by Dyan Cannon
As it turned out, I was there for more than a little while. Seven days. A friend from the company took Bangs in. I missed her, but the days weren’t too bad, really, because I had a steady stream of visitors from the cast and crew. The nights, though, were pretty boring. But in the meantime, I was definitely getting some special attention from Dr. Dazzle. His timing was perfect. He always seemed to drop by when I was on the phone with Cary, who called two or three times a day. I was a little disappointed that Cary didn’t fly in to see me, but I had to accept it; he was a busy man.
One afternoon, Dr. Dazzle came into the room with a white sack as I was picking at my lunch.
“I brought you a little something,” he said, taking a huge sandwich out of the bag. “Best pastrami in Chicago.”
“It looks delicious,” I said just as the phone rang.
It was Cary. “Why is that man always there?” he snapped, hearing Dr. Steve in the background. “I tell you, he’s interested in far more than your finger. He’s after you.”
“You think that about everybody!” I whispered.
“You watch yourself around him,” Cary said. “If he wants to play doctor, let him do it with one of the nurses.”
“Best egg cream in Chicago,” Dr. Steve said the next time he visited, handing me a large paper cup. “I don’t like to see my patients waste away on hospital food.”
I took a sip through the straw. It was delicious.
“How sweet of you,” I said.
“Now it’s time for your medicine.”
“What medicine?”
“It’s a special medicine. You’re the first patient I’ve prescribed it to.” With that, he leaned in and planted a wet one right on my lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said with just the right amount of false sincerity. “I’ve developed a mad crush on you.”
“You’re wonderful. But I’m taken.”
“Me too. What does that have to do with anything?”
We both laughed, but the episode sent a little chill down my spine. Not so much that Dr. Steve kissed me, but that Cary—from a distance of two thousand miles—had anticipated it. Did he have ESP? When I was a child, my dad convinced me he had eyes in the back of his head, and it freaked me out. For a moment, I got the same feeling from Cary.
Finally, Dr. Steve released me from the hospital. My hand was still in pretty bad shape, though, and performing was out of the question. My understudy had been giving great performances, and the producer didn’t have any choice but to release me from the show. It’s just about impossible to get out of a theater contract unless you’re maimed or dying, but that’s how bad my hand was. They were understandably reluctant, because I was playing the lead and we were packing the house, but there wasn’t much to argue about. I was less than heartbroken. I’d been on the road for eight months, and I missed home. I’d had enough of hotels and psycho divas.
“I’m only releasing you on the condition that you see my associate in Los Angeles the minute you get back,” Dr. Steve told me. “I know I’m repeating myself, but do not take this lightly. You don’t want complications setting in.”
I thanked him, and he gave me a most gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.
“You’ll be missed,” he said.
“You’ve been very kind, Doctor,” I said.
I packed my things and took myself and my devoted dog to the airport for the flight back to Los Angeles.
I crashed, once again, with my dear friend Addie. When I got to her place, she said Cary had already called three times, but it was the middle of the night when I got in and I didn’t call him back. I went to bed exhausted, and the ringing phone woke me early in the morning. It was Cary.
“I’m so glad you’re back, my love! How about we celebrate with a Dodgers game today? Dodger Dogs galore!”
I told him that sounded great. I’d promised to let the doctor check my hand out, but I could do it early in the afternoon, then head to Cary’s house before the game. My hand looked horrible and felt worse, but I didn’t think anything dramatic was going on with it.
When I got to the doctor, he took one look and admitted me directly into UCLA Medical Center. Cary came over later that afternoon with flowers.
“Silly child,” he said, kissing me. “What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into? Let me see that paw of yours.” He ran his finger delicately over my bandaged hand. “You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”
I smiled. “Looks like I’ll be here for a few days.” I looked up at him and beamed. “You’re a sight for a sore hand. Are you in the mood to hold the other one tonight?”
Cary clenched his jaw and let out air through his teeth.
“Darling, I have a confession to make. I am utterly phobic about hospitals.”
I believed him. Except for the time he’d gone to see Elsie without me, I’d never seen him look so ill at ease. At that moment, the door opened, and before the nurse could close it I got a glimpse of Stanley Fox standing in the hallway.
“I understand,” I said, reaching for his hand.
He gave a little laugh and ran his handkerchief over his forehead as the nurse took my temperature. “The truth is out,” he said. “I am a terrible coward.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute, Cary,” I said with the thermometer in my mouth. “Why did you leave Stanley waiting in the hall? Invite him in.”
“I just wanted a moment alone with you first.”
Cary cracked the door open and beckoned for Stanley to come in. Over the months I’d learned that Stanley was the person Cary trusted more than anyone else in the universe. He looked like a rabbi, not a lawyer, an agent, or a confidante, all of which he was to Cary. In fact, Cary was unusual among actors in that he relied on a single person—Stanley—to manage all of his affairs.
“Dyan,” Stanley said, “I’m so sorry about your injury. You look great. I’m sure you’ll be back in business in no time.”
Cary looked at his watch. “Well, we’d better be off,” he said.
