The Dud Avocado - Elaine Dundy [111]
“Oh no!”
“And then last night Max took me out to meet a terribly famous French film-producer.”
“Gosh, weren’t you scared?”
“Well, no. That’s the funny part. As a matter of fact I was terribly cool and poised. And he was so impressed, he’s going to commission someone to write a film script specially about me——”
“And maybe you can talk him into having Larry direct it.”
“Yes, that’s what I was hoping!”
“And then what happened?”
The nurse came in. “It’s time for your rest now,” she said gently, “you mustn’t tire yourself out.”
“Oh no, please. I’ve only just seen Sally Jay, please. Just another moment.” She turned to me, pleading. “And then what happened?” she repeated.
The nurse shot me a warning look. A much more warning look, that stopped me dead in my tracks and took my breath away.
Judy leaned forward and grabbed my arm. She clung to me, both hands digging into my flesh. “And then what did you do? And then what?” she insisted.
“But that’s all, Judy,” I said shakily. “We just went to a couple of night-clubs and then I went home.”
She was becoming hysterical. “And then what?” Her nails cut into my flesh. “And then what, what, what?”
The nurse stepped forward. “I’m afraid …” she began. Judy-moaned and flung herself against me, upsetting the bedclothes. I saw the handkerchief that she’d hidden under the pillow. It was covered with blood. I wanted to scream. She began coughing violently and I felt her relax her grip.
I held her in my arms. “Judy darling, please. That’s all that’s happened. Honestly I’ll tell you more about it next time.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh,” with that heartbreaking dying fall, and she sank listlessly back into the pillow. No one was ever going to tell her enough.
I was sitting in the car with Jim. I’d stopped crying. “I’ve only made her worse, haven’t I?” I said.
“I don’t think so. In any case we couldn’t have stopped her. She was determined to see you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she was so sick before I got there? It’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry. They told me not to upset you before you came. They were afraid it might have a bad effect on her if you knew.”
“But I don’t know. What is it? How bad is she? You’ve got to tell me.”
“It’s a bronchial condition. She had a slight case of T.B. when she was fourteen and they made the mistake of collapsing her lung when it wasn’t that bad, and it festered. It’s been spreading poison through her system ever since. Then, too, she’s taken so much aureomycin and penicillin in the past, they’re afraid she’s beginning to get drug-resistant. They’re operating at the end of the week to remove her lung.”
“Is she in much pain?”
He paused. There was a little muscle running along the side of his jaw and I noticed it twitching. It was the only indication of the strain he was under. “She’s very brave,” he said. “The only thing that frightens her … the only time she breaks down … is when she dreams of drowning. She’s afraid of drowning in her own blood.”
“Drowning in her own blood?”
“If her good lung should suddenly fill with blood she’d choke to death.” His muscle twitched spasmodically.
“Jim, she’ll be all right after the operation. I know she will.”
“She’ll be an invalid for life.”
We drove along the Seine.
“You knew about her before you got married?” I asked him after a while.
“I’ve always known about her. Haven’t you?”
“I suppose so, in a way. I guess I just never bothered to find out. I’m glad she has you. I know everything’s going to be all right.”
“I love her. It won’t make any difference.”
“And I’m glad you never answered my letter.”
“What letter?”
“The one I wrote to you in Florence.”
“I never received any letters from you in Florence. Why?”
I looked at him. He wasn’t lying. Did I actually mail it? Did I stamp it? Did I address it properly? In the confused state of my emotions at the time a million