Dorothy was shocked when she saw him. She bent down and gazed into his face and took his hand that lay on his chest.
“Clint, it’s me. Can you hear me, darling? It’s Dorothy, Clint. Clint, it’s Dorothy.” She looked to the doctor.
“He won’t die, will he?”
“No. But he’ll need constant care.”
“Does he have family?” asked the doctor.
“His parents live in Montana, but I’ll take care of him. He’ll stay with me.”
“He might have to learn to walk and talk again. It could be a long recovery. He could be a hardship on you.”
“I don’t care. I’ll be there for him. No matter what.”
“He’ll need physical therapy.”
“He’ll have it.”
“He’s a lucky man to have someone like you in his life.”
“Doctor, I always felt like I was the lucky one,” said Dorothy looking into Doctor Lucas’s eyes as her tears appeared.
After Clint was able to leave the hospital Dorothy moved him into her house in a bedroom down the hall from her. The room had French doors that opened up to a view of Los Angeles below. She hired a pleasant and pretty nurse to help her with his daily care.
Clint’s damage was severe. The muscle on the right side of his face had fallen, causing his right eye to drop, which gave it a stare. He favored his right hand and it lay to his side and always remained in the same position and was useless to him. He was losing the muscles in the right leg and he dragged it to move. The therapist Dorothy hired came every other day and helped him with the exercises he had to do to improve his condition. He talked out the left side of his mouth, making his words slow and deliberate and difficult to understand.
For months he sat and said nothing and was in a constant state of depression. He would see no one. If any of his old friends would call, his nurse Trudy would let him know they called, but he didn’t call them back. He remained a recluse. Clint’s only activity was watching television. He watched by the hour. Some days he’d feel like he could get up and walk away and others he wished he’d die.
Dorothy was offered a prestige picture in England starring with Lawrence Olivier. She turned it down. She’d have to leave Clint. She didn’t tell him because she knew he would insist she do the film.
Clint kept telling Dorothy he didn’t want to be a burden to her that his mother could and would take care of him if he wanted to go home to Montana. Dorothy would have none of it and told him if the accident had happened to her, he would do the same for her. He’d had to agree.
When President Kennedy was killed in Dallas, Dorothy and Clint went into a depression. They stared for three days at the television, watching history they felt they were involved in take place before their eyes. The tragedy was so personal to Dorothy she felt she’d never get over the loss of JFK.
Dorothy noticed Clint had travel information sent to the house, and gazed longingly at brochures of different parts of the world.
One evening when she sat down to dinner a pamphlet of the Mayan Temples of Yucatan was by her plate. She picked it up to examine. Clint peered at her from across the table and asked.
“Is … there … possibility … that … you’d … take … me to Mexico … to see …
Chichen Itza?”
“Chichen Itza! What a wonderful idea. What ever made you want to go there?”
“I … always … wanted … to … go … Before … I … had … no … time … Now I … have … too … much.”
“Why of course we can go. When?”
“Next … week … And … Tana … go.. with … us. She … can … help … you with … me. I … read … the terrain … is … flat..easy … to … wheel … me.”
Dorothy thought Clint was considerate to have Tana Williams travel with them. She could use her help.
“I’ll call the travel agency tomorrow, darling,” she said smiling.
Clint lifted his wine glass to her.
On Sunday they left Los Angeles for Yucatan. The travel agency made arrangements for them to stay at the Mayaland Hotel, a Mexican colonial compound a short distance from the ruins, with acres of tropical gardens.
Flowers of every description grew on the walls and paths and in and around the courtyard. The sounds and sight of bright-plumaged birds made their presence felt everywhere. Tame parrots visited them as they sat in the patio of their three-bedroom cottage. The daily rain made the air warm and damp.
After a light lunch the girls wheeled Clint over to the site a short distance from the hotel. The majesty and the enormity of the place was overwhelming. Only the pyramids of Egypt rivaled the architectural splendor. Dorothy hired an English-speaking Mexican guide who filled them in on Mayan history.
“Not much is known because when the missionaries came with the Spanish armies, they were so intent on converting the Mayans to Christianity they burned most of the records of the past. Only three books remain. But we do know they were a violent war-like people who used human sacrifices in their religion.”