“To where?” I asked.
“Oh, we’re going to the Dodger game,” Cary said a little sheepishly. “I didn’t want to disappoint Stanley.” He kissed me on the cheek and the two of them left.
We haven’t seen each other in weeks, I’m in the hospital, and you’re worried about “disappointing” Stanley?
You’re a big girl, Dyan! I told myself. No need to have a pity party about this . . .
But I did anyway.
So I called Mary and she came and held my hand for the rest of the night. Thank God for girlfriends.
After three more days in the hospital, I went to stay with Addie again until I could find my own place. Two weeks later, I rented a spacious one-bedroom apartment on Havenhurst, in West Hollywood. After about a month, my hand was finally healed, but my release from the theater contract stipulated that I couldn’t appear in anything else for three months. There wasn’t much to do but take it easy. As it happened, at about this time my parents were making their annual trip to Desert Hot Springs, where their friends Honey and Sam Dorf owned a rustic but comfortable spa motel. It was a homey, no-frills kind of place. The little apartments had kitchens, so you didn’t have to go out to eat, and there were several thermal pools, a cold plunge pool, and a sauna. It was really the perfect place for a family vacation.
Cary, of course, had already met my mom, but not my dad. I wasn’t sure this was the best time, since we’d be two hours from Los Angeles in a fairly isolated place. If it didn’t go well, we’d kind of be stuck. Since he was busy with meetings, though, I was sure he wouldn’t be able to come. I felt completely safe inviting him.
“I really want to meet your father,” Cary said when I told him, “but I’m locked in.” I was slightly relieved. It wasn’t that I expected any trouble; Dad was a very tolerant person and Cary was the consummate gentleman, so the worst case would be a slightly chilly encounter. But it could wait.
So I drove down to the desert alone to stay with my p
arents.
The morning after I arrived, Honey gave us a knock and gave me a slip of paper. “Irving wants you to call him,” she said. “Irving,” of course, was Cary. For absolutely no reason, I called him “Irving” and he called me “Matilda.” It was just a part of the secret vocabulary that couples invent as they grow together.
I went to Honey’s office and called Cary collect.
“Dear girl! Bob Arthur’s down with the flu and we’ve had to postpone for a day. I’m getting in the car in just a few minutes.”
“That’s great! I can’t wait for you to meet Dad.” Let the chips fall where they will, I thought. It had to happen sooner or later.
“Are there many people at the motel?” he asked.
“It’s pretty quiet,” I said.
“Good. I won’t be there ’til after dark, so hopefully I can slip in without people noticing.”
“Mom, how would you feel about Cary coming down for a night?”
“Oh, I would feel fine. Your father, though. Not sure he’s ready for that.”
“Can you help me get him ready? Cary’s on his way.”
“This is gonna be interesting,” Mom said.
Dad, though, was completely sanguine about it. “Sure, I’d like to shake hands with the man,” he said. “I’ve been seeing him in movies since I was a young man.”
“What were your favorites, Dad?”
“They’re all good. The one with the monkey. No, I think it was a leopard. Bringing Up Baby, that was it . . . do you know you were one year old when that movie came out?”
“What are you trying to tell me, Dad?”
He smiled. “Nothing really. It just makes me realize how fast time goes by. I look forward to meeting him.”
Then he went into the bedroom, closed the door, and prayed for two hours, which was just about the length of time it took Cary to get there.
“YEEEEOWWWW-WHOO-WHOO-WHOO-WHOO!” That was Cary.
“YEE HAAAWWW-YIPPIE TI YI YAY!” That was Dad.
They had just emerged from the thermal spring and plunged into the cold pool. The surface of the water shimmered in the moonlight.
Cary counted seconds: “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand . . .”
Dad: “Fifteen! Fifteen seconds or bust! Submerge!”
Simultaneously, their two heads disappeared beneath the surface of the pool.
My mother and I looked at each other in sheer amazement. They were like two ten-year-old boys who’d become vacation playmates.
Now they both sprang out of the cold pool.
Dad: “Aaaahhhh-oooooooh!”
Cary: “Grrrrrrrrrrr! Ruff-ruff! Ruff-ruff.”
Mom clicked her tongue. “Your father has turned into a coyote and Cary has turned into a German shepherd. I think this means they like each other.”
“I think they do,” I said. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
“As long as they don’t turn into werewolves. These men, I tell you. Two women like each other, they have a glass of wine and talk about their families. Two men like each other, they grow paws and tails. It’s good, though. Men, they don’t make so many friends the way women do. It’s harder for them.”
The next morning, Cary and Dad were having coffee at the patio table. Mom and I were lounging in the sun a few yards away. Mom pointed across the pool to them.
“Dyan, I want you to take a look,” she said.
“What am I looking at?”
“Did you ever notice this?”
“What?”
“How much they look alike. They could be brothers.”
Mom was right. Now that I could finally see them side by side, the two of them bore an uncanny resemblance to each other.
“You’re right, they could be,” I said. “The two handsomest men in the world.”
