"You want to call it that, you call it that. Only what the hell are you talking about?"
"Well, back with the band in the old days, you were right there. They were right there. Swaying there right in front of the stand and you were singing right to them. I saw kids falling in love right in front of me. Maybe they got married after that. Maybe they didn't get married. But I was reaching them, I was communicating."
"When I hear an actor use the word 'communicate', I leave the room."
"This time around I can't get any feeling that I'm reaching anybody, that it makes any difference."
The party sounds burst in on them. The producer stood in the doorway. "What, are you memorizing those reviews? Come on, everybody's asking where you are."
"Here we are."
"Yeah, but come on. They want you, Van. Sibi's at the piano. You're on."
"Sing Melancholy Baby," Van Richie said. But, he went out into the bright, crowded room and over to the piano.
In a corner of the room, Ben listened, smiling and tapping his foot to the rhythm of the song. The room had quieted down while Van Richie was singing. There was a crash of applause when he finished.
"Such a little voice," a woman said to Ben. He recognized her as one of the writers' wives. "What did you do for it, Ben? Arthur said you did something perfectly amazing."