Dorothy and Tana rolled Clint under a shade tree and peered up at the great pyramid before them.
“Come, Tana, Clint wants us to climb to the top and report to him what it is like.”
“Look at those steps. There’s hundreds of them and so steep, God, I hope I have the strength in this heat,” replied Tana.
Clint smiled and said in his slow speech, “Three … hundred … and sixty … five … the Maya … calendar.”
“How did you know that bit of information?” asked Dorothy. He showed her the brochure.
“Built … one … thousand … years … before … . Christ.”
Dorothy and Tana left Clint to start their ascent. They moved slowly. Dorothy felt the strain in her leg muscles. She glanced to her side and saw a tiny older woman in tennis shoes passed her moving rather fast up the pyramid. Dorothy wondered how she did it. Tana climbed behind her, stopping every so often to get her breath. Dorothy thought, Tana is really out of shape. Too many late nights. Their climb brought them to the temple’s summit. Dorothy felt a little dizzy. She stopped and peered out over the miles and miles of flat Yucatan green jungle and marveled at the spectacle that had been erected so many thousand years ago.
“I hate ruins,” said Tana. “Give me a modern skyscraper with a fast elevator.” Tana sat on a stone ledge and wiped her face with a large handkerchief. “I can’t see why everyone’s so gaga over these fallingdown stone relics and why Clint wanted us to come here?”
“Maybe he’s improving your mind.”
“Is that a crack?” asked Tana giving Dorothy a scowl.
“Come on. Let’s get off of here. I’m swimming in sweat,” said Dorothy as she climbed into a small passage that went into an inside passageway. Tana followed. Dorothy had to duck her head because of the size of the tunnel. They followed a line of people moving slowly down inside the stone structure.
Dorothy glanced back at Tana, sweating and said. “My God, these Mayans must have been midgets to get through these passageways.”
The terrible heat was getting to her as she put her hand up on the stone ceiling to take a break. She looked back at Tana, then let out a scream and fell to the stone steps in shock. Tana and the older woman that had passed her on the way up came to her rescue.
“What happened? Are you all right?” asked Tana in alarm.
“I stuck my finger in that socket.” She pointed to an empty light socket on the ceiling. “It shocked the pee right out of me.” Tana and the lady helped to her feet. The lady recognized her and said. “What’s a nice Jewish girl like you doing in a place like this?”
Tana and Dorothy broke into laughter as they made their descent to the bottom.
They joined Clint and told him of their experience. He laughed as Dorothy wheeled him following their guide. After they had seen most of the ruins they moved on to a small road that led to a long path where a sign said, “Cenote”, “Sacred Pool.”
Dorothy felt an ee
rie feeling when they came upon it, and when the guide told them the Mayans would throw young virgins into the pool for sacrifice to their gods, it made her want to leave. She walked to the edge of the pool and peered down and saw the steep honeycomb walls fall straight to the dark murky water, fifty feet below. The guide continued with his speech. “Years back, when the site was found, a professor from Boston College had it dredged and they found human bones, gold artifacts, jade statues and other valuables that had been there for hundreds of years.”
Clint made a motion for Dorothy to bend down to hear him.
“Do you like this place?” she asked. Clint nodded.
“Move … me … closer … so.. I … can … have … a … better.. look.”
Dorothy moved the wheelchair within a few feet of the edge.
“That’s close enough, Clint, there’s no guard rail.”
The guide came up and pointed and said, “There’s a Coca Cola stand under that palapa, would you like a cold drink?”
“What a brilliant idea. I’d love one.” Dorothy asked Clint. “How about you, darling, would you like a Coke?” Clint nodded.
“I need one too, I’ll come with you.” said Tana. “We can sit in the shade for a moment.”
Dorothy said to Clint. “Will you be all right, Clint? We won’t be but a minute.” Clint nodded.
Dorothy, Tana and the guide walked a short distant to the palapa stand and ordered four Cokes from the attendant. The sound of a loud splash came from down in the pool. The expression on their faces was shock. They looked to where they had left Clint. He was gone.
The End
Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Page 23