I'm Not Dead... Yet! (21 page)

Too much stress? I was at my best under stress. I tore up the prescription on the way out of in his office.

Doctor #3
:
“You’re a hypochondriac.. Go home and breathe.”

I don’t think so.

Doctor #4:
“Eat more fiber. Go home.”

So, I did.

It didn’t help my breathing…

We went to New York
where Karla was asked to host
Rock Influences,
the first music documentary series on MTV. And the people from the Broadway musical
Big River
wanted Karla to play a starring role in their show (Karla did that as well).

I was in the shower when Karla ran into the bathroom and squealed with delight, “Oh my god! Diana Ross is going to call you in a minute! She wants to sing our song ‘Nobody Makes Me Crazy!’ and put it on her new
Swept Away
album! Make sure you call her ‘Miss Ross!’ Do not call her Diana.”

I looked at Karla with a head full of shampoo and thought, she is either batty or she’s clairvoyant. And then the phone rang, as if on cue. ‘Oh, my god,’ I thought. ‘My wife is not only the most amazing person I’ve ever met—she’s a telepathic mystic! I married a shaman—no, a sha-woman! A sorceress! She can predict the future!’ The phone rang again.

“Remember,” Karla instructed me, “call her Miss Ross.” (I’ll do anything you say, Ms. Wizard!) With soap on my head and dripping wet, I walked slowly to the phone as it kept ringing. I was spooked by Karla’s hidden abilities. What else in our future can Karla ‘see?’ I picked up the phone to speak to one of pop cultures true legends; a deserving legend. Could it be her? Really? And, can Karla predict the future?

“Hello?”

“Please hold for Miss Ross.”

Holy shit. I then turned to Karla and my knees were shaking. ‘I’m married to a Martian; wait—a Martian? What does a Martian have to do with genius and predicting the future? My wife is… telepathic! If this whole acting/songwriting/writing/directing/teaching thing doesn’t work out, there’s always a cable show for Karla the Telepathist!’

“Hello?” It
was
Diana Ross! I mean…
Miss
Ross.

“Um… Hello? This is Robby Benson, but you can call me Robby. What an honor it is to be speaking with you… Miss Ross. My wife predicted you would call.”

“Oh. Robby, I’m having trouble with the song you wrote.

“What kind of trouble, Miss Ross? I’ll help in any way possible.” I turned to Karla and mouthed, ‘I’m-talking-to-Diana-Ross—but you know that!’ I jumped up and down with excitement!

“Well, Robby, you know that note that jumps the octave?” As people have said to me before: she sounded just like herself! That famous voice on the other end of the phone was Diana Ross. Wow! I mean: WOW!

“Oh, yes. The payoff. It’s the musical payoff of the song’s theme. Didn’t Karla sing that amazingly well on the demo? You should see some of the other stuff she can do, too!” I smiled a soapy smile at Karla. Karla shook her head.

“That’s the note. I can’t hit it. I want you to change it.”

Of course, the story of my life.
“Miss Ross,
that note is why the music, the song—works. You cannot change that note. Sorry. No-can-do. Radeeeooo.” (What was I saying?)

Karla punched me in the arm. I whispered, “I’m sorry honey—if she can’t sing as well as you can, then
maybe she shouldn’t sing our song
.”

“Are you insane?!” Karla whispered back.

“Well maybe you can cast a spell on her and she’ll be able to sing the note.”

“Robby,” I heard Miss Ross continue on the phone, “do you have an alternate note?”

“Yes. Lower the key of the song so you can hit the note. The pay-off is
that note
. It’s sonically… fun. And funny. It gives the song its quirkiness; it’s personality. It shows the vocal gymnastics of the singer and how much ‘nobody can make her crazy’—LIKE YOU DO! That is why there is a note that goes hand-in-hand with the lyrics. That’s why, Miss Ross, you shouldn’t change the note—or maybe you could VSO (variable speed) the master tracks so you can hit the note.”

I thought I was doing pretty darn well. Karla looked at me with her mouth open wondering, “What kind of lunatic did I marry?”

“Do you want the song on my album? An album that is sure to go gold the day it’s released?” Diana said with soft but 100 percent solid gold power.

“You know how I feel, so it’s up to you, Diana.”

After some backpedaling niceties, I hung up the phone. After all, it was
Diana Ross,
err, Miss Ross. And I’m just a schmuck composer who would sell my body parts to have my ‘stuff’ heard. Forget the money (see a pattern yet?), I just wanted to have my music heard—the way it was
written
. What’s wrong with that?

Diana Ross sang the song the way
she wanted to sing the song;
changed the note—and it sounded great, just like Diana Ross! And both Karla and I had a song on the
Swept Away
album which did go gold. We didn’t make a penny from publishing, but people would hear our song, thanks to our friend (she says so in this ad!), Miss Ross.

One of many misconceptions in today’s pop-culture world: those of us who are successful have money.
Wrong!

original demo

As I sat at my parents’ house
in Woodland Hills (trying to breathe), my mom, who had no idea about my symptoms, ironically decided it would be a good idea for me to see a cardiologist to lower my life insurance rate. After all, we agreed, I don’t smoke, don’t drink, never did drugs, have a body fat index of 6%, avoided fried foods, okay—I do love candy, particularly anything red or purple, but I have low blood pressure, and ridiculously low cholesterol (135!). I exercise faithfully every day and finished the New York Marathon in a time that put me in the top ten percent of competitors: shouldn’t I be getting a break on my life insurance? Sounded logical to me. (But another doctor? Another waiting room? What a waste of life.)

I had to appease my mom; she and my dad had handled my finances since I was five, and she was the national spokesperson for Merrill Lynch, spearheading the movement in the late 70s and early 80s to teach women how to handle their finances. Karla thought it was a great idea to see a cardiologist, but I swore: this is the last doctor I would ever see.
Ever
. Period! Ha! I’m such a boob.

I had been exercising at Mid Valley in Reseda, and Karla and I grabbed a salad at the restaurant in the gym complex. Suddenly, I realized I couldn’t chew my lettuce and breathe at the same time. I finally admitted, “We have to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Thanks to my mom we already had an appointment with a Dr. Peter Guzy, recommended by Dr. Kenneth Shine, the former head of cardiology at UCLA. Looking back now, as a parent myself, I realize that my parents were worried about my heart, and without saying so directly, this was their way to get me to the right doctor. It took being a parent to understand my folks’ genius.

Karla and I went together; this pattern was set before Lyric’s birth and has continued through our lives. (It is imperative to have an advocate in the doctors office with you when large issues are being discussed.) Once in the room I completely forgot about my symptoms and focused on the reason my mom made the appointment and I did (excuse the arrogance) some subtle yet powerful acting. My heart rate and blood pressure was marathon runner low, EKG looked great, he heard my health history and was impressed, and I thought we were on our way home with an approval from a top-notch cardiologist. (And I’d save some
money on my insurance payments.)