Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [67]
“They’re a more powerful social icebreaker than alcohol,” Hitch mused. “You see, next to fear, flatulence is the most fundamental aspect of the human condition.”
“Alfred!” Alma chided gently.
Hitch went on. “I’m utterly sincere. Since no one will voluntarily break wind in polite company, it must be induced. However, I haven’t been able to dislodge Alma from her skepticism on the matter, have I, dear?”
“No, dear,” Alma replied. “I disapproved in 1927 and I disapprove now, but I have ceded that territory to you, haven’t I?”
“And quite graciously,” Mr. Hitchcock said.
“Indeed,” Alma said.
I wanted to hug them both. Cary wandered off to mingle, and I found myself talking to the legendary director, one-on-one. “You know, Mr. Hitchcock, there’s something I want to share with you. Cary has two wonderful cousins named Maggie and Eric, who live in Bristol. You and Mrs. Hitchcock remind me so much of them. They make everyone feel at home the way you do.”
“Well, my dear, if you ever run away from home, you know you’re welcome here.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“You’ve got a very nice presence.”
“Thank you.”
“May I ask you an impertinent sort of question?”
“That would be fine,” I said.
“I’ll admit it’s equal parts idle curiosity and enlightened self-interest.”
“Sure.”
“Have you and Cary discussed making a movie together?”
“No,” I said. “To be honest, it’s never come up.” I actually had to think about it. Cary’s career was Cary’s career, and my career was my own too. When we got together, we checked our careers at the door. That’s not to say the idea of being Cary’s leading lady in a film wasn’t attractive; of course it was. But I was much more preoccupied with being his leading lady in real life.
“I think it would be splendid,” Hitch said. “The two of you have a very nice chemistry. If you care to pursue it, I have a little something you could slip into his drink that would make him quite compliant. Unfortunately, it would also cause a long-term loss of motor coordination, but we can adjust the role to fit that.”
“Alfred!” Alma called. “Dinner is served!”
We ambled to the table with our blue martinis and took our seats. Two butlers brought large, covered platters to the table. Hitch gave them a nod, and they removed the covers to reveal large slabs of prime rib. The beef smelled wonderful, but it looked awful.
It was blue. Bright, turquoise blue. Then along came the side dishes: blue broccoli, blue potatoes, blue rolls . . .
“Cary,” Hitch said placidly, “would you care to say grace?”
Cary folded his hands and looked heavenward. “Dear Lord, please punish our friend Alfred to the full extent of your almighty powers, but spare his dear wife, Alma, because as hard as she tried to edit the meal, he insisted on the final cut.”
“Do you think it’s safe to eat?” I whispered to Cary.
“The color may be off-putting, but I’m sure it’s perfectly fine,” Cary said sanguinely. He was wrong. By the time the night was over, the two of us had worn a groove in the carpet between the bed and the bathroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Happy New Year
We spent Christmas Eve at Bob and Goldie Arthur’s. Bob and I had bonded in Jamaica, and since then I’d come to be really fond of both him and his wife, Goldie. They were kind, down-to-earth people, and each year they threw a Christmas Eve party that was intended especially for children. I’d been looking forward to this. I loved children, children loved me, and to be honest, I hoped that the sight of me playing with the kids might stir Cary’s paternal yearnings. It was a big, raucous party with probably forty kids rolling and rollicking all over the floors, the furniture, and each other. As Cary and I walked into the fray, children clustered around us like puppies, pulling at our clothes, tugging at our hands. Anyone taller than three feet was fair game!
I got down on the floor and mixed in for five or ten minutes, playing along. Some of them were very shy, of course. So I slapped my knees, squeezed my eyes shut, and cried, “There’s one thing I don’t like. I don’t like