Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (28 page)

“All I can tell you is he is extremely well thought of, personally and professionally.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s a great guy and all. He’s cute but I guess just not my type. You know, he’s … well, he’s sort of dull.”

“Dull? Gerry O’Malley?”

“At least he is to me. I guess we just don’t have anything in common. He doesn’t even watch television.”

“I see.”

“He’s nice but there’s no point in leading him on.”

“No, I guess not.”

After Dena left, Dr. Diggers wondered how long it would be before she would be hearing from Gerry. It was exactly three weeks and one day.

Dena had turned down date after date with Gerry and he was baffled. “I know you can’t get in the middle of this but she seemed to like me. We had dinner, went to a couple of shows, but all of a sudden she stopped seeing me and I don’t understand what happened. It seemed to be going great. I was a gentleman, I didn’t push myself on her, I wanted her to have some time to get to know me a little better. I don’t think I said anything out of line, I let her do most of the talking. I just don’t get it. I was feeling pretty good, actually; the last time I saw her she even gave me a little kiss good night at the door. She wouldn’t do that if she hated me, would she? Maybe she’s seeing another guy.”

Diggers listened to him go on and on for another twenty minutes. Finally, she had to put him out of his misery. There was no other way. “Gerry, she thinks you’re dull.”

Gerry was taken aback. “Dull?”

“Dull.”

“Oh, du—?”

“Dull.”

“The only reason I’m telling you this is because she mentioned it out of session so I’m not betraying patient-doctor privilege. But there it is.”

“That’s all she said?”

“Gerry, don’t forget: she doesn’t know you. You are the last person in the world I would call dull. Does she know anything about you at all?”

“No, not much. But what am I going to do, sit there and talk about myself? Give her a résumé? Oh, Christ, Liz, maybe I am dull.”

Elizabeth Diggers could have kicked herself for ever getting in the middle of this.

“Gerry, am I going to have to put you back in analysis? What happened to my Mr. Personality Party Boy? You’re one of the funniest, most interesting people I know. Tell her about yourself. Now, get with it, boy.”

Gerry hung up the phone, wracked his brain, but one word kept playing over and over in his head. Even the clock seemed to be ticking
dull … dull … dull.
He put his jacket on and his lucky red baseball cap. The first thing he was going to do was buy a television set.

Gerry did not give up, and Dena continued to break date after date. A few times she had said yes and cancelled at the last minute until he finally managed to pin her down for a definite commitment. He had invited her to a concert at Carnegie Hall, and said, rather insistently, uncharacteristically, before he hung up: “Dena, promise me you won’t back out at the last minute. These tickets were almost impossible to come by.
Please
, give me your word.”

“Listen, Gerry, you better ask someone else. With my work I can’t promise.”

“Please try. These tickets cost an arm and a leg. OK?”

Dena looked through her appointment book. She hated to be pinned down. “When is it again?”

“Next Friday, the ninth.”

“Well, I have a cocktail party at five. What time does this concert start?”

“Eight.”

“All right, but I’ll have to meet you there.”

“Carnegie Hall. At eight. And Dena, if you can’t make it, call me and—”

“OK. OK, I will. I’m writing it down.”

On Friday the ninth, at about seven-forty, Dena looked at her watch and groaned. Late already. She knew she shouldn’t have made this date. He was probably there already waiting for her and she was all the way downtown. She said good-bye to her host and as she was going downstairs in the elevator she made a vow to herself, again, not to ever make plans so far in advance. It was raining. She could always just not show up and say she couldn’t find a cab. But when she got into the cab she changed her mind. She loved riding in New York in the rain, the way the colors of neon took on a fuzzy glow through the wet windows, the way the lights reflected on the wet streets. The city looked so soft and so magical, she enjoyed the ride.

But by the time they made it through the theater district and up to Fifty-seventh Street, it was ten after eight when she got out of the cab. The sidewalk in front of Carnegie Hall was deserted. Everybody had already gone in, except for a man in a stocking cap playing a violin and another man standing with a bouquet. She pulled the big brass handle of the glass door and walked into the lobby; the young man with the roses ran after her. “Miss Nordstrom?”

Dena turned. “Yes.”

“Miss Nordstrom, I am supposed to take you to your seat.”

Dena said, “Oh,” and followed him to the left down the stairs into a small auditorium. He held the door open for her. “Right this way.” The auditorium was empty but he did not give her a chance to say anything, walked her down the aisle, seated her in the fourth row center, handed her the roses and a program, and was gone.

