The male lead could be sung by a tenor or baritone; if fact, the roles had been sung by several famous singing couples, including Robert Goulet and Cyd Charisse, Steve Lawrence and Edie Gorme. As well as the operatic movie duo, Howard Keel and Katherine Grayson, who were so good together in “Showboat.”
Keeping D.J.’s mind occupied by their new roles would propel him out of his current funk. It had to. Lately, though, he seemed in far better spirits. He laughed a lot with the boys and spent time in the pastures with their ranch manager. Things were looking up.
In jeans and turtleneck, Eva strode downstairs to the huge family room. To the side of the massive, wall-size brick fireplace was the entertainment center, into which she inserted Nate’s CD. Seven years ago, the cast who’d performed the latest revival had made this recording. With a steaming coffee cup in hand, she sat down in one of the plaid sofas, enjoying as she always did the warm, earth tones and casual furniture in this part of the mansion. She settled back into the plump cushions, listened to the overture and sipped her coffee.
Two hours passed swiftly, her mind far away, drifting to the story’s main plot, the two divorced, middle-aged actors reuniting to perform the Shakespearean comedy, butting heads, jealous over each other’s romantic interests, squabbling over trivialities, resisting each other, but finally realizing they still loved each other. Eva was enchanted by the lively, amusing music, the wonderful lyrics—especially the song, “So In Love”, sung by the two leads. First by the character Lilli, then by her ex-husband, Fred.
FRED! Of all names—oh well, this was written by Cole Porter in the late ‘40s. Fred was like Brad back then. Back to the music—Eva could picture the stage, the scene when Fred is suddenly struck by the revelation that he was still madly in love and sings, “I’m yours till I die…”
Good heavens! Where was D.J.? He should’ve returned from taking Jamie and Justin to school an hour ago.
A queasy feeling overcame her. An intuition that something was not quite right. And it had to do with D.J.’s surgery, his moodiness for the past two weeks, followed by a sudden cheerfulness. Maybe the chemotherapy was taking its toll—he’d been nauseated with stomach cramps. Or maybe losing his lovely, thick hair in big chunks—like a molting skunk, he’d called it—was more than his “divo ego” could take. They’d been grateful that the cancer hadn’t spread to the descending colon, that he hadn’t needed to wear a colostomy bag. D.J. was, too…or so she thought.
Her heart racing with fear, she jumped off the sofa and bolted up the curved staircase, taking two steps at a time. From the front window of the master suite, she peered out. D.J.’s truck was parked in the circular driveway.
So he’d returned! Why hadn’t he come inside the house? He would’ve wanted another cup of her freshly brewed coffee. She’d told him about the “Kiss Me, Kate” CD, that she wanted him to listen to it. Read the libretto. Looking forward to more pleasant times was exactly what he needed…or so she thought.
A sinking feeling drove her to his walk-in closet. She turned on the bank of recessed lights. On the highest shelf above the tall compartment that held his shoes was a blue plastic box, containing his .38 snub-nosed revolver. Like any Texan, he kept at least one handgun or shotgun in the house for protection and hunting rifles in the garage or barn.
She put the closet stepladder in place and climbed up. Prying open the blue plastic box, she found it empty. For a few seconds, she stared in disbelief at the indentation in the gray foam where the revolver had rested.
No, no. NO! She couldn’t believe he’d become so depressed that he’d even think of—
Shoving the box aside, she then looked for the box of ammunition that was stored alongside. The revolver carried five bullets. She thumbed open the end of the cardboard box. There were bullets missing but she couldn’t tell how many.
Panic driving her, she leaped off the ladder. Adrenaline pumped through every vein in her body as she ran down the stairs and out the mansion’s front entrance. She stopped and whirled around in a circle.
WHERE would he go? There were over two thousand acres on this ranch—where couldn’t he go? If he wanted to be alone, to contemplate such a horrible act of desperation, there was a near infinity of choices.
