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Authors: Shirley Maclaine
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what he was missing.
When members of the London press tracked me down in Dallas, I countered by regretting that Fleet Street cared more about my “in-body” experience than my “out-of-body” experiences, but that they could rest assured the gentleman’s real identity would go with me to the grave—unless I decided to incarnate very soon again to help elevate a future British election.
Dad, in his old-fashioned country-boy wisdom, had hit the nail on the head more accurately than he realized.
Chapter 3
S achi and Dennis and Sandy were busy dressing for my show when I got back from Bantam. As I walked into the living room. Simo stopped me.
“Your mom called,” he said. “I think there might be a problem. She didn’t want me to say anything to spoil your birthday, but I think you should know.”
“What kind of problem?” I asked with a twinge of fear. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. She just came from the doctor,” he answered haltingly.
I tried to stay calm. It was one of those moments you have thought about, and expect, but are never ready for.
I reached for the phone and dialed. Mother answered. “Mother?” I could hear myself pleading for good news. “What’s going on? How are you?”
“Happy birthday, darling,” she said. “Are you having a nice day? You know I sent your present to Malibu.”
“Yes, Mom. I know,” I said. “Thank you. I loved the lavender color, and the fabric of the sweater is really soft.”
I waited.
“Well, listen, darling,” she began. “I don’t want to upset you with all you have on your mind, but I just got home from the doctor’s office. He did anEKG on me. I thought it would be routine, but in the middle of the EKG my heart started to go. They did an X ray and found a clot on my lung moving toward the heart. So the doctor is putting me into the hospital to try to dissolve the clot. I don’t want to mince my words, but it’s serious.”
Actually she had never made a drama over her health and aches and pains, even while steadily, in old age, pursuing a course of broken bones. I could feel the honest concern in her voice; she wanted to prepare me for the worst.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Well, what does the doctor think?” I asked lamely.
“He just says I have to go to the hospital immediately. So I’m leaving in five minutes. I’m glad you called back before I left, so I could tell you myself what it’s all about.”
“What time did the heart trouble happen?” I asked, not really knowing why. “I mean, when did the machine register the problem?”
“Oh”—she thought a moment—“I remember I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes before four, about one and a half hours ago. Why?”
Then I realized why I had asked.
“Because, Mom, that happened at exactly the moment I was born fifty years ago,” I said.
She thought a moment. “Oh, I’m not surprised,” she said casually. “I’ve always known I’ve lived my life through you. You’ve done what I always wanted to do, so that makes sense to me.”
I felt myself gasp slightly over the implications of what she said. I didn’t want to ask if she was feeling it was, therefore, time to die, but I could sense she was considering it.
“Now listen, darling,” she said rather commandingly, “whatever will be, will be. I’ve led a wonderful life and if it’s time, it’s time. I want you to know how much I love you, and do real well tonight on the stage. You just remember I’ve been workinghard on my broken shoulder so that I can come up to New York and see you before you close. And I mean to do that. So don’t you worry.”
My throat ached so painfully that I couldn’t breathe.
“Oh, my goodness,” I finally said. “Is Daddy taking you to the hospital?”
“Yes. Your daddy is going to take me.”
She gave me the hospital name, telephone number, room number, et cetera. Then she said, “Darling, don’t let this interfere with your work. If I’m supposed to
When members of the London press tracked me down in Dallas, I countered by regretting that Fleet Street cared more about my “in-body” experience than my “out-of-body” experiences, but that they could rest assured the gentleman’s real identity would go with me to the grave—unless I decided to incarnate very soon again to help elevate a future British election.
Dad, in his old-fashioned country-boy wisdom, had hit the nail on the head more accurately than he realized.
Chapter 3
S achi and Dennis and Sandy were busy dressing for my show when I got back from Bantam. As I walked into the living room. Simo stopped me.
“Your mom called,” he said. “I think there might be a problem. She didn’t want me to say anything to spoil your birthday, but I think you should know.”
“What kind of problem?” I asked with a twinge of fear. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. She just came from the doctor,” he answered haltingly.
I tried to stay calm. It was one of those moments you have thought about, and expect, but are never ready for.
I reached for the phone and dialed. Mother answered. “Mother?” I could hear myself pleading for good news. “What’s going on? How are you?”
“Happy birthday, darling,” she said. “Are you having a nice day? You know I sent your present to Malibu.”
“Yes, Mom. I know,” I said. “Thank you. I loved the lavender color, and the fabric of the sweater is really soft.”
I waited.
“Well, listen, darling,” she began. “I don’t want to upset you with all you have on your mind, but I just got home from the doctor’s office. He did anEKG on me. I thought it would be routine, but in the middle of the EKG my heart started to go. They did an X ray and found a clot on my lung moving toward the heart. So the doctor is putting me into the hospital to try to dissolve the clot. I don’t want to mince my words, but it’s serious.”
Actually she had never made a drama over her health and aches and pains, even while steadily, in old age, pursuing a course of broken bones. I could feel the honest concern in her voice; she wanted to prepare me for the worst.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Well, what does the doctor think?” I asked lamely.
“He just says I have to go to the hospital immediately. So I’m leaving in five minutes. I’m glad you called back before I left, so I could tell you myself what it’s all about.”
“What time did the heart trouble happen?” I asked, not really knowing why. “I mean, when did the machine register the problem?”
“Oh”—she thought a moment—“I remember I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes before four, about one and a half hours ago. Why?”
Then I realized why I had asked.
“Because, Mom, that happened at exactly the moment I was born fifty years ago,” I said.
She thought a moment. “Oh, I’m not surprised,” she said casually. “I’ve always known I’ve lived my life through you. You’ve done what I always wanted to do, so that makes sense to me.”
I felt myself gasp slightly over the implications of what she said. I didn’t want to ask if she was feeling it was, therefore, time to die, but I could sense she was considering it.
“Now listen, darling,” she said rather commandingly, “whatever will be, will be. I’ve led a wonderful life and if it’s time, it’s time. I want you to know how much I love you, and do real well tonight on the stage. You just remember I’ve been workinghard on my broken shoulder so that I can come up to New York and see you before you close. And I mean to do that. So don’t you worry.”
My throat ached so painfully that I couldn’t breathe.
“Oh, my goodness,” I finally said. “Is Daddy taking you to the hospital?”
“Yes. Your daddy is going to take me.”
She gave me the hospital name, telephone number, room number, et cetera. Then she said, “Darling, don’t let this interfere with your work. If I’m supposed to
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