“I’d say the two of you got some sun.”
Eleanor welcomed them into her home the next day. After not seeing her for several weeks, Bailey noticed she seemed even more drained than on their last visit. Bailey glanced at Chelsea who was looking at Eleanor with concern.
“It’s still nice enough to sit out on the patio,” Eleanor said. “I asked Niles to bring our usual.”
They followed her outside and sat down.
“How’ve you been?” Eleanor asked as she poured tea into her cup.
“Good,” Bailey answered.
Chelsea reached for Bailey’s hand. Eleanor saw the move.
“How are the two of you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait. That glow isn’t just from getting sun. I’ve seen it before from Daphne.” She wagged her finger at them. “I’d say you two are sharing a bed again.”
Chelsea felt a flush working its way up her neck. “Nothing slips past you, does it?”
“Not when it comes to matters of love. Good for you.” Eleanor stirred sugar into her tea. “Is Ms. Addison pleased with what you’ve given her so far, Bailey?”
“Very. I sent her my most recent notes last night. She’s traveling the next few days to interview a few leads.”
“Oh? Some of Daphne’s friends? There aren’t many left, you know.”
“I believe it’s some of the younger supporting cast members from her movies.”
“Ah.”
Bailey took a drink of her coffee and watched Eleanor over the rim of the cup. “How have you been, Eleanor? You seem tired. Have you been getting enough rest?”
Eleanor dismissively waved her hand. “You sound like my physician. She hasn’t been pleased with my lack of sleep either.”
“Have you felt ill?”
“My heart’s just getting old, Bailey. It happens to the best of us. I must say, though, that the lack of rest is due to missing my mate.”
Bailey understood that feeling completely. She remembered how lost she was without Chelsea. She couldn’t imagine experiencing the helpless feeling that you wouldn’t ever see your partner again—at least not in this lifetime.
“But enough about me. Chelsea? Everything okay with you? Have you made progress in reading the diary and finding what you need?”
“I’ve been fine, thank you. I’ve written notes after each reading of the diary and studied them last night. A lot there will help me as I go forward with the book.”
“Good. I assume you left off with Gordon’s death?”
“And your short entry about Daphne testifying before Congress,” Bailey said. “We had a difficult time reading about his death.”
“Seeing him deteriorate each day was sheer torture. And so quickly, too. Although they still don’t have a cure, they can treat the disease sooner now with medication. Back then, there was nothing to stop the inevitable.” Eleanor seemed lost in thought and didn’t offer more for several seconds. Then she gathered herself with visible effort. “Well, I think it’s time we continue.”
“Before we start,” Chelsea said, “we noticed there were months that went by without much written.”
“Sometimes I got caught up in my life and didn’t take the time. But I did try to write when something seemed profound. Do you know what I mean? You realize it’s an important moment in your life as it’s happening. Many times, we let these events pass us by until much later when we recognize how much of an impact they had on our lives. But for me, I just knew at the time.” Eleanor took a sip of tea. “Who’s reading this morning?”
Chelsea snagged a couple of shortbread cookies and bit into one with a sly grin.
“I’d say that means you’re reading today, Bailey. Chelsea seems to be preoccupied. Or at least her mouth is.” Eleanor slid the diary across the table to Bailey. “We’re jumping ahead to 1990. This is when Daphne has her second stroke, much worse than the first.”
Bailey opened the diary to the marked spot. “Wednesday, 12 September 1990. Daphne and I went into the city today to do some early Christmas shopping. Daphne was rarely recognised but occasionally garnered some curious stares from those closer to our age…”
* * *
It always delighted her if someone did come up to snap a photo or ask for an autograph, but she never went out of her way to be recognised. We kept to ourselves these days, with occasional visits from our gay friends in the industry. We were shopping today for some of them.
After three hours of nonstop walking, I was ready to head home. Seeing Daphne’s weary expression, I decided it was time to call Perkins. The dear man was seventy-five now, but still as sharp as a tack and as steady behind the wheel as a twenty-five-year-old.
We slid into the backseat, each of us laying our heads on the headrest.
“Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea,” Daphne grumbled.
“I believe your exact words were ‘We’ll get a jump on those mad, scrambling throngs that descend on the malls next month.’”
“If I ever say that again, ignore me, will you?”
“Daph, if there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s ignore you.”
She smiled. “I guess I am rather formidable.”
I snorted. “That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Perkins turned into the drive and dropped us off at the door. I walked into the foyer and left the packages there. “Set yours here, too. I’ll take them upstairs later. Right now, I’d like nothing better than a cup of tea.”
“I never did break you of that habit, did I?” Daphne walked past, pulling off her sweater.
I continued into the kitchen while she stepped over to the bar.
“I think this deserves more than tea for my nerves,” she said. “Those teenagers in that last mall drove me crazy.”
I poured water into the kettle and yelled from down the hall. “But you have to admit that young woman who recognised you from her film studies class was rather adorable.”
