The acerbic pianist

I took a bushel of admittedly undesirable coffee-table books of the American West purchased at auction to Half Price Books. They offered one dollar. I politely demurred and dragged the lot uphill to the shabby, smelly Twice Told Tales where I was offered fourteen dollars credit. It took an impossibly long time to find anything remotely readable in the shop. They have either the worst instincts or the worst luck possible. Eventually I unearthed a copy of Claude-Edmonde Magny's "The Age of The American Novel: The Film Aesthetic of Fiction Between the Two Wars" and a biography of Oscar Levant, the dog-faced cohort, from which the following anecdotes are culled:
It was William Goetz, an executive at 20th Century-Fox who finally fired Levant. Goetz, who had married one of Louis B. Mayer's daughters and so owed his job to his father-in-law had harbored a grudge against Levant ever since Levant had one-upped him in a battle of insults at a Hollywood party. Goetz had snidely asked Levant "Why don't you play us a medley of your hit?" referring to Levant's one hit song.
"Why don't you play us a medley of your father-in-law?" Levant responded.
and
The perennial bachelor Moss Hart entered a room with Edith Atwater on his arm. "Ah, here comes Moss Hart and the future Miss Atwater," Levant said.
and
After playing his moving, elegiac composition dedicated to his late friend George Gershwin, Levant's mother comments, "You call THAT a dirge?"