Swallowing down the urge to both vomit and begin sobbing, Eva stopped, took a deep breath. She prayed. Dear God, please don’t let him…
She ran down the graveled road in the direction of the horse barn and other outbuildings, tried to squelch the terrible guilt that washed over her. All in vain. She should’ve been able to see how he truly felt…she should’ve known how morose, how full of despair he’d become…
By the time she made the curve in the road and spied the horse barn, she was panting. No, he wouldn’t do it there and risk frightening the horses. He had too much respect for those animals. Some of them had been his good friends since childhood.
But how did she know what a desperately depressed man thought or felt? Maybe he’d feel comforted by those memories of childhood –
No. Not there. Not around the animals.
Down the road about fifty yards on the right was the tractor barn where all the tools and ranch equipment were stored. There was a tool shed attached to the five garage bays. One bay was open. Pedro was inside, tinkering with some machinery.
“Pedro, have you seen D.J.?” She strove to keep her voice from cracking.
Pedro, one of their fulltime ranch hands, looked up and smiled. He tipped his hat.
“Yes, Mrs. McKay. He took the Mule. I think he said he was going to look for that pack of coyotes that’s been spooking the cattle. By the old well.”
“Mule?” She was confused at first, then remembered the Kawasaki Mule, the diesel-fueled cross between a golf cart and pint-sized wagon, that D.J. had bought last month. Its spot in the barn was empty. “I need to find him.”
“You want me to drive you in the truck?” The ranch hands used an older Ford pickup that was parked outside the tractor barn.
“No, thanks. I’ll drive it myself and try to find him.”
Pedro nodded. “Keys’re inside, Mrs. McKay. Looks like rain.”
She jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the key and backed up. She tried to slow down her racing pulse but couldn’t.
Okay, the old well? The horse pastures up north? They’d filled in the old well and boarded it to make sure none of the livestock fell in. The cattle pastures to the north of the horses were another possibility. For a moment, she was undecided. The overcast sky to the north, darkening with rain-soaked clouds, was no deterrent.
With a sense of urgency, she put the truck in gear and peeled out into the road, heading for the cow pastures. Just in case she was wrong about his intentions, that’s where he’d be. But why would he take a revolver to hunt down a coyote? One of D.J.’s hunting rifles would be more logical. They’d be more powerful and he’d never get that close to one of those coyotes to use the revolver, anyway—
Oh, dear God! The awful truth began to sink in…
She drove as fast as she could, holding to the middle of the roadway. Three miles later, she came to the dead-end in the road that had a three-way stop. Without hesitation, she took the northwest-bound road, following the dip in the road, then the gradual rise to the higher pastures where the Circle M’s prized Black Angus grazed.
Unable to check her emotions any longer, she began to cry. Then sob. She swallowed down great gulps of sobs and wiped her eyes furiously so she could see down the road. There were miles of barbed-wire field fencing on both sides of the roadway but occasionally, inset gates of green-painted piping broke up the lines. She came to one on the right; the gate was slightly ajar as if someone had opened it and then shoved it closed but didn’t latch it.
Eva stepped on the brake and backed up. Bounding out of the cab, she left the engine on while she opened the gate, pulled the truck through, didn’t bother to close it. Each second counted!
With a rising sense of dread, trying to gulp down he
r sobs, she followed the parallel tracks through the grassy pasture, a bunched up group of black cows stopping to stare at her. If D.J. had come in here, he must have continued into the woods at the far end of the pasture.
Into the woods, the shade of the trees obscured what little visibility she had. She stopped the truck and got out. She wiped her eyes and cleared her clogged throat.
“D.J.!” Over and over she shouted his name. Each time more and more loudly. Finally, her voice cracked and gave out. She began to weep again, the tears streaming down her face uncontrollably.
She had to find him! What would she do without him—
“Evie!”
His cry resounded from her right, off the tracked path. She began to run through the brush. Unable to pick up her feet in her rush, she stumbled over brambles and vines. She wiped her face and eyes on her sleeve—
Oh dear God, she’d gotten to him in time!
He was standing beside a sweet gum tree, the Mule behind him on idle. She tripped and lost her balance, went down in the dirt and underbrush. The only thought that raced through her mind— got to him in time! Got to him in time!
