Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [15]
Jimmy sprang out of the car and walked around the MG as if surveying it for damage.
“I don’t have time for this,” I protested, but Nate just yanked my bags out of the trunk, plunked Jimmy’s in, gave me a perfunctory peck on the cheek by way of apology, and the two of them sped off. Fuming, I lugged my bags into the new car, got in, and immediately saw that the gas gauge was on empty. I smacked the steering wheel with both hands so hard it hurt. Great, I thought. Jimmy Darren just drove off with my car, Darlene just drove off with my movie star, and I’m left here with an empty gas tank.
By the time I’d filled up and cruised onto the freeway, the Rolls-Royce was long gone. I floored it and drove like I was late for the reading of a rich uncle’s will—until I saw a state trooper lying in wait by an exit up ahead. I slowed and resigned myself to driving to the desert alone.
Darlene was capable of some seriously loopy behavior, but this took the prize. It was hard to imagine that she had any serious designs on Cary Grant; Darlene was an honorable friend and wouldn’t think of trying to swipe anybody’s boyfriend, whoever he was. But she did like to fling herself into the middle of things. It was very possible that she wanted to get a read on him, figure out how deep his feelings ran, see for herself whether I was being led down a rocky road. Or she might have just figured it was her only chance to see what it was like being alone with Cary—which made more sense than anything. I wondered what direction their conversation had taken.
I hoped they didn’t talk too much about riding. If they did, it would inevitably come up that Darlene and I had gone riding just a year ago in Palm Springs. And she might let it slip that I barely knew a horse’s head from its backside.
Darlene and I had gone for a leisurely ride on a mountain trail. On our way back to the stables, we had to cross a highway. When a motorcycle buzzed past, my horse got spooked. It reared and flung me into the air, and I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. By an odd coincidence, one of Darlene’s friends happened to be driving by just then. He saw me get thrown, pulled over, and watched as I picked myself up. We weren’t introduced right then, though, because Darlene was on me like a drill sergeant, yelling for me to get back on my horse, now! I was only partially aware that her friend, Michael, was standing by in case I needed to go to the emergency room.
But Darlene gave me no quarter. “Get back up! Now! Now, Dyan! Every second you wait, you’re doubling your fear! Now!” She was right. If I’d had another ten seconds to think about it, I’d never have gotten on another horse again.
Michael had noticed me, though. He was interested, and Darlene called me later to relay the message. “I think you should meet this guy. You fell off that horse for a reason,” she said.
“Yeah. The reason was I don’t know how to ride horses.”
“No, seriously. He’s a good guy, great fun, and good-looking. And he’s Jewish. Make your mother happy for once.”
Darlene was right on all counts. Michael was as advertised and we immediately hit it off—as friends. That was my verdict, anyway. But honestly, he was crazier about me than I was about him. He was sweet and funny and I felt safe in his company. But he didn’t feel like the one.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
I looked up and found myself speeding past the Rolls. I looked down and saw that I was doing eighty. Lost in my thoughts, and clear of state troopers, I’d put the pedal to the metal. Cary gestured frantically for me to pull over and we all got out of the cars. I noticed Cary staring at the powder-blue Plymouth roadster that had replaced the MG—I’d completely spaced out on the fact that I was in a different car than the one he last saw me in.
“What happened to the—”
“I’ll tell you later!” I said.
“We were keeping an eye out for you but we were looking for the wrong car!”
“Hey, guess what?” I announced. “This one’s an automatic, so Darlene and I can trade