Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [74]
I could feel us both relax, and I was grateful for it.
“And you know something else?” Cary said. “It’s time for us to get on the stick with some wedding plans. Let’s start nailing down some details this week. And I think you should start looking for a wedding dress.”
I smiled.
“Really?” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Really. I’m sure.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hormones and Hamburgers
Up until now, Cary and I had entertained a number of wedding scenarios: A homey wedding at his place in Palm Springs, beneath the electric-blue desert sky. A seaside ceremony on the beach in Santa Barbara. Or somewhere in the mountains . . . it was fun savoring the romantic vision of each one of them. A couple of days later, Addie went shopping with me for a wedding dress, and I asked her opinion.
“Just keep it simple, quiet, and remote,” she said. “But I kind of like Palm Springs. You’ve got everything you need there.”
I was leaning that way too. Cary had had a busy couple of days of script conferences for Walk, Don’t Run, but they’d be taking a break midweek. I couldn’t wait to plot out the details of the ceremony. Addie and I had spent the afternoon shopping, and when I returned home, Cary opened the front door as I was getting out of the car. I ran toward him and threw my arms open wide. Cary stood ramrod straight and thrust his arms out like a police officer.
“Please don’t run,” he said. “It buzzes me up. Just walk.”
That took the skip out of my step. I thought that he was probably thinking about the movie again and feeling moody. I toned it down, walked up slowly, and gave him a gentle hug.
“What kind of trouble did you and Addie get into?”
“Oh, the usual. Armed robbery, forgery, impersonating the clergy.”
He didn’t laugh. It was as if he didn’t hear me. “I’m ready for a Manhattan. Would you like some wine?”
“It’s a little early. Is everything okay?”
“I work hard, I loaf hard.” I went over to him while he was making his drink and tried to put my arms around him, but he fended me off, saying, “Would you mind getting me some ice?”
He was obviously giving me the cold shoulder. I got him his ice.
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” he said when he had settled into the chair with his drink. “The wedding will be at the Dunes on July 22. Charlie Rich is taking care of everything.”
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Cary’s friend Charlie Rich was a Las Vegas hotelier.
“What?”
“Charlie called and I gave him the news. He said, ‘How about I give you a wedding for a wedding present?’ I rather liked the idea of that.”
I had nothing against a wedding in Vegas. I had nothing against the Dunes. I had nothing against Charlie. But it was my wedding, too. I started to object. I wanted to say, “Why didn’t you run it past me? I thought we were doing this together.” But instead, I caved. It wasn’t worth the battle.
One morning several months later, buttoning up a pair of slacks, I found the button and the buttonhole were having a mini tug-of-war. My slacks must’ve shrunk, I thought. That darned cleaner. But then I had to face the truth. I’d been wolfing down Bob’s Big Boys like I was a bear putting on weight for hibernation. And Cary and I had been piling on the desserts. I’d have to start watching that.
The next morning, I awoke feeling like I’d ridden a whirligig all night with a full stomach. I was seasick and nauseous. I went to the bathroom and tossed my cookies. Hmmm. My period had been late a number of times before, so I hadn’t thought much about it this time around. When Cary left for the studio, I called his doctor, Dr. Gourson, and made an appointment for that afternoon. It had to be Dr. Gourson, because his confidentiality could be trusted.
“Congratulations, Dyan,” he said. “You’re going to be a mother.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Cary’s a lucky man. I’ve known him for all the years he’s been in