Cancer Schmancer (25 page)

“Oww!” I screamed as the kid backed off my foot and pedaled away. But I didn’t care; something amazing had just taken place.

I’m sure Chester’s spirit was connecting with me.

“They say if you speak of the dead and a rainbow appears, it’s a sign from your loved one,” I said happily to Simon and Anat as I limped away. I felt that my life with Chester finally had closure.

This was a good trip for the Franny.

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Reunions

Fe b r u a r y 2 0 0 1

after Peter learned of my cancer, we began to correspond through e-mail. It was easier to write letters, and over time the friendship we’d had since high school began to reemerge. It was in late winter, when Peter came to L.A. on business, that we saw each other for the first time in a very long while. He’d e-mailed me and said he’d like to see me if it’s what I wanted, too.

Well honestly, it’s exactly what I wanted. In some ways having had cancer wasn’t as tough as the total absence of our relationship, our friendship. I thought about how I should look, what I should wear, and what he’d think. I thought about how he’d look, what he’d wear, and what I’d think.

He drove up in a beautiful rented sports car. I felt anxious about it. I wanted it to go well. I opened my front door, pulled him in, and hugged him, and he hugged me back. We embraced for a long time.

There were no words, only sighs. Then he complimented me on how young and healthy I looked. To me, he looked like a movie star, not just some ordinary guy. Dressed cool, good physique, more mature and seasoned, I thought.

I showed him around the house, a house I’d decorated all by myself (okay, with the help of two decorators and three assistants).

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He seemed to like everything. He talked about the movie he’d cowritten and was going to direct, what it was about, and the friends he’d approached to be in it. Danny had generously agreed, as had Twiggy. Rosie was reading the script for the role of the mother. I was so elated to hear how far the project had gone and impressed that he’d made it all happen. He’d become strong for himself without me, and it was lovely to see.

I shut off the volume on my answering machine so we wouldn’t be interrupted by phone calls. The first time it rang I didn’t think anything of it. Then it rang again and again, at which point I wondered out loud if it was important. What can I say? A ringing phone equals potential emergency in my family. Peter encouraged me to answer it, and then the most amazing thing happened.

“Angel?” It was Rosie on the other end of the line. “Angel, is Peter there? I was talking to your folks and asked them if they knew where I could find him, and they said he was with you!”

“He’s right here,” I exclaimed.

“Well, put him on, I wanna tell him how much I loved his screenplay and that I’m going to do it!” she added with all the bravura of Pavarotti on stage. It was a miracle. What good news for him to receive, and in my home! What a brilliant, shining moment to share together after so much ugliness. They say coinci-dence is really God acting anonymously. . . .

“Oh, that’s great! Hold on,” I said to her, then extended the phone to him, bursting with enthusiasm. “It’s Rosie, she loved your screenplay.”

His whole face lit up as he took the receiver and did what he as a producer-director does best. He promised Rosie she’d look great, be great, and, above all, be protected by him on all fronts always. I heard him say she could pick whom she wanted to play her husband, which I thought to myself was another smart move.

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There was something in the way he paced back and forth in my open living room and kitchen that felt so strangely familiar, so completely the same, as if no time had passed.

When he hung up he gave me a hug, lifting me off the ground and twirling me around. I said something I’m sure I’d said a million times in the past when we’d received good news in our careers: “Let’s call Elaine.” Suddenly it was him, me, and Elaine again, just like the old days, striving for that break and sometimes catching one. We called my parents and Rosie’s agent, too.

Good news always got us hungry, and the next thing you know we were in Peter’s sports car taking a long drive up the California coast to a wonderful little Italian restaurant for a late lunch. As the time passed, we shifted into a new gear as effort-lessly and seamlessly as a fine-tuned Ferrari. The place was empty as we shared our food and some laughs about the old days. It felt good, a magical moment suspended in time.

The next time we saw each other, it was on Peter’s turf, during a business trip I took to New York. It was good to see him in his own environment. I thought he looked great, even better than when I’d seen him in L.A. Not as coiffed as in all our years together, but more rough around the edges, rugged and grungy. It was refreshing to see him being more relaxed in his appearance. I recognized so many things he’d kept that we’d bought together, now part of his beautiful downtown loft. There were the floor lamps that I’d bought for our bedroom so very long ago. He hadn’t even liked them when I first brought them home, and there they were, looking beautiful and filled with history and memories.

And it was the first time I met his new puppy, Lumpy. When we were married, he’d never wanted a dog, and so Chester was always more mine than his. I was glad to see he’d gotten one for himself, because now more than ever, I thought how important it 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 216

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was that he experience the unconditional love you can get only from a dog. She was friendly and sweet and high energy—in many ways she reminded me of Chester.

He opened a bottle of my favorite wine and we both toasted to good health as we sat down in his living room. There stood the pi-ano we’d bought used more than twenty years ago during our first year of marriage. We had nothing to our names then, but I couldn’t bear the thought of setting up a home without the instrument that enabled him to play such beautiful music. I asked him to play something and sing for me. I hadn’t heard Peter sing and play in years, but it was one of my great joys in our relationship.

His voice sounded as strong and powerful as ever, but the song was a sad love song and I began to weep. “Not that one,” I interrupted, and he attempted something a bit more lively, but his heart just wasn’t in it. We tried a new restaurant called 71 Clinton that neither of us had ever been to before. I thought it would be healthy to create new memories together in new places. We enjoyed it very much, overordered from the menu as always, and found much to laugh about.

As we walked through the streets of the city I marveled at the confidence in his gait and actually questioned him on his obvious lack of fear. “This is where I live,” he said confidently. This was a different Peter from the one I’d known in the past. I guess, with the passing of time and circumstance, we’d both matured.

