby, he had seen this sort of interaction more times than he could count.  Bobby was probably the shortest male in their high school graduating class.  He was not the most popular member of their group.  He was far from being an athlete.  He was losing his hair even as they handed out the diplomas.  None of this mattered, the fact was that Bobby Darin was catnip for women.  When their group of friends related their sexual exploits, Bobby’s stories were the only ones that were taken as a whole cloth, no questions asked.  Dick believed in Bobby’s pure animal magnetism in the way that he believed in gravity; it was a fact of life that did not need to be questioned.  The elevator door opened, and as the beauty was stepping out to her destination, Groucho delivered his parting line, “Last night I shot an elephant in my pajamas.  How he got in my pajamas I'll never know.”  In exchange for this performance, the dark girl turned her head and laughed at Bobby as she was walking away from the elevator.  She gave him a dazzling smile that more than repaid him for his 90-second entertainment of her.  The doors closed, and she was gone. 

The elevator continued its upward trip through the Brill Building.  Bobby leaned out a bit to catch a floral scent left in the air by the departing young woman.  “Smell that perfume!”

Dick didn’t smell anything right away.  He sniffed heavily a couple of times and finally did catch a whiff of fragrance.  “Yeah, so?” 

“A woman’s perfume, isn’t that a turn-on to you?”

Dick rolled his eyes in disbelief.  “Everything’s a turn-on to you!”

Bobby closed his eyes and leaned his head back slightly to experience the delicate scent, his nose in the air like a bloodhound.  “Oh man, don’t you like it?”

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it.  He let a beat pass and then said instead, “I see you’re feeling good today.” 

“Nevah bettah,” Darin replied in his deepest Bronx accent.  Being back in the Brill Building always had this effect on him, in terms of both accent and libido.  Bobby knew the location of every lovely young miss on the premises and every unfrequented supply closet and the means of access thereto.  Even though he had serious plans for marriage, Bobby and love really laughed at locksmiths.  Now Dick understood that even if they were actually here to see a man about song, Darin had come back to his homing ground to hunt the not-so-very-elusive female of the species.  Dick would be returning to his hotel room alone.  The Darin Universe was back in proper working order once more. 

Continued in the next chapter

ID: 1460308   (Rated: 13+) Title: The File on Bobby Darin, Chapter 11  Description: Walter Winchell at the Stork Club. By: Gisele