Dear Cary: My Life With Cary Grant by Dyan Cannon

Author:Dyan Cannon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Personal Memoirs, Rich & Famous, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Women
ISBN: 9780062079138
Publisher: It Books
Published: 2011-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

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 kisses! Don’t anybody kiss me because I hate kisses!”

Naturally, I was suddenly mobbed by giggling munchkins pecking me with kisses. “No! No! No! Kisses are terrible! Oh . . .” Then I dropped my voice to a conspiratorial whisper and pointed to Cary. “Do you know who hates kisses more than anybody in the world? That man there!” The children squealed, identified their target, and the kiss brigade went in for the attack.

After our near brush with death by kisses, we thanked Bob and Goldie and headed for Palm Springs.

“Where’s my horse?” Cary asked, a little perplexed that my ride had been led out a few minutes before his. We were at the stables, where I was anticipating the unveiling of the first real gift I’d ever given Cary: a custom-made saddle emblazoned with his initials. It was no easy task coming up with a meaningful gift for a man who really did have everything, but during our last visit to the ranch, I realized that as much as he loved riding, Cary still used the stable’s saddles. It surprised me that nobody had ever thought to give him one. I saw my opportunity, so I enlisted the owner, who helped me get the perfect saddle for Cary.

“Here he comes,” said Gus, the owner.

“That’s not my usual saddle,” Cary said, catching a glimpse of the chocolate-brown leather that was burnished to a glow.

“Oh, yes it is,” I said. “Merry Christmas and happy birthday!”

Cary approached the horse and touched the saddle, then saw his initials emblazoned onto it. He laid a hand on the leather and froze in place for a moment with his head down. Then he turned to me, his eyes soft with emotion. All he said was, “Dear girl,” and he held me in a long embrace.

I whispered into his ear, “Cary, all I want in this world is to make you happy.”

New Year’s Eve. The

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