Okay, Annabelle said. You never did finish your story, you know.
That’s right! Thatch added. Finish the story!
What story? I asked.
About the Pfizer? You know, the Pfizer Prize.
Pfizer? Prize? I was puzzled. I don’t know what you mean, Thatch.
I think he means your prize for Stephen Sondheim, Annabelle said.
Yes! That! Thatch shouted, The Pfizer Prize!
That’s Pulitzer Prize, Thatch, not Pfizer. Pfizer is one of the drug companies with the Covid-19 vaccine.
Oh. Okay.
Where’s Stella? I asked. Does she want to hear this, too?
She’s sleeping in the bathroom sink, Annabelle answered. She’s so peculiar.
As long as she’s happy, I said. You used to do the very same thing, Annabelle, so be nice. Now, where did I stop?
You learned where the office was for the Pulitzer Prize, Annabelle told me.
Okay, so I called the Pulitzer office. Did I tell you it was at Columbia up at Broadway and 116th Street?
You did.
They told me they would send me all the information I needed, and a week later I had the submission forms in my hands. I called Patricia Sinnott at Steve’s office and told her what I needed, and she said she would take care of it. The next day she called me and told me there was a problem.
Oh, no! Annabelle exclaimed. What happened?
Steve’s a very good man-
Annabelle giggled, He calls him “Steve!”
Well, Missy, he asked me to call him that! I refuse to mention him in reverential tones like all of his cult.
Oh, just finish your story!
Let me get some coffee, okay?
Yes, Master.
I hobbled to the stove and made myself another cup. Anybody want anything? I asked.
A treat! Thatch yelled.
You’re always hungry, Annabelle snapped at him.
He’s a growing boy, Miss Belle!
I am, Annabelle! I’m a growing boy! Thatch ran up to her amd licked her ear.
You know, Thatch, since Irving Berlin won’t answer my letters, maybe we should ask, and she spoke very reverentially, Stephen Sondheim to write the score for my musical.
Our musical, Annabelle.
You’re right; I keep forgetting.
Sure, you do, I thought. Instead, I said, Well, you know, Annabelle, Steve’s awfully busy. I realized a long time ago that my idea of busy and his were worlds apart. I opened the refrigerator for some deli turkey.
What does that mean?
It means when I say I’m busy, it’s with small things like cleaning the house, working on a job, but he gets the world pestering him with show ideas, things to see, requests to come and speak or judge or critique. His phone must ring all day. It’s a whole different level of busy.
I don’t understand, Annabelle muttered.
I think I do! Thatch said.
I walked back to the table with my coffee and the package of deli turkey. As I unwrapped the turkey, Stella erupted from the bathroom and ran to sit at my feet in anticipation of a treat.
Hello, little girl! I sang.
Annabelle laughed in glee. She loves Into the Woods.
Well? Thatch asked after his first bit of turkey, will you finish your story?
Yes, Thatcher, I will. Everybody ready?
So, Annabelle asked, what was the problem?
Oh, that! I laughed, well, I’ll tell you.
I like a good story, Thatch told Stella, who naturally said nothing.
The problem was, Patricia was worried that Steve would not be happy to learn that we had entered him for a Pulitzer Prize without his knowledge. She didn’t say he was crazy, but she felt he was erratic enough that our good intentions could piss him off if he wasn’t in the loop.
That’s a tight spot to be in, Annabelle told us. So . . . what did you do?
I asked her to have him call me.
And? Thatch asked.
He called me that evening. You never know with him if he’s happy to hear your voice or irritated until he knows what the call is about.
He is crazy! Annabelle stated.
No, he isn’t, I replied. I think he’s cautious, and I wish I were a bit more like that. He wanted to know what I was calling about, and I said that I wanted to nominate Sunday in the Park with George for the Pulitzer. The next thing he said was, We’ll never win.
