“Often there would be visitors on the set. Fellow artists would drop by and watch us work. One afternoon, everything was set up for my song, “They All Laughed”. I took my place besides the piano and saw my old chum Cary Grant standing next to the camera. Mark Sandrich said “Okay, hit the playback,” and the orchestra went into the introduction to the song. I looked straight at Cary. Now I had someone for whom to perform and Cary reacted beautifully. He was good an audience as he was an actor. When I finished the verse and chorus I went over to him and while we chatted, Cary asked me to dinner the next night.
I went back to the scene and Fred and I danced to the tune I´d just sung. Cary watched the dance number about three times, and then had to leave. He waved at me and pointed his watch, and help up seven fingers.
The next evening Cary arrived on the dot to take me out to dinner, and we drove to a favourite seaside restaurant. We both had a keen sense of humor and tried to top each other on the way to the restaurant. It was a wonder that the police didn´t stop us, since the car was weaving all over the road, but laugh we did. He loved telling cockney stories. Over dinner, I made Cary repeat a little poem that went something like this:
“There was a big molice-pan
Who saw a bittle lum,
Sitting on the wide-salk
Chewing godda wum.
´Long came big molice-pan
Who said to bittle lum,
Said the bittle lum to the big molice-pan,
“Gaul I sot.”“Cary just ate this up. He wanted to learn it himself and tried to repeat it. I´d correct him and then he´d go at it again. Some eavesdroppers tried to tell him where he´d made his error, until our half of the restaurant became embroiled in this stupid poem. Our sides were aching from the mistakes Cary made. Finally, the room applauded when Cary got it right.