Better Angels: Lesley Gore and Dusty Springfield

By Linden Leliévre

What would it look like if Lesley and Dusty had a romantic relationship? A good Jewish girl from an upper-class upbringing and with a degree from a private college whose first musical influences were jazz singers and a Catholic singer with the voice that would define white female soul vocalists to this day.

The good girl falls for the older British singer whose life would be riddled with addiction and bouts of mental health issues. How would the two traverse the winding roads of fame, being in love and losing their places in the pop music industry from the sixties? Could their careers rebound after fading away to the majority of the public? How would 2005 find them in their personal lives and in their music careers?

How does their relationship end? Does it?

I hope you enjoy the music, fame, passion, and heartache I've taken Lesley and Dusty through!

From Chapter 1

"All the American performers were on the Mercury label. They arrive early and were chaperoned by a Mercury manager. Lesley was the last in line as they filed through the narrow hall. She stopped to look at the photographs and posters on the wall. Absorbed in a photograph of Edith Piaf, Lesley felt the presence of someone behind her. She turned to find Dusty, her arms folded across her chest and smiling. "Well, love. It's true."

"Hi. I'm Lesley. What's true?"

"I know. I'm Dusty. Your eyes. They are beautiful." Dusty winked, turned, and walked away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781636924236

Book preview

1

Leo and Ronny had no worries their daughter would be safe and make all the right decisions on her upcoming momentous trip to perform across the Atlantic Ocean. All who knew her knew Lesley to be level-headed, save for the boys she taught to smoke and drive in her green Jaguar convertible.

Uncertain about what to pack for her stage clothing, Lesley decided upon pearls, a business suit, and a couple of dresses for her British debut on the Top of the Pops. On the flight, she’d brought along the Sarah Lawrence class description catalog. The other singers and musicians traveling with her were giddy, imagining what they would be doing with their free time in England. Lesley was in her head, thinking about the performance and her future at college. She had no delusions about the music business, especially for females. The best plan was to get an education.

The plane began its descent. Lesley ran her fingers over her pearls, a gift from her grandmother on her thirteenth birthday, and what she now thought an odd gift for a girl in her first year of being a teen. Perhaps her grandmother recognized something about Lesley. She wasn’t tomboyish, but her self-determination and intelligence set her apart from her boy-crazy peers. Pearls? A nudge to be girlish and normal?

Dusty, home in Enfield, was a seasoned performer; having performed since 1958 with the Lana Sisters at age nineteen and in a successful trio, the Springfields, with her brother. She had given little thought to the upcoming show, except for turning the radio up when she heard Lesley Gore. Dusty thought, and kept the thought to herself, that Lesley’s hit It’s My Party was a silly song but one she herself may have recorded at age sixteen. Nevertheless, Lesley’s voice was something special. Dusty wondered how worldly the young American was.

The flight was unremarkable. While unpacking in the hotel room, Lesley looked in the mirror and marveled at how her omega flip was unscathed by the long trip. Time for bed and up early for the one rehearsal before the taping of the show.

All the American performers were on the Mercury label. They arrived early and were chaperoned by a Mercury manager. Lesley was the last in line as they filed through the narrow hall. She stopped to look at the photographs and posters on the wall. Absorbed in a photograph of Edith Piaf, Lesley felt the presence of someone behind her. She turned to find Dusty, her arms folded across her chest and smiling. Well, love. It’s true.

Hi. I’m Lesley. What’s true?

I know. I’m Dusty. Your eyes. They are beautiful. Dusty winked, turned, and walked away.

Lesley could feel herself blushing. She suddenly felt lightheaded as her pulse began to race.

Lesley observed the rehearsal to be a whirlwind of chaos unlike the measured and deliberate drills she’d experienced in the States. UK’s pride and joy, Mary Isobel Catherine Bernadette O’Brien, better known as Dusty Springfield, was to open the show with her hit, I Only Want to Be with You.

Lesley would be in the middle and sing her hit. She brought charts for several Gershwin tunes and would choose one or two to sing toward the end of the show.