The stage was empty except for a piano, a bass, and a set of drums. She looked around; she must be in the wrong place. She glanced at the program and then read more intently:

At that moment the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the lights on the stage came up and Gerry O’Malley walked out in black tie
with two other tuxedoed men. He bowed and sat down at the piano. After a moment, he nodded and the trio started to play an old Lerner and Lane tune he had chosen that said exactly what he had been unable to say. And he sang it right to her:

Dena, horrified, wanted to drop through the floor, but Gerry continued, singing in an astonishingly good voice.

Among the thousands of things Dena did not know about Gerry O’Malley was that he had worked his way through college with his own jazz combo, playing every weekend at parties. Tonight, he had managed to get both of the other guys, one a doctor and the other with his own venture capital business, to come into Manhattan for the evening to back him up.

Dena sat, as he continued to play every love song he knew and a few really funny ones with lyrics she suspected were his, as well. Dena had no choice but to smile. She also wanted to run. What in the
world had she gotten herself into? He was either completely off his rocker or else he thought she could get him on television, but whichever it was, it was very embarrassing. But after a while, she began to relax and to really enjoy herself.

When it was over, she stood and applauded and handed him the roses. He came down to where she was sitting and said, “Well?”

He stood smiling and waiting and she said: “Well, wow! You really can play. Great, what can I say? You’re quite a piano player.” He introduced the other musicians to her and she told them how much she had enjoyed the concert.

Gerry said, “OK, guys—that’s all for this evening. I owe you one. Or two. Or twenty.” They said good-bye.

Gerry took Dena to dinner next door at the Russian Tea Room. He had heard that it was a place show business people liked. He was pleased with himself. “I just thought this might be a way for you to get to know me a little better—and give you a better idea of how I feel about you.”

“Gerry … that was very sweet of you. And don’t think I didn’t enjoy it and appreciate it. But don’t you think this is all a little sudden? I’m really not ready for any kind of serious relationship. My job takes up most of my time and, well, I just can’t do it. Right now. At the moment, I don’t know how I feel about anybody.”

“Dena, I am not going anywhere. You can have all the time in the world, all the time you need. I’m here. If it’s one year or five years, whenever you are ready. Believe me, I’m the last person in the world who wants to pressure you. All I want you to know is that I’m here—and I’m in love with you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Gerry said. “I told you on the phone. Or tried to.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I thought you were kidding. Or I didn’t know you were serious. I mean, you’re a psychiatrist. Aren’t you supposed to know better or something? I don’t know what to say.”

“Dena, I am serious. But listen: just because I know that you are the one for me, I may not be the one for you. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

At home, she thought about the evening. She had certainly heard
many lines from many men, but this one was unique. She had to give him that. But he’d get over it, they always did. She’d heard that J.C. was already engaged to some stewardess. Granted, everyone said she looked like a younger Dena, but J.C. was over her. Give this one some time.

Then a
terrible
thought hit her. What if the network suddenly started looking for a
younger
Dena? She was good but she had better get in there and be the
best
, make sure she was irreplaceable. There wasn’t any time to waste. Too many younger and tougher girls were waiting in the wings, waiting for her to make a slip. She didn’t have time to get involved with anyone, much less a piano-playing shrink who thought he was in love with her. If she was going to stay on top she had to strike while the iron was hot—and right now she was hot. She had just been on the cover of
TV Guide
and there was talk of an Emmy.

Dena had been in seventeen cities in seventeen days on a twenty-eight-day promotion tour for the network. They had decided that she was the perfect person to send across the country to their local affiliates because of her increasing popularity. They knew she would charm and interest everyone she met. So the publicity department filled almost every minute of her time in each town with television, radio, and newspaper interviews along with luncheon speeches, other personal appearances, and usually, if they could arrange it, a banquet speech at night. Before she flew on to the next city, she’d try to get three or four hours’ sleep and then she would start all over again the next day. It seemed like every town had a local morning show that began at seven. She had known it would be rough but Dena wanted to do it. She wanted to push her TV Que up even higher than it was.

Thank God they had sent their top publicist, Jonni Hartman, with her. Not only did Dena like her, Jonni was a master at getting Dena from one place to another and expert at getting Dena away from fans who wanted autographs for their entire family, or from interviewers who always wanted more time. And she did it without making Dena look bad. Dena had been doing a terrific job
charming everyone, until Pittsburgh, when her stomach began to hurt again. She tried to drive herself through it by living on Maalox and Tums.

Right after she finished speaking at a big benefit dinner in Houston honoring the great heart surgeon Dr. Michael E. DeBakey, she and Jonni had to rush upstairs in the hotel, quickly change clothes, and leave immediately for the airport to catch a 10:45 plane to Dallas. They were behind schedule as usual, so when the elevator did not come she and Jonni had to run down ten flights of stairs dragging their luggage. They had made it halfway through the lobby when the pain hit her so hard that she had to stop. Jonni caught her just before she passed out cold.