She was pulled to her feet roughly. Then she fell against him, shuddering as the terrible, cold knot of fear released deep inside her.
“What’re you doing here?” he barked. “It’s about to rain!”
He stood her up and looked at her closely. “What happened, Evie? You’ve been crying? Jeez, did you get a call—”
She shook her head, then pushed against his chest now that relief was washing over her like a cleansing shower. Holding up both fists, she glared him down.
“Why’d you take the revolver?” He was silent. “Dammit, D.J., were you going to shoot yourself? Dammit to hell, you’d better tell me the truth—so help me, I’ll punch your lights out!”
She socked him in the chest. He sighed heavily.
“The truth, D.J.! You owe me that much!”
In silence, he placed a hand on her shoulder, steered her over to the Mule and sat her down on the passenger side. The sides were open, like a golf carts, and he lowered himself on one knee in the dirt in front of her. In his left hand, the revolver dangled. His right arm rested on his other knee.
“D.J.,” she warned, her voice cracking with hysteria, “you’d fucking better tell me the truth, do you hear?”
His bald, shaven head, covered with a black knit cap, dipped as he stared at the ground. What seemed like a full minute passed while she shook with her sudden release of tension. Her whole body shook. Her tears still flowed but she no longer was sobbing. He hung his head in shame, it seemed. He remained silent. Rage replaced her relief.
“You’re a fuckin’ coward, D.J. You can’t take a little cancer and losing your hair—what, are you so full of yourself? Are you so afraid? You’d leave me, the boys, Sara—destroy us all because you’ve lost your hair? Are you fuckin’ crazy?”
He raised his face to meet hers. Tears brimmed in his dark blue eyes, trickled down both rosy cheeks. Even with a bald head and a thinner face, he was handsome. To her, he’d always look like a movie star.
He collapsed to both knees, dropped the gun in the dirt and wound his arms around her waist. His head sank onto her lap. Then he sobbed into her sweatshirt, his knit cap loosening. She pulled it off and gently stroked the bare skin. Already, dark stubble on his scalp could be seen. His lovely dark curls were growing back.
She continued to stroke and kiss his head until he stopped weeping. Like comforting one of her young sons, Eva wiped his face with the bottom of her shirt.
“Tell me.” She lifted his face, noticed for the first time the haunted look in his eyes. He coughed and cleared his throat.
“Evie. You can’t understand. Shouldn’t be…” He cleared his throat again. “I-I couldn’t help…feeling like, what’s the use? It’ll come back. Maybe next time it’ll be in the blood or bones…or brain. Maybe I’ll lose an arm, leg, half my brain cells…maybe I’ll end up a vegetable. I won’t end up like that! I won’t have my sons see me like that!”
“The doctor says you have to give up the booze, the cigars—”
“Everything. Can’t stand the food on this fuckin’ diet. That’ll be the rest of my life, thanks to my fried intestines—”
“It’s a price you have to pay for having your life, D.J.” She sighed and shuddered. “What about us, the ones who love you? Do you want to destroy us, too?”
He gazed up at her solemnly. “The only thing that kept me from pulling that trigger…the thought of leaving all of you…” His voice caught and he struggled to compose himself. “Might still have to leave you someday…”
“Yeah, we might get into an accident driving to Austin next week—so? You used to be fearless, ready to take on anything, D.J. Remember what you told me once? We were just starting our big affair, just kids really. You said that physical scars were nothing. What really hurt were the emotional ones.”
She began to weep. “If you killed yourself, D.J., how do you think your sons would live with THOSE emotional scars? You’d destroy them…and me. Do you want us to remember you as a coward who couldn’t face up to it?”
Fervently, she cupped his face with her hands and forced him to look at her. His beautiful blue eyes still swam with unshed tears, making hers flow steadily. She’d never seen him so distraught, so hopeless. So terrified.
“You know you’d destroy us, the ones who love you the most. If you give up…give in to this—” She couldn’t bear to use the words, COMMIT SUICIDE. “—you’d destroy us all. Me. Your sons. Yes, even Sara. For us, D.J., if not for yourself, you’ve got to see this through. And whatever comes in the future. You have to be fearless again.”
