Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [13]
“In . . . Palm Springs?” I said, making it sound like he’d invited me to Patagonia.
“Yes,” Cary said. “I’ve got a house down there. I’d love for you to come down with me.”
“My girlfriend and I would love to!” I exclaimed without missing a beat. Where that came from, I had no idea. Nor did I know who this girlfriend whose social calendar I clearly had complete control of might be. I just knew that I did want to go to Palm Springs with Cary Grant but that I didn’t want to go alone.
“Well then, it’s settled. Bring a girlfriend if that’s what makes you comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s her name?”
I had to think fast. “Darlene,” I said. Please, God, let her be free this weekend.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Cary said pleasantly, if not exactly inflamed with enthusiasm.
“You’ll like her!”
It was time for him to return to the set and he began walking me across the lot to my car. Then, very offhandedly, he asked, “Are you in a relationship now?”
“Not at the moment,” I replied.
We’d reached my car by this point and I fumbled in my purse for my keys. “I don’t know if I’m very good at relationships,” he went on. He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me. “In fact, I don’t believe I am very good at them. I think I’m too afraid I’ll be hurt.” Now he was smiling. He had a twinkle in his eye. It was hard to tell if he meant this as a jest.
Then he looked at me with mock earnestness. “But you’d never hurt me, would you, Dyan?”
“Of course I would!” I shot back.
He threw his head back and laughed. It delighted me. I had made Cary Grant laugh. He took my hand in both of his and gave it a little squeeze. “Thank you for having lunch with me today,” he said. “I enjoyed it immensely. I enjoy you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grant—”
“Cary.”
“It was an amazing afternoon.” Then I repossessed my hand, climbed behind the wheel of my rental, and—with a little wave—backed out and drove away.
I looked in the rearview mirror and there he was, hands stuffed in his khakis, watching me drive off with his head cocked to the side a little. He waved. I put my hand up and acknowledged his wave.
Cary Grant was in my rearview mirror, waving at me.
I must be dreaming, I thought.
CHAPTER FOUR
Have Girlfriend, Will Travel
I called Darlene the moment I got back to Addie’s place and invited her to Palm Springs.
“In this heat? Are you crazy?”
“Too bad you feel that way. Guess I’ll have to find someone else to go down with me . . . and Cary Grant.”
“What time do we leave?”
The next morning, like clockwork, Cary phoned. He suggested we leave Saturday morning at ten. “I’ll drive us down, and of course, there’s plenty of room in the house for you and your friend,” he said.
“Oh, thanks, but I think we’ll take my car and stay in a hotel,” I said.
“You’ll find out sooner or later that I don’t bite, at least not unless I’ve missed a meal,” he said, laughing. He recommended a hotel that I knew we couldn’t afford and suggested we rendezvous at the Directors Guild parking lot, off Sunset Boulevard, and follow him to his desert hideaway.
The day before our trip, I got up early and went out to get a wide-brimmed hat, suntan lotion, and a few other desert survival items. When I left the store, my rental wouldn’t start, so I called Nate, who owned the car rental agency. He sent a tow truck and I rode to the lot with the driver.
“I’m sorry, Dyan,” he said. “Maybe this’ll make up for the inconvenience.” He gestured to a gorgeous, cherry-red MG convertible. I was delighted. I could see myself barreling through the desert with my long tresses blowing in the wind behind me.
“It’s the car Jimmy Darren rents from me whenever he’s in town,” Nate said. “He won’t drive anything else. I tell ya, if that car was a girl, he’d marry her.”
Jimmy Darren was the hot teen idol of the moment. He’d made it big playing Moondoggie in the movie Gidget a couple of years earlier; now he was making a huge splash as a singer. His hit “Goodbye Cruel World” was in constant rotation on the radio. If that snazzy little MG was good enough for