Lesley would share Dusty’s harmony singers. That was fine with her. There were three singers: Ginger, Judy, and Donna. They were all taller than Dusty, all with dark hair and matching dresses. Lesley was bemused by what she saw. Dusty was whispering in the ear of the prettiest singer; the singer, Ginger, was giggling as Dusty stood so close and caressed the small of her back. Lesley felt a burning awareness in her body she’d never experienced before as she studied Dusty and Ginger flirting. She could imagine the heat of Dusty’s breath in her own ear.

The rehearsal left Lesley a little uneasy. Thankfully, the show went swimmingly. The show was filmed late morning. After breaking set, Dusty approached Lesley, inviting her to join a few others out for a drink to celebrate the success of the British and American union. Reluctant at first, Lesley quickly reconsidered and accepted the invitation. It would likely be the only chance to spend time with the British icon destined to climb to the top of the music world.

Lesley had observed every breath, pitch, and execution of Dusty’s singing. Lesley knew Dusty was going places, while Lesley thought of her plan B: Sarah Lawrence College. A good plan B it was, though.

As they walked, Lesley found Dusty to be only a couple of inches taller than herself. Funny, thought Lesley, she comes across as a lot taller. The illusion must be Dusty’s savvy and undeniable—even to seventeen-year-old Lesley—sensuality and, simply, her good posture.

The pub was smoky as Dusty guided Lesley, keeping her close. Dusty rethought her impression of hearing Lesley on the radio; perhaps she had underestimated Lesley’s gift. Her voice was pitch-perfect, and the arousing essence of her voice belied her age. Dusty was intrigued.

Dusty ordered beers for them. The others, oblivious to anyone other than those they were trying to impress or seduce, ignored Dusty and Lesley. The noise level was high; so as not to strain their voices, the singers sat close to one another. Dusty dominated the conversation. She told Lesley how much she desired to tour the US and visit Memphis and Detroit. The soul singers of the US drove Dusty with insatiable inspiration. Lesley confessed she had not visited Motown, which had been founded only four years earlier.

Dusty, please do come and we can visit Michigan together.

Michigan.

Yes, Detroit, Michigan, where Motown is changing American music!

Lesley hid her excitement at the attention Dusty was showering on her. Dusty finished her beer and ordered wine as Lesley just looked at her own beer. Dusty, not knowing herself what she wanted from the young American girl, placed her hand on Lesley’s thigh. Lesley recoiled and just as quickly relaxed as she recalled reading how familiar Europeans could be. Dusty didn’t give a second thought that Lesley was seventeen years old and she twenty-four. In that moment, Dusty realized the intoxicating desire she found in wanting to know Lesley. Dusty was buzzed; she had had several drinks to Lesley’s final empty beer glass.

In her sensible habit, Lesley remembered she had only the next day to see what sights she could take in and thought it best to return to the hotel and start planning the day. She thanked Dusty for the lovely time over the past two days and attempted to excuse herself. Dusty then easily slipped into the role of seductress that was second nature to her, trying to dissuade the American girl from leaving. Lesley apologized and Dusty insisted on walking her back to the hotel. Lesley, aware she was high, acquiesced. Dusty was unaffected by the alcohol and navigated the ragged London sidewalk flawlessly in her patent leather pumps.

The quiet walk back and sparse conversation allowed Lesley to recall what she’d witnessed at rehearsal the day before: Dusty and Ginger’s familiar exchange. For the first time in two days and the first time in her life, Lesley felt the burn and now recognized it for what it was. She did…she wanted to kiss Dusty. The thought of kissing another girl had never entered her mind. Ever. The physical attraction and being high gave her confidence in her desire but not in the pursuit.

They stood outside the Dorchester. Dusty broke the silence with a smile. I need to tinkle. May I come in?

Yes, yes. Dusty was enjoying the faint New Jersey accent that Lesley’s manager discouraged. The Americans who were along for the trip stayed on the third floor. No one was in sight when they exited the elevator. With the key firmly in her hand, Lesley looked at the room number, 3946. Dusty took the key and Lesley’s hand and unlocked the door. Slightly drunk, Lesley walked to the bed and collapsed. Dusty used the loo and Lesley’s toothbrush. Too many times, her young lovers complained of the taste of cigarettes when she kissed them.

Dusty sat in a chair, gazing and studying every attribute of Lesley’s face. She made a