Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [6]
“The story about getting a divorce—that wasn’t true, was it?”
Finally, he spoke. “No,” he said. “But if I had told you the truth, you wouldn’t have agreed to move in with me.”
I stood up, looked around, and saw Charlie at the far end of the table. I crossed to his side. “Charlie, I really need to get out of here,” I said.
With a glance in Eduardo’s direction, Charlie got to his feet and led me out of the restaurant.
“You were right,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “I never should have trusted him.”
Charlie took me back to the hotel to gather up my things and then took me to a small hotel where Eduardo wouldn’t think of looking for me. I asked him to see if there was room on the morning flight to Los Angeles.
“Dyan, take a few days and think it through,” Charlie said. “You don’t really want to leave.”
“Yes, I do,” I said firmly. “This is the first time you’ve been wrong about me, Charlie. I’m ready to go home.”
Now I was back in L.A., slogging through a bog of grief by staying as busy as I could. I was auditioning like crazy, and of course I hadn’t been away so long as to lose my wonderful chain of friends. I didn’t say much about Eduardo to anyone except Addie. I just wanted to forget the whole thing.
“Okay, kiddo, get to bed early because tomorrow is going to be a big day,” Addie said, snapping off the TV as The Rifleman ended.
“What’s so special about tomorrow?”
“Hal’s set you up with back-to-back meetings at Universal. You’ll be meeting some heavyweights.”
Hal was Hal Gefsky, Addie’s business partner and the ultimate mensch. There’s just no other way to describe him. He had a kind, round face and a gentle dignity that had a way of calming the choppiest waters. In meetings, he brought out the best in both parties. If Addie was the mom, Hal was the dad. With the two of them behind me, I felt protected from the most feral beasts that dwelled in the wacky kennel called Hollywood. And there were some. There were many wonderful people, and in fact I always felt they predominated, but there were definitely some critters.
“You look fabulous,” he said encouragingly the next morning. Hal was the epitome of understated courtesy; he always made you feel, well, fabulous. And I felt fabulous. I was wearing a simple blue dress and heels, and I still retained a reasonable percentage of my Italian tan. I was happy to be back on the playing field and eager to stretch out. I liked comedy, I liked drama, I liked musicals. I liked dramatic musicals and comedic dramas. Of course, my first concern was just getting some work, but I didn’t feel desperate. I was angling for parts with some substance. Hal and I made the rounds for two hours, and I met half a dozen charming people who were producers, directors, and the like. All encouraging, all supportive, all eager to work with me . . . all noncommittal.
We were done by noon and Hal took me to lunch at the studio commissary. After we ordered, Hal’s lips pursed into a mischievous, self-satisfied grin.
“You look like the dog with the key to the meat truck,” I said.
“We have one more meeting.”
“With whom?”
“Cary Grant.”
“Cary? Grant? Cary Grant?”
“He still wants to meet you.”
“Wow.” I was still taking it in. I could be aloof about Cary Grant in Rome, but now that I was on the studio lot, his gravitational force was the rough equivalent of Jupiter’s. “What’s the project?” I asked almost as an afterthought.
“He’s always juggling more than one project. I imagine he’s looking at more than one thing he could fit you into.”
After lunch, I went to the powder room and looked at myself in the mirror. “I’m ready for this!” I declared out loud.
A voice from one of the stalls called out, “Then knock ’em dead!”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling, and off I went to meet Cary Grant.
I guess I knew as much about Cary Grant as the average moviegoer, which is to say not much. He was still one of the most sought-after leading men in Hollywood, but I hadn’t known he was also a successful producer. I conjured