and my family would have to recognize that.
My fantasies were off and running. This song would climb the charts. Luke and I would become a team professionally and romantically. Weâd write every day and go to the writersâ parties at Good Music. Bobby would love us. Weâd be inside the magic circle â¦
The list was filled with girls groups like The Chiffons and The Ronettes. My heart sank. There wasnât a single person there who was right for our song. I was hoping to see Ray Charlesâs name. He had the vocal chops to handle it. But he wasnât looking for songs this week.
In the meantime, Rona took it upon herself to help mebook the musicians for the demo. âIâm getting you the best guys,â she said. âSo you can look to them for advice. If you get stuck, donât be ashamed to admit it. Theyâll guide you.â
âThanks, Ro,â I replied. I picked up the enormous pile of lead sheets on her desk and headed for the copy room. âYouâre the best, you know that?â
âAbso-elvis-lutely, JJ,â Rona replied. âAll I ask is that you play it for Bobby ASAP so heâll get off my back about you delivering.â
I scurried away. I had no intention of playing it for anyone until the right singer was about to record.
BY SIX THIRTY, I was exhausted. If I hadnât had Dulcie to look forward to, I would have gone home. I left my cubicle door open and noodled around with some arrangement ideas until she finally arrived.
âBrought you a little something to listen to, baby girl,â she announced, setting a stack of 78 RPM records down on the piano. âThis is just a small part of my collection. These are the ladies who taught me everything I know. I thought you might like to listen to them.â
I stood up and flipped through the pile. I had read about these women, but I had never heard some of them sing. Dulcieâs idols ranged from Bessie Smith to Alberta Hunter, from Blue Lu Barker to Billie Holiday, from Sister Rosetta Tharpe to Ruth Brown.
âI canât thank you enough,â I gasped. âYou know, Iâve always been fascinated by Rosetta Tharpe. I think itâs âcause I love her name. Itâs so poetic.â
A shadow passed over Dulcieâs face. âThatâs what Inamed my little girl â¦Â Rosetta.â Her voice caught. âI felt the same way. Rosetta is a beautiful name.â
âDoes your Rosetta live with you?â I asked, wondering what was wrong.
âMy Rosettaâs all grown up now, older than you. Sheâs a grown woman. She lives here in New York, but it hasnât been right between us for a long time. We donât talk, but I know where she works, and maybe someday â¦â Her voice trailed off.
Her eyes clouded, and I took her hand.
âIâm so sorry I brought it up,â I said.
âNo worries,â Dulcie assured me. She sniffed and straightened. âIt is what it is, and it will be what it will be. Now letâs get into my rehearsal. It ainât gonna take long.â
âWhy is that?â
â âCause hereâs what I do. I sing the song down three times. After that itâs in my bones, and it just gets stale. Got it?â
âI got it,â I said, and thatâs what we did. I played, and Dulcie sang âIâm Glad I Didâ three times. Each time better than the last.
âYou happy with the way I sang it?â she asked.
âItâs kind of perfect,â I told her. âNow what?â
âBobby got a record player in his office?â
âSure he does.â
Dulcieâs face lit up. âThen letâs go in there and play some music.â She tucked the record stack under one arm and threw the other around my shoulders. We made ourselves comfortable in Bobbyâs office. Heâd claimed he had the best speakers in the whole building, and maybe he did,because when I