Barbra made sure to keep Marty Erlichman's card.

7.

Ted Rozar had seen the little transaction between Barbra and Marty. He'd spotted Erlichman in the audience and knew who he was, and he'd watched with interest Marty's hasty beeline backstage between shows.

"He wants her," Rozar told his wife as they headed out of the club. "I could see it in his eyes."

Once inside a cab, Rozar laughed. "Well, if he wants her, let him try to get her," he said. "He'll see what she wants. And if he can give it to her, then he can have her."

8.

It was time for a little makeover, Barbra felt, and it came, as always, courtesy of good old Bob.

She sat on her usual stool in Bob's apartment on Gay Street as her pal walked in circles slowly around her, stroking his chin, as if she were a half-finished piece of sculpture and he was considering where to wield his chisel next. They laughed, often and easily. But Bob was quite serious in believing Barbra's appearance was critical in taking her to the next level of her professional career. She was definitely on the move. She'd just been booked for a second appearance on the Paar show, and the Bon Soir had, once again, extended her run by a couple of weeks. Bob thought it was time she left behind anything too girlish, anything too "Greenwich Village beatnik," and homed in on something entirely new and surprising.

For all Barbra's flirtation with the idea of a new manager, she was grateful that Rozar had landed her a repeat appearance on the Paar show, again with the able a.s.sistance of Orson Bean, who was once more in the guest host's chair. So she was up for whatever Bob had in mind for her. A new wardrobe or hairdo. Anything to make her stand out on television.

Bob got down to work. A dress was shortened; a pair of long gloves was tried on. It was Bob's desire that Barbra stop conversation when she made an appearance. She had to be "queen of the room," he said. Terry Leong's thrift-shop creations had been interesting, Bob thought, but "they were costumes, not clothes." That look had worked very well to get her noticed, Bob believed, but it was entirely "too theatrical" to take Barbra to the next level of her public success. Now, Bob urged her, she needed to think "sophistication ... poise ... Park Avenue c.o.c.ktail party."

He was careful not to dictate to her, to never say anything as cra.s.s as "tone it down." Barbra was far too headstrong to simply follow orders. So instead he brought out stacks of magazines, pointing to celebrities and models whose looks seemed right for Barbra. She studied them carefully, especially Audrey Hepburn in costume for the soon-to-be-released Breakfast at Tiffany's. Bob said this was the kind of "severity" and "extreme chic" he thought she should go for. Barbra nodded, warming to the idea. Who would have thought that she'd ever be like Audrey Hepburn?

He hauled out a book that had made a great impression on him. It was The White G.o.ddess by Robert Graves, which posited the concept of a female deity at the center of much of Western culture. From Graves's essay, Bob took the idea that men had a primal need to worship women, dating back to pre-Christian G.o.ddess religions. The "remnant of the divine G.o.ddess," Bob believed, could still be found in certain cultural prototypes: Garbo, Dietrich, Monroe, even the new First Lady, Jacqueline Kennedy. He explained to Barbra that the public's veneration of these women was "tapping into something very subconscious, very deep." He wanted the same for Barbra. He saw her potential to be as irresistible, as spellbinding, as divine as any of those other legendary ladies.

If they could cultivate that, Bob told Barbra, if-through the combination of talent, clothes, hairstyle, makeup, and att.i.tude-they could bring out the "white G.o.ddess" within, then there would be no stopping her.

Barbra told him to get to work.

9.

Diana Kind was hopping mad. How dare that man say such a thing about a daughter of hers?

Only a short time ago, on May 22, she'd watched Barbra on the Paar show. It had been Barbra's second appearance on national television, and Diana had allowed ten-year-old Rozzie to stay up to watch. How excited Rozzie had been to see her sister on TV. Diana had found it amusing how the little girl was so interested in and impressed with Barbra's career.

Diana had to admit that Barbra looked good. A little cla.s.sier and more stylish than in the past. Somebody must be helping her pick out nicer clothes, Diana thought. She was pleased about that, though, of course, she wouldn't tell Barbra she was pleased; if she did, that stubborn kid would probably decide she was doing something wrong if her mother liked what she was wearing and go back to her old ways.

Diana thought Barbra had sounded good, too, when she'd sung a couple of songs on the show. Of course, Diana wouldn't tell her that either, because to do so would just encourage her in this crazy show-business dream she had, and Diana would never, ever do that. But she'd told her friends that Barbra "sang very well on the Paar show." And she'd enjoyed watching her kid make conversation with Orson Bean and the other guests, Henny Youngman and that funny "Professor," Irwin Corey.

But tonight the Paar show hadn't been nearly as enjoyable. There, on the same set where Barbra had sat not so long ago, Barbra was derided, not applauded, and Diana was furious.

Jack Paar was back in the host's chair, and he must have seen the show while he was on vacation, because he mentioned "that Barbra Streisand" who'd been a guest and made a joke at her expense. A joke that implied Barbra was ugly. That was how Diana described it to friends, and she was "so angry she could have spit."

It was true that Diana rarely complimented her daughter. But, as one friend understood it, "she thought Barbra had her own beauty, her own style, and that she was certainly not ugly." And here Barbra was, looking better than ever, Diana thought, and that boor, Jack Paar, was making a joke at her expense. And on national television where all Diana's friends could hear it!

Diana snapped off the set. Taking a piece of paper from her desk, she began to write. "Dear Mr. Paar, I am Barbra Streisand's mother," she scrawled-or words to that effect. "How would you feel if I said something unkind about your daughter on national television?" She called him "incredibly rude." Then she put the letter in an envelope and mailed it off to NBC.

Typically, she had couched her letter from her own perspective: She hadn't asked how Paar's daughter would have felt, after all. But that didn't mean her own embarra.s.sment had obliterated any concern for Barbra's feelings. She told her friends that she wouldn't tell her daughter about any of this. If Barbra hadn't heard what Paar had said about her, then it was best to keep it that way, Diana believed.

As far as her friends knew, Diana never got a response from Paar. Nor, they thought, did Barbra ever know how her mother had tried, in her own small, imperfect way, to do right by her.

Barbara Joan Streisand, age three and age seven. By the time she was seven, she already possessed what she called "an uncontrollable itch" to make it out of Brooklyn and into the big world beyond. Collection of Stuart Lippner

Barbara with friends outside their Brooklyn tenements. Unlike her playmates, Barbara was never called in for regular meals. She lived, she insisted, like a "wild child." Collection of Stuart Lippner

Barbara with her sister, Rosalind, known as Rozzie. The younger girl was the apple of their mother's eye, leaving Barbara often feeling left out. Collection of Stuart Lippner

The teenaged Barbara was self-conscious about her looks, but others pointed out that her curves were in all the right places. Collection of Stuart Lippner

The seventeen-year-old acting student, ambitious and sometimes overly serious. Despite shyness and self-doubt, she was averse to taking no for an answer. Collection of Stuart Lippner