He rode with me in the cab back to my hotel and we hugged for a long time before going our separate ways. It was a lovely evening—lovely and bittersweet.

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Pet Love

M a y 2 0 0 1

to be able to let go of it all, strip down to nothing, and still feel whole remains my challenge in life. It had never been something I was good at doing, but letting go came easier with the loss of Chester. Whatever wasn’t working was given its walking papers. Gone went the lousy aquarium maintenance man.

Good-bye, ’78 Buick. Arrivederci to my agents. The year 2000 was my turning point.

After I’d lit countless candles for Chester, something clicked in my head and I realized that the only way I was going to stop looking back was to start looking forward. I began to refocus my attention from the half-empty glass to its half-full counterpart. Why should I live in my big house without my uterus and without a dog, too? Who needs all that deprivation at once, I thought, and began looking for a puppy. My therapist always used to remind me that “being alone” and “loneliness” needn’t go hand in hand.

I worried that I’d never bond with a new puppy the way I had with Chester, but I definitely needed a new distraction, no matter what. I couldn’t decide what breed I wanted, but I kinda thought a female would be nice this time around. Years of Chester’s lifting his leg on my curtains convinced me of that! I surfed the Internet 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 218

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for breeders and visited many pet stores on the west side of L.A.

All the puppies were adorable, but none sparked the connection I felt when I first laid eyes on Chester. I must say, though, that as a way of putting the mourning period completely behind me, my search was very effective. More than anything, it was an exciting diversion.

I bought a dog book with four hundred different breeds, and slowly began to narrow my choices. At first I thought of getting a big dog, but when I thought of how much exercise a big dog needs—not to mention the size of its pees and shits—I changed my mind. I was thinking a white or tan dog would look nice in my house, but on the other hand, I usually wear black, and who needs white fur all over black clothes?

So I decided I wanted a female that didn’t shed. Small was better—it’d be more like having a baby. And now that I had a clue what I wanted, it was easier entering a pet shop.

Cousin Erica, who’s a costumer and spends a lot of time shopping in malls, said that Pet Love in the Beverly Center offered a big selection of really cute dogs. I remembered Danny and Donna got their first Akita there, and Elaine and Allan found both their Lhasa apsos there, too. They loved their dogs and they all lived long and healthy lives.

Before I became famous, Judi, Peter, and I had spent more time in that mall than I care to remember. Between the multiplex cinemas, the food court, the shops, and the pet store we could easily spend half a day in that place. But for the last several years it had been difficult moving about freely without getting stopped for autographs, so big shopping malls were off-limits. As John and I charged through the arcade of shops on the plaza level heading for Pet Love, I took it all in. So much activity, so much to look at, and so many new stores!

When we entered Pet Love it was overwhelming: the size of 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 219

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the shop and the selection of dogs. The place was filled with cus-tomers. I would have sworn it was Christmastime, given the size of the crowds and the store’s busy feel. Our salesperson was very patient and understanding. This isn’t an easy decision to make for anyone, and I’m a person who has trouble deciding what to order in a restaurant, so you can only imagine. They put us in a private little stall, complete with toys and paper towels, and brought in each puppy we were considering.

I read somewhere that it’s a good idea when seriously considering a puppy to observe how it interacts with its peers. That way, you can gauge how playful, timid, or aggressive it may be. One little pup immediately began humping another and I said, “Take him away.” If that’s starting at this age, forget about it. Not for me.

John liked a white male Pom that was really cute and very playful.

Too playful, if you asked me. This was a Chester Drescher waiting to happen, and in this go-round I didn’t want hyper.

I noticed an ultrafeminine, quiet, brown little Pom sitting by herself and asked to see her. I’d never seen a chocolate Pom—she was the first they’d ever had at the pet store. She was very quiet and serene. Not particularly interactive, but not timid, either. She was a perfect little lady and I was drawn to her. She didn’t seem puppylike, but regal and elegant. John kept having them bring in one puppy after another, but, oh, that precious little brown one.

Then suddenly the words left my mouth: “She’s the one,” and the salesgirl immediately shifted into accessory mode. Did I just say what I thought I said? I began to shut down as tiny rhinestoned collars and leopard-print leashes were waved in my face. Seconds after leaving the pen, the brown puppy peed and shit on the pet shop floor as the gal whisked her off for fluffing, and I began to think of the new white carpet I’d installed in my bedroom after Chester died.

I suddenly felt so weak in the knees, I had to sit down. What 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 220

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was I doing? Who was this strange, aloof little brown dog and what kind of a friend would she be to me? Then I began to think about what an enormous commitment this was. These dogs live to at least fifteen. My God, I’ll be pushing sixty. Oy, I began to have a panic attack, but forged ahead anyway.

On the car ride home I cradled the tiny brown creature with huge sad eyes and a spindly little pencil neck. My maternal instincts began to kick in as I felt a powerful need to make her feel safe. I had a baby. Poor little thing, taken from her real mama, shipped to Pet Love only two days earlier, and now uprooted once again. Everyone was a stranger, everything was so unfamiliar to my sweet little girl.

“Esther!” I blurted out.

“Esther?” John questioned.

“Yes, after my great-grandmother. It’s a wonderful ancient name,” I added.

Esther was the distraction I needed. Not a replacement, but an addition. Esther is all about today and tomorrow—not about yes-terday—and that’s what makes her so vital for my emotional recovery. She’s her own little being, though, nothing like the little ham that Chester was. He loved the camera and all the show-biz action. I’d always bring him along to photo shoots and sure enough, before the day was done, that little guy was smiling for the camera and joining me on a magazine cover. I mean, that dog had his own Web site and fan club! Would Esther love my world as much? Could I maintain the same fun “celebrity and her doggie” persona, or were those days gone forever?