She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother (24 page)

“Nan-Nan, just start without me.” Then, aside to me, she muttered hopefully, “I hope this is it, ’cause I don’t know the Hail Mary.”

Not all that shocked, but seriously amused, I watched as the ladies fluttered through the beautiful yet eternally disheveled boudoir and into the adjoining loo, and shut the door. For some odd reason, which a therapist would have a field day deciphering, I remained.

Miss Yvonne’s booming voice was the first to be heard.

“Y’all, let’s all hold hands. Bow our heads. Dear Father God, we ask you to help Miss Gayle, we ask you to work through her, we know you work in mysterious ways.”

There was the unmistakable sound of flatulence, followed by …

“Thank you, Jesus, amen.”

“Come on, Miss Gayle, believe, let the spirit move you.”

With that profound declaration came a thunderous “Hallelujah!”

The reverberating bellow nearly scared the crap out of me, so I can only imagine what effect it had on Mom. The result must have been an overwhelming success, because the next words were, “Praise Him, ask and ye shall receive, amen, amen, amen!”

Donna-Gayle burst from the room. Stifling her laughter, she grabbed my hand and forced me downstairs.

“Oh my God, Bryan, open some wine, I need a drink and a cigarette.”

We both doubled over and, laughing hysterically, agreed that the phrase “holy shit” would have new meaning for us—forever and ever, amen.

“N
OW, SWEET POTATO,
I don’t want to slow you down, you have so much going on, but if it’s okay, and you don’t think I’d be a burden, I’d love to come out and see you do your thing in L.A., but I’ll understand if …” Mom went on, muttering in her now slightly breathless style.

The removal of three-quarters of a lung a few years back, coupled with the effects of chemotherapy, was beginning to take its toll. Her signature honey-toned cotton-candy hair had fallen out and was replaced by a wiry gray Brillo pad. It didn’t seem to faze her in the least; she wore hats and wigs, and continued to smile as she always had. She did everything in her power to fight this disease yet again, not just medically, but spiritually as well. Visualization classes, seminars on self-healing, meditation—if it might help her, she was going to try it.

“Mother, I would not have invited you if I didn’t mean
it. Book your flight, use your miles to upgrade, and I’ll make reservations at a hotel, one with no stairs.”

“You are an angel. This may be my last opportunity to come out. Oh, baby dear, this is just what the doctor ordered, but if it’s going to be too much for you …”

“Mom, you and Donna are coming—that’s final.”

Just then there came a knock on my trailer door. “You are invited on set.” I’ve never understood why that phrase is used to call actors to the set. It’s my job; I really don’t need to be invited to work.

“Mom, I’ll call you later, just get here, love you, ’bye.”

Her choice of words—
last opportunity
—stuck in my head, and while making a last-minute tie adjustment, I realized that this was the first time she had ever slightly suggested the possibility of her death. Throughout her entire life, life itself was the answer, the simple driving force from which she never deviated. It was such a shock to me to hear that it sent my mind swimming.

As I crossed the scalding summer streets of the Los Angeles Center Studios and opened the double doors to the arctic air conditioning of the sound stage, I kept repeating the mantra I’d adopted very early in my career: “Leave your personal life at the stage door.” I tried, but those two words plagued me. I had buried my father nearly twenty-five years before, and realized how lucky I was to have had my mother all these years, how wonderful and unique our friendship was. I thought of the years she’d fought just to stay alive, and how she’d survived countless life-threatening illnesses with dignity and grace, and
was now waging a battle with her own destiny once again. When or how would it end? Where had it come from, this strength, this will?

As I passed a gathering of impeccably costumed 1960s secretaries, I smiled a hello and noticed that one actress was holding a pair of my mother’s gloves, ones that I had given Janie, our brilliant costume designer, a year ago. I had come to terms with my mother’s illness and the fact that the end could be soon. I had no regrets, and was fully prepared to release her; the problem was releasing myself. Tears started to well, and for a moment I thought I was about to lose it as I approached my friend Rich Sommer, who played
Mad Men’s
Harry Crane. He looked at me, and his face dropped.

