Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [47]
“Yes you do,” she said. “Maybe if he’d never been married, you could bring him around. But you owe it to yourself to take him at his word. Do whatever you have to do to move on. Think about your dreams.”
I didn’t want to think about my dreams. I wanted to think about our dreams.
On Cary’s end, the line went cold for a solid week. Mary was right. I had to move on, and the easiest way to accomplish that was to put some distance between myself and Cary. I called Addie and asked her to find out what auditions were opening up in New York. She called back promptly with news of a part in The Fun Couple, a new play starring Jane Fonda that would open in New York on Broadway. But . . . I’d have to go to New York immediately for the audition. All the better, I thought. “And, Addie, set me up for anything else that looks good,” I said. “I want to be in New York for a while.”
I fretted over breaking the news to Cary, but the fact that he hadn’t called bolstered my determination to put one foot in front of the other. He finally rang me the day before I was leaving, and I told him. His response was tepid, but he insisted on driving me to the airport.
At the airport, people were probably going to wonder what kind of refugee I was with four huge cardboard boxes tied up with twine and a battered suitcase I’d had since college. The only nice suitcase I had was the one beautiful piece he’d bought me for our trip to London.
“Do you really need all of this just for an audition?” Cary asked, giving Bangs a pat on the head.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to tell him that I’d pulled up stakes—that I’d sublet my sublease from Corky—and that I was hoping to make a fresh start in New York. “I just want to be prepared,” I said.
“Dyan . . . ,” he said when we were in the car.
“Yes?”
“Nothing.”
It was the first time we didn’t know what to say to each other.
We drove to the airport in silence. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I didn’t want to leave him, but I wouldn’t let myself show weakness. It was a relief when boarding time arrived. I smiled, gave him a kiss good-bye, and got on the plane. As I settled into my seat, I told myself, This is good, Dyan. You’re not going to New York to get away from Cary; you’re going to pursue your dreams.
I’m not sure I believed it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Coming Up Short
The next afternoon, the concierge handed me a special-delivery letter. I opened it upstairs. Inside, I found a hand-drawn map of the TWA terminal at the Los Angeles airport, with a big red X in the middle, and a note from Cary. He addressed me as “Diane,” not “Dyan.” We never talked about it, but something in Cary rebelled against altering the spelling of my name. Following that logic, I could have insisted on calling him “Archie,” but I never brought it up. I was so happy whenever I got anything written on paper from him that I wasn’t about to quibble. I thought of it as one of his adorable eccentricities.
Diane—
I have studied each of these extending gangways and THERE—where there’s a crayoned red cross—is where you stood: where you stood in your pretty black hat looking pretty; with your attractive legs attracting. It’s a memory that saddens me and therefore—naturally—it will often cross my mind. How dare you have seemed so forlorn? It was TWilight to [sic]—and I was almost tempted to TW Alight and go back to New York. Don’t DO THAT again, I beg you.
—Cary
Don’t do what again? Get on with my life?
Two days later, rehearsals were under way, and I worked hard. I worked especially hard at not thinking about Cary. The fact that I was busy all day made it almost bearable. It also helped that I was working with great people. Along with Jane, with whom I connected immediately, there was Gene Wilder, Brad Dillman, and Ben Piazza. Mel Brooks was brought in to punch up the script. They were all wonderfully helpful and supportive of my first Broadway effort. We were all convinced we were going to take New York City by storm. We took the show on the road to hone it before