I'm Glad I Did by Cynthia Weil

musical phrase you hear once and want to hear again until you can’t get it out of your head.
    â€œPlay it again, JJ, honey,” Dulcie encouraged.
    The second time around, she began to hum along, picking up the tempo a bit, changing the syncopation of my bass riff. The way she sang turned my melodic phrases slightly—in a good way. They actually sounded more radio friendly. I changed what I was playing to match her, and I couldn’t help but smile. How could this feel so good? It seemed strange that someone whose frame of reference was a decade past could make my melody sound so contemporary. We ran through it a few more times until I had it all in my fingers.
    â€œYou should be my co-writer,” I blurted out.
    Dulcie waved her hand and stood. “Hell no, girl. It’syours. I’m just showing you what you got in there. Now you have to find the right words, and I have to get back to work.”
    I frowned. “But you—”
    â€œHush now,” she whispered, cutting me off. “You made my day by knowing my song.” She smiled, her eyes distant, and absently ran a finger over a delicate gold chain around her neck. Hanging from it was a musical grace note, like Marla’s diamond one. Only this one seemed to be made out of something I could actually save up for.
    â€œI love your necklace,” I murmured. “Where’d you get it?”
    â€œA very good friend gave it to me, so I never take it off.” She lowered her voice like we were old girlfriends. “I’ll ask him where he got it. Now I have to get back to my job.”
    â€œWill I see you again?” I asked.
    Dulcie’s smile widened. “I’ll be here, girl, so you work on that song.” With a wave she was out the door.
    I checked my watch. It was 10:15. I had to be heading home.
    A few minutes later, when I hurried out of the office, Dulcie was already gone. It was weird. We’d just met, barely knew each other, and yet I felt she knew me better than anyone else at Good Music. And I wanted to know her. Now I had more than one reason for working late.

CHAPTER TEN

    I pretended I had cramps on Sunday night so I could stay home and work on my melody when the family went out for dinner together. I hated to pull that excuse—it was so junior high school—but it always worked. Anyway, I needed time alone, and that was the only way to get it.
    In my pajamas, with almost three hours to myself, I polished the verses and chorus and even got a concept for a bridge: that third but crucial section of the song featuring a different melody than the verse or chorus. I didn’t even try to think of a lyric idea yet.
    That part of it scared me to death. Dulcie would be waiting to hear it. How could any of my words live up to the melody she helped me write?
    THE NEXT MORNING I spotted Mr. GE at the elevator. I didn’t even glance his way. I had given up trying to get his attention. We were both loaded down with folders. Mine were stuffed with lead sheets I’d been studying and demos I’dborrowed. His were no doubt filled with all the phone numbers of girls he thought were cute and planned to call, with mine conspicuously absent.
    We were the first ones in the elevator. I stood in the center, giving him plenty of room to stay far away from me.
    â€œLook at you two workaholics,” commented Nick. “You kids were made for each other.”
    My eyes narrowed to slits. I shushed him. As the crowd surged into the car, someone bumped into me. I was pushed into Green Eyes so hard that we both dropped our folders.
    Blood rushed to my face. Everything spilled out onto the elevator floor. I gasped apologies as the other passengers stooped to help us pick up our stuff, handing back the scattered papers and records. When we reached seven, GE pushed his way out without so much as a backward glance, just a terse thank-you.
    As soon as I made it into Good Music, I found an empty