“What’s wrong? How’s your mom?”

I took a deep breath to compose myself, then said, “She’s coming to the premiere.”

“That’s fantastic! So why the who-died face?” he joked.

“It’s just, it just really hit me that it’s going to happen. I mean I have always known it will—hell, all of my youth and adult life I was constantly worrying about it. It’s the natural progression, it’s what should and must happen. It’s the pain and suffering,
her
pain and suffering—it just sucks.”

“I know what you mean; my grandmother died last year of cancer—no fun, there is no fun in a funeral. Hey, they’re not ready for us just yet, the corn nuts are calling me at craft services, care to join?”

We laughed as we made our way past the huge lights and period sets. It still amazes me how such an unreal
world can be transformed by the camera to appear so rich and real. Just like my own.

A
WEEK LATER
I was driving to LAX to retrieve Mom and Donna. Driving along La Cienega, I thought about my New York life and how everyone had thought that I would hate L.A., but maybe my time in New Orleans had tempered the culture shock. The one thing that L.A. has over the rest of the world is the perfect weather ninety-five percent of the year. It is mind-boggling how beautiful it is, but it explains why God saw fit to hurl the occasional mud slide, fire, or earthquake. En route to the airport, the sky was ablaze with the beginning of a perfect sunset, and the silhouettes of palm trees danced against skies of flame. Just minutes from the airport, my cell phone rang. It was Donna.

“Well, we are here, headed to baggage claim. Her majesty is now officially friends with everyone in the first-class cabin and many in coach, and she has made everyone in earshot promise they’ll watch the season premiere of the show.”

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes; just wait outside. And Donna, thank you for doing this.”

As I approached the pickup area, I could see in the distance a wheelchair encircled by people, some standing, some actually kneeling, and as I got closer I saw that of course it was Mom, holding court with her new comrades as they were saying their good-byes.

I hugged Donna and made my way to my mother. When
I caught her brilliant twinkling gaze, my heart just smiled at the sight of her. There she was, seated in a wheelchair, dressed in a black pantsuit and pearls, and on her head was a matching black turban with a serious gold and pearl brooch centered on her forehead. She exclaimed, “Come give me a kiss, my angel boy. Y’all, this is my actor son Bryan, and he’s on that television show I was singing the praises of,
Mad Men
on AMC Sunday nights at ten p.m., nine Central. That’s when it airs where we live, in New Orleans. Oh, petunia, it’s so good to see your sweet face, it just does my heart good.”

I loaded the car as the other passengers went on their way, and as I approached Mom to help her into the car, she was handing the attendant who wheeled her a tip. “Thank you so much, Mercedes, I had an aunt Mercedes, Bryan, you remember Aunt Mercedes and Uncle Frank, that was my mother’s brother and his wife, Bryan, this is Mercedes, and she has been a living doll, just a doll. You have been so sweet and you keep on taking those classes and one day you will be a great medical assistant, we need more sweet people like you.”

With that, Mercedes hugged Mom and we went through the routine of her angling her bad hips and knees into my mini-SUV. The sunset was in full bloom, and the tall, spindly palms swayed in the gentle summer breeze now against a sky that glowed like lava.

“This is just beautiful, isn’t it, Donna? Honey, tell me everything. How is filming? Are you excited about the premiere tomorrow, ’cause we are, I am about to bust, just bust with excitement!”

I started to answer, but Mom quickly said, “Now, honey, please take it easy, we are not in a race to get to the hotel and we would like to arrive in one piece, so please slow down. I don’t want you to get a citation.”

I pointed out that you can actually get a ticket for going too slow on the L.A. freeways, and that I knew what I was doing. I asked about everyone in the family, a subject she always loves to chat about.

