Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [56]
“Best egg cream in Chicago,” Dr. Steve said the next time he visited, handing me a large paper cup. “I don’t like to see my patients waste away on hospital food.”
I took a sip through the straw. It was delicious.
“How sweet of you,” I said.
“Now it’s time for your medicine.”
“What medicine?”
“It’s a special medicine. You’re the first patient I’ve prescribed it to.” With that, he leaned in and planted a wet one right on my lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said with just the right amount of false sincerity. “I’ve developed a mad crush on you.”
“You’re wonderful. But I’m taken.”
“Me too. What does that have to do with anything?”
We both laughed, but the episode sent a little chill down my spine. Not so much that Dr. Steve kissed me, but that Cary—from a distance of two thousand miles—had anticipated it. Did he have ESP? When I was a child, my dad convinced me he had eyes in the back of his head, and it freaked me out. For a moment, I got the same feeling from Cary.
Finally, Dr. Steve released me from the hospital. My hand was still in pretty bad shape, though, and performing was out of the question. My understudy had been giving great performances, and the producer didn’t have any choice but to release me from the show. It’s just about impossible to get out of a theater contract unless you’re maimed or dying, but that’s how bad my hand was. They were understandably reluctant, because I was playing the lead and we were packing the house, but there wasn’t much to argue about. I was less than heartbroken. I’d been on the road for eight months, and I missed home. I’d had enough of hotels and psycho divas.
“I’m only releasing you on the condition that you see my associate in Los Angeles the minute you get back,” Dr. Steve told me. “I know I’m repeating myself, but do not take this lightly. You don’t want complications setting in.”
I thanked him, and he gave me a most gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.
“You’ll be missed,” he said.
“You’ve been very kind, Doctor,” I said.
I packed my things and took myself and my devoted dog to the airport for the flight back to Los Angeles.
I crashed, once again, with my dear friend Addie. When I got to her place, she said Cary had already called three times, but it was the middle of the night when I got in and I didn’t call him back. I went to bed exhausted, and the ringing phone woke me early in the morning. It was Cary.
“I’m so glad you’re back, my love! How about we celebrate with a Dodgers game today? Dodger Dogs galore!”
I told him that sounded great. I’d promised to let the doctor check my hand out, but I could do it early in the afternoon, then head to Cary’s house before the game. My hand looked horrible and felt worse, but I didn’t think anything dramatic was going on with it.
When I got to the doctor, he took one look and admitted me directly into UCLA Medical Center. Cary came over later that afternoon with flowers.
“Silly child,” he said, kissing me. “What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into? Let me see that paw of yours.” He ran his finger delicately over my bandaged hand. “You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”
I smiled. “Looks like I’ll be here for a few days.” I looked up at him and beamed. “You’re a sight for a sore hand. Are you in the mood to hold the other one tonight?”
Cary clenched his jaw and let out air through his teeth.
“Darling, I have a confession to make. I am utterly phobic about hospitals.”
I believed him. Except for the time he’d gone to see Elsie without me, I’d never seen him look so ill at ease. At that moment, the door opened, and before the nurse could close it I got a glimpse of Stanley Fox standing in the hallway.
“I understand,” I said, reaching for his hand.
He gave a little laugh and ran his handkerchief over his forehead as the nurse took my temperature. “The truth is out,” he said. “I am a terrible coward.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute, Cary,” I said with the thermometer in my mouth. “Why did you leave Stanley waiting in the hall? Invite him in.”
“I just wanted a moment alone