Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [101]
Addie dropped by one weekday afternoon for a visit. We sat by the pool together, with Addie rocking Jennifer in her lap. We kept the conversation focused on the baby for a while, each knowing the other was building up to the real subject.
“Dyan, are you okay?”
“Why do you ask?” The question was sincere, as far as it went. I was fine, I told myself, and if I told myself that, then I should tell Addie that too.
“You’re wasting away to nothing,” Addie said. “Dyan, you don’t look well. What’s happening with you and Cary?”
“The family that trips together zips together,” I said. Ha ha. I liked that line. I thought it was funny.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, Cary wants me to take LSD. So we take LSD together.”
“Dyan, this has gone far enough. I’m very worried about you.”
Addie suggested I come and stay with her for a few days, but I wouldn’t have any of it. Cary wouldn’t like that, I told her. And besides, I was fine. I was really sure I was fine.
After a few weeks of our weekend day-tripping, Johnny and Connie invited us to spend the weekend aboard their yacht. They knew, of course, that Cary and I were having trouble, and they probably thought a change of scene—in their happily married presence—would do us good, shake us out of our despondency. I think even Cary had had enough LSD for a while, so we accepted. Even though it was the nanny’s weekend off, Addie thought it was a good idea for us to have a couples’ weekend, and she encouraged me to go. She also volunteered to stay with Jennifer.
The weather was clear, the water was fine, the bar was open. Connie and Johnny were so warm and accepting, I felt like I could finally let my guard down. I had a gin and tonic, then another one, and felt the tension of the past weeks drain away. I found myself appreciating alcohol. It didn’t make me turn into a glass of milk or a mighty oak. Alcohol was simple. It lifted my worries. And so I had a few more, losing sight of the fact that my tolerance for booze was about on par with a four-pound Chihuahua’s.
“Let’s dance!” I yelled at some point in the day when the Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love” came on the radio. For that song, we all danced like we didn’t have a care in the world.
The weekend went by in a haze of Bloody Marys, medium-rare burgers, and boozy merriment. Cary drank a lot too, and it was one of the rare times when I saw him hovering somewhere between tipsy and drunk. That was fine with me. He was pleasant when he drank, and I didn’t object to anything that made him lighten up.
A few days later, Cary came home with photographs from our festive evening on Johnny and Connie’s yacht. Apparently, I had a really good time. I looked at the photos and saw a slender, twentysomething gal in a bikini living it up with her good-looking husband on a gorgeous yacht. I sent some of the pictures to my mom.
“You look way too thin,” she told me when she called. “And sad.”
“You got the pictures?”
“Yes, I got the pictures. And I want to know what’s going on.”
Then Dad got on the extension. “Sweetheart, we’re very concerned about you.”
“I’m fine, really,” I said. “Just very busy.”
“Addie doesn’t think you’re all that fine,” my mother said.
So. Addie had spoken to them.
“I’m coming down to see you,” Dad said. “I’m flying down tomorrow morning. I’ll call you as soon as I get to my hotel.”
It wasn’t a suggestion and it wasn’t negotiable. It was my dad in action, and I couldn