Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [58]
Then he went into the bedroom, closed the door, and prayed for two hours, which was just about the length of time it took Cary to get there.
“YEEEEOWWWW-WHOO-WHOO-WHOO-WHOO!” That was Cary.
“YEE HAAAWWW-YIPPIE TI YI YAY!” That was Dad.
They had just emerged from the thermal spring and plunged into the cold pool. The surface of the water shimmered in the moonlight.
Cary counted seconds: “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand . . .”
Dad: “Fifteen! Fifteen seconds or bust! Submerge!”
Simultaneously, their two heads disappeared beneath the surface of the pool.
My mother and I looked at each other in sheer amazement. They were like two ten-year-old boys who’d become vacation playmates.
Now they both sprang out of the cold pool.
Dad: “Aaaahhhh-oooooooh!”
Cary: “Grrrrrrrrrrr! Ruff-ruff! Ruff-ruff.”
Mom clicked her tongue. “Your father has turned into a coyote and Cary has turned into a German shepherd. I think this means they like each other.”
“I think they do,” I said. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
“As long as they don’t turn into werewolves. These men, I tell you. Two women like each other, they have a glass of wine and talk about their families. Two men like each other, they grow paws and tails. It’s good, though. Men, they don’t make so many friends the way women do. It’s harder for them.”
The next morning, Cary and Dad were having coffee at the patio table. Mom and I were lounging in the sun a few yards away. Mom pointed across the pool to them.
“Dyan, I want you to take a look,” she said.
“What am I looking at?”
“Did you ever notice this?”
“What?”
“How much they look alike. They could be brothers.”
Mom was right. Now that I could finally see them side by side, the two of them bore an uncanny resemblance to each other.
“You’re right, they could be,” I said. “The two handsomest men in the world.”
“I’m madly in love with your family, Dyan,” Cary said. He had to leave now, and I was walking him to his car. “I knew what kind of man your father was when he shook my hand.” He flicked his wrist as a testimony to the firmness of Dad’s handshake. “It’s easy to tell why people respect him so much. He’s good-hearted, honest, and forthright.”
“I’m really happy the two of you met,” I said.
“I’ve got an idea. You’ve got another few weeks left before you can audition again. Why don’t we go to Bristol and give Elsie another shot? At the very least we can catch some football and see what’s playing at the Hippodrome.”
“I’d love to,” I said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Dismantling Effect
Unfortunately, the closer we got to Bristol, the worse Cary’s mood got. My instinct was to draw him out. The deeper he sank into his funk, the harder it would be for him to climb out of it, I thought.
“Picnic bar for your thoughts,” I said.
He forced a smile. “I doubt that would be a fair trade,” he said. “Nothing too dazzling going on in this old noggin.”
“I’m not looking for ‘dazzling.’ I’m looking for ‘honest.’ You know you always get like this when you’re going to see Elsie.”
“What can I say, Dyan? No matter what I do, she makes me feel rather squalid. That’s all.”
“Cary, look at it this way. Instead of focusing on how she makes you feel, think about her.”
“What more can I do? I’ve gone to all kinds of lengths to make her feel good, and she doesn’t want any part of it.”
“It’s not about stuff, Cary—coats and jewels and all that. Have you just put your arms around her and told her you love her and held her close?”
“She won’t let me do that.”
“Have you tried?”
Cary sighed. Then he took my hand and held it quietly for the rest of the trip.
The buildup to my first face-to-face encounter with Elsie had led me to expect . . . I’m not sure what, actually. A wicked old crone stirring a pot of broth made from human heads? Not surprisingly, though, our first meeting was anticlimactic. She was small boned, with gray hair that appeared to have been done fairly recently and a ramrod posture worthy of a West Point cadet. She said, “Nice to meet you,” without displaying any particular interest