Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [9]
Suddenly, he stood up, and offered his hand, and looked me in the eye. “I do hope I get to see you again,” he said softly. “And soon.”
“It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Grant,” I said. “I feel like I’ve been talking your ear off.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I can’t wait to hear more.”
Hal had been waiting for me in the commissary, nursing his fourth or fifth cup of coffee. “How’d it go?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. The clock in the commissary caught me. It read twenty past six. “That clock can’t be right,” I said.
Hal compared the wall clock to his watch. “Oh, it’s right.”
I couldn’t believe it. “That means I was in there . . . four hours?”
“Yep.”
I was stunned. It had seemed like maybe a half hour.
“I’m assuming it’s safe to say you and Mr. Grant hit it off?”
“Yeah. But wait—I completely forgot about it while I was talking to him, but he never said anything about a part in a movie. Addie was certain it was about a part.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” Hal said. We were making our way across the parking lot, toward his car. “Now I’m not sure there is a movie after all. I think Cary Grant is interested in you.”
“No way, Hal.” I shooed the suggestion away like a gnat. “No way!”
CHAPTER THREE
Lunch, Not Marriage
But I was wrong.
“Good morning. Would you like to listen to the Daily Word with me?”
It was him. That voice. It was the very next morning at a quarter to eight. Addie was in the shower. There was a phone in the guest room where I slept, so I’d answered it.
“Who is this?” I knew.
“Why, this is Cary Grunt,” he replied.
“It’s very early, Cary Grunt.”
“But is it too early?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m awake now.”
“Do you have a radio?”
“Yes. But to turn it on, first I’ll have to get out of bed.”
“Would you mind?”
“Nope. Be right back.”
I happily sprang out of bed and turned on the radio, and found the station that aired the Daily Word. It was an inspirational program that I’d never heard before. “Do you have something to do with this program?” I asked.
“No, it just addresses a lot of the questions that interest me. I thought you might find something in it too, since religion was such a contentious issue in your family.”
“I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression about my parents,” I said. “They had their disputes about religion, but they’re the kindest, most loving people you’ll ever meet.”
“I don’t have a single doubt about that,” he said. “It has to be obvious to anyone who meets you that you came from a very loving family.” (What a sweet thing to say!) “Anyway, I still think you might enjoy this program. It doesn’t push a particular point of view. It’s about basic goodness and right behavior.”
“I like that.”
After we devoted five or ten minutes of silent listening, Cary asked if I was free for lunch that day.
“I can’t,” I lied. “I’m working.”
“What time do you finish?”
“I don’t know.” Another lie.
“If I give you my phone numbers, will you call me when you finish work?”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I already have plans tonight.” Lie.
“Well then, would you mind if I tried you some other time?”
“Okay. Thanks. Thanks so much for calling.”
I don’t know why I lied. Yes I do. I was scared. Overwhelmed. By him; by my response to him. What was this? What was going on? This wasn’t a script from one of Cary Grant’s movies. This was real life. It was really happening. And it was happening to me.
The next morning, the phone rang again. Same time: seven forty-five sharp. And it rang again the next day and the day after that. With friends like Cary Grant, who needed alarm clocks? Except this was one alarm clock that was music to my ears. I happily talked his ear off, and for every answer I gave, he had three more questions, but I never felt like I was being grilled. When someone is so full of questions, you usually feel either like they’re trying to get something from you, or they’re flattering you, or they’re compensating for their lack of conversational skills by peppering you with inquiries. None of that