“I’m madly in love with your family, Dyan,” Cary said. He had to leave now, and I was walking him to his car. “I knew what kind of man your father was when he shook my hand.” He flicked his wrist as a testimony to the firmness of Dad’s handshake. “It’s easy to tell why people respect him so much. He’s good-hearted, honest, and forthright.”
“I’m really happy the two of you met,” I said.
“I’ve got an idea. You’ve got another few weeks left before you can audition again. Why don’t we go to Bristol and give Elsie another shot? At the very least we can catch some football and see what’s playing at the Hippodrome.”
“I’d love to,” I said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Dismantling Effect
Unfortunately, the closer we got to Bristol, the worse Cary’s mood got. My instinct was to draw him out. The deeper he sank into his funk, the harder it would be for him to climb out of it, I thought.
“Picnic bar for your thoughts,” I said.
He forced a smile. “I doubt that would be a fair trade,” he said. “Nothing too dazzling going on in this old noggin.”
“I’m not looking for ‘dazzling.’ I’m looking for ‘honest.’ You know you always get like this when you’re going to see Elsie.”
“What can I say, Dyan? No matter what I do, she makes me feel rather squalid. That’s all.”
“Cary, look at it this way. Instead of focusing on how she makes you feel, think about her.”
“What more can I do? I’ve gone to all kinds of lengths to make her feel good, and she doesn’t want any part of it.”
“It’s not about stuff, Cary—coats and jewels and all that. Have you just put your arms around her and told her you love her and held her close?”
“She won’t let me do that.”
“Have you tried?”
Cary sighed. Then he took my hand and held it quietly for the rest of the trip.
The buildup to my first face-to-face encounter with Elsie had led me to expect . . . I’m not sure what, actually. A wicked old crone stirring a pot of broth made from human heads? Not surprisingly, though, our first meeting was anticlimactic. She was small boned, with gray hair that appeared to have been done fairly recently and a ramrod posture worthy of a West Point cadet. She said, “Nice to meet you,” without displaying any particular interest in me—or in Cary, for that matter.
Lunch was a nervous succession of random remarks that Cary had hoped would spark Elsie’s interest, but nothing really did. Whenever she fell back into silence, which was for most of the hour, I would rush in to fill the void, echoing and expanding on whatever Cary had said. It was like trying to push a boulder uphill.
Before we’d gone to pick her up at the Chesterfield, the comfortable elder home where Cary had situated her (it was what today we refer to as “assisted living”), I tried to think of something I could give Elsie to break the ice, not just between the two of us, but between her and Cary, too. Browsing in a drugstore, I thought I’d hit on the perfect thing: a manicure kit. It had a nail file, clippers, scissors, some moisturizing cream, and two small bottles of nail polish, along with polish remover. I thought it might be nice to do her nails. With all the tension, though, I’d forgotten the nail kit in my purse when Cary walked her inside. I didn’t worry, though, because I knew I’d be seeing her again.
The next morning, we had breakfast with Maggie and Eric. The weather was mild and sunny and Cary thought it might be nice if we took Elsie for a drive. But he came out of the home without her and came to open my door.
“She doesn’t feel like going for a drive, but she’d like to see you for a bit.”
“Me? You mean, just me and her?”
“Yes,” Cary said. “Don’t look so frightened. She doesn’t bite. Not hard, anyway. Really, it’s a good sign.” I hoped so. He seemed very pleased.
“What should I do with her? Should I take her for a walk?”
“I don’t think so. Elsie’s not much for walks. But ask her.”
I remembered the nail polish. Okay, I’d give her a manicure.
“I’m going into town for a bit to place a call,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“You’re very pretty, but you’re too young for Cary,” she said. Oh, we were off to a great start.
“I brought you a little present,” I said, reaching into my purse for the nail kit. “How would you like a manicure?”
“If you like,” she said.
Whew. That was better. I got to work. I took her hands and filed her nails, which were a bit ragged. Then I rubbed some moisturizing lotion over both her hands and massaged them. I glanced up and noticed that her mouth had relaxed. Well, that was halfway to a smile! She seemed to be enjoying it. When that was finished, I wiped the excess lotion from her fingertips and then painted her nails. The polish was red—bright red. I liked the idea of bringing color back to Elsie, even if only on her nails. She watched placidly, or maybe just with detachment. When I finished, I pulled her arm gently out and flexed her hands back so she could see how pretty they looked.
“Get it off!” she screamed suddenly, yanking her hand away. “I hate it! Get it off!” Now she seized the bottle of polish and flung it across the room. It bounced against the white wall, splashing blood-red polish everywhere. The wall looked like someone had been shot standing in front of it.
“It’s all right, Elsie. I have the polish remover right here. Just give me your hand.” I took three breaths and tried to keep from crying.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I’d finished. “I thought you’d like it.”
She glared at me in stony silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, Cary came back for me. “I gather the two of you have had quite a nice visit together,” he said. Obviously he hadn’t noticed the red splatters against the wall. He squeezed Elsie’s hand and gave her a peck on the cheek. “We’ll be getting back now,” he told her.