Two cats rolled on the floor with laughter. Stella observed them for a moment, and then she too joined them. After a moment, Annabelle stopped laughing and composed herself.
Stella has no idea why she’s laughing, does she? Annabelle asked no one in particular.
She just wants to be in in the loop, Annabelle, Thatch said patiently.
All right, Stella, you can stop now, Annabelle told her. She turned to me. You can continue your story.
After he said that, I said something like. Maybe not, but if you’re not nominated, you’ll never win, and I think you’ve got a good shot at it. Well, he thought for a moment, and he agreed. He told me to call Patricia for whatever I needed. We talked a little bit more, and when we hung up, I danced around the apartment. I was so happy!
And then? Thatch asked.
I called Patricia, and about a week later she called me and said that she had everything I needed. When did I want to bring over the forms for her to fill out?
When? Annabelle asked.
A couple of days later, Missy. I think I arrived around 1:00, and Patricia had everything sitting in a big pile. While she typed out the application and forms, Steve and I chatted.
About what?
I really don’t remember, Annabelle. It must have been nothing in particular. It was just a nice visit. So, when Patricia finished the forms, she put them on top of the bundle and wrapped the whole thing in brown paper. I left Steve’s house and walked down Second Avenue to Forty-second Street with this huge bundle, got on a 104 bus and rode up to Columbia. I walked around for a bit, asking where the School of Journalism was. I got to the office, and an older man told me I was early. I gave him a check for the entrance fee-
How much? Annabelle demanded.
None of your business, Missy!
Awww, what if I want to enter my show for a Pulitzer Prize?
You have to finish it first.
I can’t until I hear from Irving Berlin.
You’ll never hear from him, Annabelle.
You keep telling me that. She turned away from me. Thatch, what do we do?
I think we need to cross that bridge when we come to it.
I laughed, I think you’re already at the bridge, Thatch!
Bridge? What bridge? What does that even mean, Thatch? You’re getting as bad as him. I don’t understand a thing you say sometimes.
Thatch sidled up to her and nuzzled her neck. It means we need to find another composer.
Well, then, I guess we need to contact Jerry Herman!
The next day was not a good day. I had to go in for a full-body bone scan, which took up five hours of my day. Since I had been diagnosed with prostate cancer, I was terrified that my body was now an incubator for cancers and that this year I’d go through prostate treatments and beat it, but next year I could have lung cancer, skin cancer, colon cancer, an endless list of terrifying possibilities that sent me into panic attacks at the drop of a hat. The cats found these panics very unsettling and they were soon more upset than I was. Dr. Waxman decided that a bone scan might let us know how things were looking.
Well, babies, I told them. I’ll be back around 1:00. You can tell me what I missed on the soaps.
Do you want me to come with you? Annabelle asked.
No, Missy. You’d get bored, you’d get into trouble, and I might not be able to bail you out.
How rude!
I’ve left a lot of kibble. Be good while I’m gone.
As I closed the apartment door, Thatch called out, Give ‘em hell, Daddy!
I survived the ordeal and arrived home later than I had anticipated. I spent the remainder of the afternoon telling Nurse Annabelle and Dr. Thatch about my day.
You have to finish your story about Sondheim’s prize, Annabelle observed. You are dragging it out like one of our soaps.
Okay. After dinner, all right? I’m going to get your dinners, so you can change out of your scrubs.
You sure? Annabelle asked.
Yes. Now am-scray, kitties.
As I rose from the bed, Stella leap onto my back and then jumped to the floor. She followed the doctor and nurse into the bathroom, and I wandered into the kitchen to pull cans of Fancy Feast. I threw the Chinese leftovers into the microwave, and while the babies gobbled down their salmon, I wolfed down shrimp fried rice and some wonton soup. After I cleaned up our dinners, I put a DVD into the player, and we all assembled on my bed.
You can’t start the movie until we hear the rest of your Sondheim story, Annabelle stated.
I know.
What is it, by the way? she asked me.
