Free I'm Glad I Did by Cynthia Weil

everything and play her “I’m Glad I Did.” The office was empty, though. Clean and empty. Tacked to the door of my adopted cubicle was a note.
    I just know you got those words. Can’t wait to hear the finished masterpiece
.
    Your friend
,
    Dulcie
.
    My friend Dulcie. My heart swelled. I folded the paper and put it in my pocket to save forever.

CHAPTER TWELVE

    The next day would be a
woe is me
or
whoopee
Wednesday depending on the charts. As it turned out, it was both. A few Good Music songs took respectable jumps up the charts. That was the whoopee. The woe was that Bobby’s pride and joy, a number-one record that had been riding in that slot for two weeks, fell. It really was seeing the glass half empty when you get depressed because your number one song is not number one anymore.
    When he poked his head in the copy room for his weekly check-in, he was grumpier than usual.
    â€œGot anything, JJ, babe?” he snapped.
    â€œWorkin’ on it—”
    He slammed the door. “Rona?” I heard him yell. “Why isn’t she writing?”
    â€œShe is, Bobby,” Rona responded in a soothing voice. “She’s a perfectionist. Give her time. I’ve got Quincy Jones on the phone.”
    I could almost feel an imaginary rush of wind as I flewout of Bobby’s mind. Thanks to Rona, a list of songs for Quincy’s recording artist, Leslie Gore, was flying in. I’d been all but forgotten. Rona was a pal. No doubt about it. The only other thing that got me through my drone day was thinking about hooking up with Dulcie after work.
    WHEN THE LAST PERSON had finally left the office, and I had rehearsed the song at least ten times, I stared at my watch until I heard that gentle knock at the door.
    â€œI thought I’d be hearing you singing,” Dulcie said with a worried expression. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get the words.”
    â€œI won’t tell you that,” I answered, grinning.
    â€œThen whatcha waiting for, girl?” she said, returning my smile. “Sing me that song.”
    By now I knew the lyrics by heart, so when she was seated beside me, I closed my eyes even though I had the words propped up on the piano. Then I sang my heart out. When I was done, Dulcie drew in a breath and let out a long sigh.
    â€œ
That
is a song. A soulful, soulful song,” she said. “I could have used something like that back in my day. It’s real special.” She took my hands off the keys and folded them in hers. “You’re going to have a beautiful career, baby girl.”
    She was looking at me with something I couldn’t name, something I knew I had always wanted to see in my mother’s eyes. I felt confused and sad and happy all at once. I took my hand back to wipe my eyelashes. “I think I’m allergic to compliments,” I whispered huskily. “I’m all teary an’ stuff.”
    â€œI know how it is,” Dulcie half-whispered. “Now howabout you play it and let me sing to show you a few possibilities? You don’t have to use anything I sing, but you can if you want to.”
    She riffed over the intro, just humming but setting up the emotion that was to come. Then while she was looking at the lyrics, she changed the opening line from
I have to go where my heart takes me/And believe what I believe
to
I’m gonna go where my heart takes me/Keep believin’ what I believe
. Just by switching the words
have to
to
gonna
and changing the
and believe
to
keep believin’
, the song became more conversational, more powerful, more authentic. She sang through it, turning the melody in spots to make it more bluesy, occasionally replacing a word to make it more controversial. I was going crazy trying to remember everything she changed.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Dulcie said, when she had sung it down. “I remember everything I did. If you like it, we can go over all of it until you have