“Well, Jay had the back surgery and was recovering just fine but the poor thing developed kidney stones again. I hear they are excruciating. You know your father had them something awful one year during Carnival. You and Jay were just little tykes at the time, and I was sitting in the box seat at one of the balls, to tell the truth I can’t remember which one, was it Dorians or Osiris? … Well, anyhoo, I was waiting for him to dance with me for the first ‘call out’ dance, and no John, and the second dance, no John. Your Uncle Donny was his committeeman, so I asked him ‘Where’s Johnny?’ and he had no idea, so he went backstage at the auditorium. As it turned out, your daddy had passed the kidney stone in the shower and fainted for a moment from the pain. Isn’t that just horrible? So say a prayer for Jay-boy. Andrée is great, and the girls are getting more grown up every day, becoming little ladies. We went out to dinner the other night with Aunt Carol and Uncle Jack and had a fantastic time. Oh, pet, as we drive, please point out any sites of interest or historic significance. You know your grandfather Pa-paw, my father, wanted to move to California to retire, but Moozie could never leave New Orleans. Come to think of it, your
daddy loved California too, but with the business and then his heart, he couldn’t leave, and to tell the truth, me either. I just adore that city.”

We drove up to the uber-chic London Hotel on San Vicente, and Mom marveled that there were no stairs and at the ultra-modern decor. Both she and Donna oohed and ahhed over the golden leather settee, commenting how different and festive it looked, but how it would never ever work in a real home. Once again she started to charm the doormen and valets and front-desk workers as she checked in.

Donna and I managed the luggage as well as the grocery order I had received. Prunes, bottled water, fresh fruit, and whole-wheat crackers. I added a bottle of Chardonnay for Donna and me, as Mom was not imbibing. She knew that when dealing with cancer, sweets are out and liquor just makes you sicker. I shared a glass with Donna, and we all stepped out onto the veranda for a quick toast to the twinkling lights of Hollywood. Mom slipped her braceleted arm around me and hugged tightly yet softly, saying, “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

“Only all my life.”

I informed them that I was filming tomorrow, and depending on the schedule, which could change at a moment’s notice, the car would pick them up for the premiere first, then me. There were kisses, and I was on my way to my rented West Hollywood bungalow. I decided to bring my suit for the premiere to the studio just in case we ran late filming, which turned out to be the best decision, as we were extremely behind schedule that day. I called the
press office and told them to have the driver pick Mom and Donna up from the hotel, then come downtown to get me. They arrived as I was wrapping, and our sweet assistant director and script supervisor took the girls on a tour of the Sterling Cooper set as I flew to my trailer and got dressed. Tying the vintage pink Pucci tie, one of my dad’s that he had never worn, once again I caught a glimpse of him looking back at me in the mirror. He really wasn’t the pink Pucci type, but I sure as hell am, and damn proud of it.

Rushing and trying so hard not to sweat, I made it to the car as Mom was returning from the “little ladies’ room” on the arm of a charmed grip. Begging for as much air conditioning as the Lincoln Town car could blast, we were finally on our way to the screening and premiere party. For the premiere of season one, there were maybe four photographers as we entered the Friars’ Club. For the second season premiere, there was a nice bank of press along the entrance of the Egyptian Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard. For this one, season three, the lobby of the Directors’ Guild Theater was literally packed with photographers and press. At first I think Mom was overwhelmed and nearly blinded by all the flashes, but I leaned down and whispered, “Crazy, huh? Now watch me. You start looking left and slowly turn your head to the right.”

All of the cast were so kind when meeting her, as were my dear friends who were able to attend, and she was on cloud nine throughout the entire experience. Of course she had to use the little girls’ room yet again, and given her
current physical condition, it takes her a bit longer than it does the average seventy-eight-year-old. Donna and she emerged just in time to be seated as speeches were made by AMC’s president, Charlie Collier, and the show’s creator, Matt Weiner. As the lights dimmed, I realized that I had completely forgotten to warn Mom about the carnal scene that was about to unfold involving my character, Salvatore Romano, and a provocative exchange with a willing bellhop in the season-three premiere episode. I took her hand and simply said, “Mom, there’s a scene that gets a little sexy … with a bellhop … some kissing …”