The movie? It’s a musical I’m looking forward to, The Prom!
Is there a role for me?
I don’t know, Annabelle. We have to find out.
Okay. Finish your story first.
Did I tell you I went to Columbia with everything and paid the entry fee?
Yes! Annabelle and Thatch yelled.
Well, that was in late summer of 1984. It was so warm that day. After I turned in the materials, I got on a bus, rode back home, and forgot about it.
You did? Annabelle asked me.
Yeah, I did. Then, in April, on the twenty-fourth – it was a Wednesday morning – my phone rang around 7:00 –
Was it Stephen Sondheim? Thatch asked.
No, Thatch, it was my dad, and he was crying. He never cries, so I knew this was serious.
What happened?
He told me my mother was in serious condition and needed immediate heart by-pass surgery the next morning.
Oh, no!
Oh, yes. He wanted me to fly back to Ohio immediately. He was afraid that she might die, and he wanted me and my brothers there for the surgery. So, I called the Drama Book Shop and told them what was going on, and I would not be in for the next five days. There used to be a travel agency at the corner of Broadway and 82nd Street, so I went over there and booked a flight – it was for a flight some time around 6:00, as I recall. I called my dad and told him when to pick me up at the Dayton airport, and then I had to run some errands-
Such as? Annabelle asked.
I was writing arrangements for a company that did entertainment on cruise ships, and I called to ask if I could come in and get a check they owed me. Then Patricia Sinnot called me from Steve’s office.
What did she want? Thatch asked.
She said that this was the day the Pulitzer winners were announced and the office phone was ringing off the hook, and she was thinking about me. I told her that I hoped we would win, but I was more concerned about my mother and getting to Ohio at the moment. I told her the situation, and she wished my mother well. Then she said that as soon as she heard the announcement of the Pulitzer winners, she’s call me back and let me know if we had won or lost.
That’s nice.
She’s a wonderful lady, Thatch. You’d like her. Then I stepped out, picked up my check and visited with the MCL people – MCL was the name of the company I was writing arrangements for – stopped at a drug store for some toiletries, and got home in time for lunch.
Deli turkey? Thatch asked me.
No. I laughed, I just realized I had Chinese food for dinner tonight, and I had Chinese leftovers for lunch that day. Wanna guess what my fortune cookie said?
Yes! they shouted.
It said, “You will hear great news today.”
Noooooo! It did not!
Yes, Annabelle, it did! It really did. My reaction was, yeah, sure, my mother’s dying, what great news. Then I walked over to the travel agency to pick up my plane ticket. When I got back to the apartment, there was a message from Patricia; she was hollering, “We won! We won!” I called her back, and the first thing she asked me was, where are you? Steve wants to talk to you. I told her I was home, hung up, and about five minutes later Steve called from the theatre, and we had a wonderful conversation. He was so happy!
Awww, Annabelle said, I wish I had been there.
Then I flew back to Ohio. My dad picked me up at the Dayton airport and we went immediately to the hospital where my mom was waiting on surgery. We visited – I think my brothers were both there – and then I rode home with my dad. The next morning we all arrived early to be with her before they prepped her for surgery.
How did it go? Thatch asked.
It went fine, Thatcher, That was Thursday morning, and I flew back to New York on Sunday. When I picked up any mail, there was an invitation to a party celebrating – I think – the 100th performance of Sunday in the Park with George.
Really? Annabelle asked. You could have taken me!
Annabelle, Thatch said, you weren’t even born yet. Your mother wasn’t even born yet.
Well, I would have gone. If I had been here. Was it a nice party?
Very, I said, but that’s enough of me and the Pulitzer Prize. Let’s watch a DVD.
First, Annabelle said, our treats. Where are they?
Ooooh . . . you cats! I moaned as I rose from my bed and shuffled to the kitchen. Stella sat up, jumped off the bed, and ran before me. “Treat” is one of the few words she always understands.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 