The Other Side of Me. Sidney Sheldon

      ‘Oh. I thought maybe I could see Mr. Selznick and—’

      ‘No. Mr. Selznick is a busy man.’

      So I would meet David Selznick later.

      Clutching the package, I left the building and started running down the street toward the MGM Studios, six blocks away, reviewing my plan as I ran. It stemmed from a conversation with Seymour about Sydney Singer, his ex-wife.

       Do you ever see her, Seymour?

      No. She went to Hollywood. She got a job as a secretary at MGM for a woman director. Dorothy Arzner.

      I was going to ask Sydney Singer to help me. It was a long, long, long shot, but it was all I had.

      When I reached the MGM Studios, I went up to the guard behind the desk in the lobby. ‘My name is Sidney Sheldon. I want to see Sydney Singer.’

      ‘Sydney…Oh—Dorothy Arzner’s secretary.’

      I nodded knowingly. ‘Right.’

      ‘Is she expecting you?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said confidently.

      He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. ‘Sidney Sheldon is here to see you…’ He repeated slowly, ‘Sidney Sheldon.’ He listened a moment. ‘But he said—’

      I stood there, paralyzed. Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.

      ‘Right.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘She’ll see you. Room 230.’

      My heart started beating again. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Take the elevator, over there.’

      I took the elevator and hurried down a corridor on the second floor. Sydney’s office was at the end of the corridor. When I walked in, she was seated behind her desk.

      ‘Hello, Sydney.’

      ‘Hello.’ There was no warmth in her voice. And I suddenly remembered the rest of the conversation with Seymour. She hates my guts. She said she never wants to see me again. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Would she ask me to sit down? No.

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      Oh, I just dropped in to ask you to spend your afternoon as my unpaid secretary. ‘It’s—it’s a long story.’

      She looked at her watch and rose. ‘I’m on my way to lunch.’

      ‘You can’t!’

      She was staring at me. ‘I can’t go to lunch?’

      I took a deep breath. ‘Sydney—I—I’m in trouble.’ I poured out the whole story, starting with the fiasco in New York, my ambition of becoming a writer, my inability to get past any of the studio guards, and the telephone call that morning from David Selznick.

      She listened, and as I got to the end of the story, her lips tightened. ‘You took the Selznick assignment because you expected me to spend the afternoon typing for you?’

       It was a bitter divorce. She hates my guts.

      ‘I—I didn’t expect it,’ I said. ‘I was just hoping that—’ It was hard to breathe. I had acted stupidly. ‘I’m sorry I bothered you, Sydney. I had no right to ask this of you.’

      ‘No, you didn’t. What are you going to do now?’

      ‘I’m going to take this book back to Mr. Selznick. Tomorrow morning I’ll leave for Chicago. Thanks anyway, Sydney. I appreciate your listening to me. Goodbye.’ I started for the door, in despair.

      ‘Wait a minute.’

      I turned.

      ‘This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’

      I nodded. I was too upset to speak.

      ‘Let’s open that package and take a look at it.’

      It took a moment for her words to sink in. I said, ‘Sydney—’

      ‘Shut up. Let me see the book.’

      ‘You mean you might—’

      ‘What you’ve done is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. But I admire your determination.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘I’m going to help you.’

      A feeling of relief flooded through me. I couldn’t stop grinning. I watched her riffle through the book.

      ‘It’s long,’ she said. ‘How do you expect to finish this synopsis by six o’clock?’

       Good question.

      She handed the book back to me. I glanced at the inside cover to get a quick idea of what it was about. It was a period romance, the kind of story that Selznick seemed to enjoy making.

      ‘How are we going to do this?’ Sydney asked.

      ‘I’m going to skim the pages,’ I explained, ‘and when I come to a story point, I’ll dictate it to you.’

      She nodded. ‘Let’s see how it works.’

      I took a chair opposite her and began turning pages. In the next fifteen minutes I had a fairly clear sense of the story. I began skimming through the book, dictating when I came to something that seemed pertinent to the plot. She typed as I talked.

      To this day, I don’t know what made Sydney agree to help me. Was it because I had blundered into an impossible situation, or because I looked desperate? I will never know. But I know that she sat at her desk all that afternoon, typing the pages as I thumbed through the book.

      The clock seemed to be racing. We were only halfway through the book when Sydney said, ‘It’s four o’clock.’

      I started reading faster and talking faster.

      By the time I finished dictating the thirty-page synopsis, the two-page summary, and the one-page comment, it was exactly ten minutes to six.

      As Sydney handed me the last page, I said gratefully, ‘If there is anything I can ever do for you—’

      She smiled. ‘A lunch will be fine.’

      I kissed her on the cheek, stuffed the pages into the envelope with the book and raced out of the office. I ran all the way back to the Selznick International Studios, and arrived there at one minute to six.

      I said to the same woman behind the desk, ‘My name is Sheldon. I want to see Mr. Selznick’s secretary.’

      ‘She’s been waiting for you,’ she said.

      As I hurried down the corridor, I knew that this was just the beginning. I had read that Selznick had started as a reader at MGM, so we had something in common that we could chat about.

      Selznick will put me on the staff. I’ll have an office here. Wait until Natalie and Otto hear that I’m working for him.

      I reached his secretary’s office. When I walked in, she looked at her watch. ‘I was getting worried about you,’ she said.

      ‘No problem,’ I told her, nonchalantly. I handed her the package and watched her glance through the pages.

      ‘This is beautifully done.’ She handed me an envelope. ‘There’s ten dollars in there.’

      ‘Thank you. I’m ready to do the next synopsis whenever—’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘our regular reader will be back tomorrow. Mr. Selznick doesn’t usually use outside readers. As a matter of fact, you were called by mistake.’

      I swallowed. ‘Mistake?’

      ‘Yes. You’re not on our regular list of readers.’

      So I was never going to be a part of David Selznick’s team. We were not going to have