She sniffed back her tears and smiled drily. “Who knows? You might end up a ninety year-old widower. Your sixty year-old sons’ll be driving you around the ranch in that—that Kawasaki Mule there—pointing out all the condo complexes they’re putting in where the pastures used to be—”
“Over my dead body, they will—” he retorted, his luscious mouth twisting up sardonically. Realizing the irony of his remark, he winced and added contritely, “Sorry, Evie. Bad choice of words.” He shook his head.
“My future—OUR future,” he went on, “might not be much fun if this…this damned disease keeps coming back. Maybe the sex’ll dry up. Maybe I’ll get ugly and withered.” His eyes drilled into hers. “Can you stick by me no matter what?”
She snorted for emphasis. “What do you think? I’ve told you before—nothing’s changed. I’ll love you ‘til the day I die. Maybe even beyond the grave…who knows?”
D.J. took a deep, quivering breath. He heaved himself to his feet and pulled her up with him.
“Guess I’ve put you through hell and back,” he muttered, his voice husky with remorse. “How can you stand it?”
She shrugged and held onto his neck. “Comes with the territory, I guess. We Texas gals are raised tough.”
He grinned a tight, little crooked grin. His arms wrapped around her and held her like a vise.
“Okay then. If you’re willing to stick it out…” His eyes crinkled and his lips quivered. He appeared resigned to their pact.
“Promise, D.J.,” she urged somberly, “you’ll ask the doctor for some antidepressants. They work, I know they do. Remember when I needed them? Promise me, too, you’ll never give up…no matter what. I can’t bear worrying about you—”
Glancing down at the ground, she bent over and picked up the revolver. Saw the hammer had been cocked—dear God, was he just seconds away from pulling that trigger?
Drops of rain began to fall steadily. The trees shivered from the weight of the rain. Eva nestled the wet knit cap upon D.J.’s bare head, her eyes flickering upward.
“Swear to me, D.J. You won’t be a coward with this disease. Show your sons what you’re made of. You’re tough and strong. You’ll stick it out, take your chances, no matter what.”
“Okay,” he sighed heavily, then puffed out hi
s chest with determination. “I swear. No matter what. You have my word on that. It might be a real bitch, what might come along—”
“I like you bald,” she said, “Just think, wearing those wigs now will be easier.”
“Oh no, not going back on stage…ever again.”
“Hmm, I think you’d make a great Fred.”
“Who?”
“Fred. Petruchio. Kiss Me, Kate. You’d play two characters. It’s a play within a play. A musical comedy. They want us back, D.J. In six months. To start the fall season.”
He looked uncertain. Maybe it was too early to point him towards the future. But he definitely needed a push. Something to strive for.
Another challenge. Another spotlight. More rounds of applause. More family Christmases. Seeing his sons grow up. Seeing me get old.
That was it. She’d push him towards the future. A future without fear. Meanwhile, they’d savor the present. Each day as it came. She’d lend him her strength, her courage, her love, whatever it took. Knowing that she was steadfast and loyal would keep him going. Of that, she was now certain.
D.J. was a pistol. He wouldn’t give up if she didn’t.
They stood, holding each other tightly, their faces lifted to welcome the rain. The rain and whatever else came their way.
Chapter Eighteen
“Break a leg, Mom, Dad! “
Jamie hugged them both, then it was Justin’s turn. Handsome boys in their little-man suits and ties, they were tall for their ages. Both were beaming, as excited as Eva was about their premiere. D.J. wrapped his arms around them both, careful not to muss his stage makeup.
“Gotta go,” Justin said, “Sara’s holding our seats next to Granny.” Justin glanced over at D.J.’s next costume, the one for the Shakespearean portion of the musical. “Dad, you’re really going to wear those tights? Good thing you lost a little weight or you’d split those things—”
D.J. groaned. “Good thing this is a comedy, else they’d never get me in that getup—”
“D.J., you wore something like that when you did Otello, remember?”
Born to Sing, no. 1 Page 26