Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [46]
“Are you just going to stand there and take this?” I said, egging him on.
“Give me all you got!” he said, grinning.
And I did.
“In a hundred years, marriage will be obsolete and all children will be born out of wedlock.”
That was Cary speaking. That was Cary masking either his fear of or disdain for marriage with a smoke screen of philosophical posturing.
“Cary! You sound like some kind of deranged Old Testament prophet.”
That was Addie, not having any of it. We were at Ciro’s, “celebrating” Addie and Cliff’s impending marriage.
Cary went on. “Sorry, Addie, but I don’t think marriage is a natural state. I think it might work better if you didn’t live together. Houses next door to each other, maybe.”
“Cliff and I don’t live together now,” Addie said. “But we’re looking forward to living together.”
“Why?” Cary asked in a maddening, professorial tone.
“Because they love each other, Cary!” I interjected.
“We want to share our lives with each other—completely,” Addie put in.
“But if you share all of your life, there isn’t any left for either one of you,” Cary said, persisting. “I’ve been through that three times. I used to think it was me.”
“It is you, Cary,” Addie said.
“No, Addie, it’s the institution. It doesn’t work in modern society. What I think works is to share the part of your life that is shareable. It’s an important part, but only a part.”
“What do you think, Cliff?” I asked.
“I think we should talk about something else!” he said cheerfully.
“What do you think we have here?” I asked Cary when we were in the car. In the restaurant, I’d decided to treat Cary’s dissertation on the end of marriage as we know it as mere banter. But it left me feeling like I had a popcorn kernel stuck in my throat and I was determined to cough it up.
“Everything,” he replied. He smiled. Yeah, go ahead and smile, I thought. But you’re not getting off the hook.
“I mean, where do you think we’re heading, Cary? Is this just a temporary relationship or do you think we have a future together?” Oh Lord. I’d meant to administer a mild electric current. Instead, I’d thrown the voltage lever all the way up and hit him with full power. Cary’s smile wilted. He slowed and pulled the car to the side of the road.
“You know I’ll never get married again, Dyan.” His voice was low and firm, without a hint of indecision. “So please don’t plan your life around me. I’ve had enough of marriage.”
I realized I was holding my breath. I let it go and looked at him. I didn’t want to believe him.
“I’ve already been around the block a few times,” he added, “and I just want to stay put.”
Gut punch. “That must have been a pretty rough block,” I said.
“I don’t know what it is, but something happens to love when you formalize it with marriage. It cuts off the oxygen.”
Cary looked at his watch and went on. “I’ve been under this kind of pressure before and I just don’t need it.”
“I understand,” I said.
I lied.
In the past seven or eight months, I’d met his friends and his colleagues, and I’d become a big part of his life. In Hollywood we were a known item. Time to wake up, I told myself.
After acting class the next night, Mary, my acting partner and one of my few married friends, asked if something was wrong.
“Cary doesn’t want to get married,” I said. “But I don’t know if he really means it. Then again he told me flat-out. Twice.”
“You need to move on.”
“But—”
“But nothing. He spelled it out for you. Be grateful he was honest. Now you have to deal with it. You need to ask yourself what you want.”
“I want him.”
“Without marriage?”
That stopped me cold. No, I didn’t want him without marriage. I wanted it