A loud crash came from the living room. I dropped the kettle into the sink and hurried down the hallway. Daphne lay by the bar. The bottle of gin was tilted on its side and liquid dribbled down to the carpet.
“Oh my God! Daphne!”
I rushed to her and dropped to my knees. The right side of her mouth drooped slightly, and she seemed surprised to see me.
“Daphne?”
She tried to focus on my face, but I could tell she was having a difficult time. I feared she’d suffered a stroke. I suddenly remembered a recent article I’d read. It listed three possible symptoms of a stroke.
Daphne moved to sit up. I helped her and then asked her to raise her arms. She struggled to raise one, but the right arm tilted to the side.
“Can you smile for me, sweetheart.”
She was able to twitch the left side of her mouth up slightly.
“Can you say, ‘I love you’?”
She tried and failed.
“Don’t move. I’m calling 9-1-1.”
I ran to the phone and alerted the service that Daphne had probably suffered a stroke. They told me to make her comfortable and not to move her any further. Within minutes of hanging up, I heard the sirens outside the house. I let the medics in and stood aside as they loaded Daphne onto the gurney.
One of the paramedics, a very masculine woman, asked Daphne if she knew her own name. She struggled to say her first name. The woman glanced up at me as they took her out to the ambulance. “Has she suffered a stroke before?”
I vividly recalled 1975 and the last time I’d found Daphne passed out on the floor. “I think she might have had a mild one about fifteen years ago, but it was never properly diagnosed.”
They lifted her into the ambulance.
“Can I go with you?” I knew I couldn’t reach Perkins in time to drive me to the hospital as quickly as I wanted. Driving in England had been easy for me, but I never attempted it once I arrived in the States.
“Are you family?”
“Well—”
“Because if you’re family, you can ride.” The medic gave me a pointed look.
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, she’s my sister.”
“Good,” the medic said with a slight smile. “Get in.”
On the way to the hospital, the medic asked me questions about Daphne’s medical history, which I answered to the best of my ability. When we arrived, they hustled her through the ER doors. I wanted to follow, but they told me to remain in the waiting area.
I sat down in one of the plastic chairs, trying my best not to break down in front of strangers. An hour later, the ER doors swung open. A young doctor glanced up from his file.
“Sister of Daphne DeMonet?”
I jumped to my feet and hurried over.
“Yes. I’m… I’m Eleanor DeMonet. Is Daphne okay?”
“I’m Doctor Sturgeon. Follow me.” He led me to one of the curtained-off rooms but stopped before we entered.
“We think your sister suffered a stroke. We need to run some blood tests and do a CT scan to be certain, but based on her slurred speech and her slight weakness on her right side, I’m fairly certain that’s what happened. You told the EMT you thought she’d suffered a mild stroke…” He flipped through his papers. “Fifteen years ago?”
“Yes. The doctor at that time decided it was low blood sugar and didn’t run any further tests other than to check for that.” I didn’t hide my disgust when giving him this news.
“That’s not unusual. Sometimes milder strokes can go undetected. They’ve taken her back for her CT scan. Once we get that result, we’ll know how to proceed. If there’s a blockage, we’ll treat her with an anticoagulant, which will help break up the clot.”
“How long?”
“We should have her CT done within the hour. After that, we’ll know what we’re dealing with. Why don’t you go to the waiting area? I’ll call you back when we’re done.”
A little over an hour passed when Doctor Sturgeon led me to the lit X-rays showing Daphne’s brain images.
“She has a small blockage here.” He pointed at what to me looked like a glob on the film. “We’re already treating her with Coumadin.”
“What is the prognosis, Doctor?”
“Very good. You did the right thing in calling 9-1-1 and getting her to the hospital as quickly as possible. A lot of people don’t react so fast. A little bit of rehab should restore her speech and weakness on the right side. We have an excellent facility that’s achieved outstanding results for its stroke patients.”
“Can I see her now?”
“Of course.” He led me down the hall to her room. “This is a temporary room until we can get her upstairs.” He opened the door. “Ms. DeMonet?”
Daphne was pale, her skin colour almost matching that of the bleached-white sheets. She saw me enter the room and her face lit up. Thank God. She recognised me.
“El… El…” She frowned.
“Ms. DeMonet, as I told you, you’ve suffered a mild stroke. Your speech should come back to you after some work here.”
Daphne used her left hand to point to her drooping mouth and gestured to her right side.
“That should all come back, too. Your sister’s fast action in calling the paramedics helped.”
Her gaze shifted to me, and she looked confused.
“I was able to accompany you to the hospital since I’m family.”
It seemed to click for her then, and the frown disappeared from her forehead. The left side of her mouth quirked up. Seeing that twinkle in her eyes lifted my spirits immensely.
“We’ve started you on an anticoagulant to help dissolve the small blockage in your brain. It should hopefully do the trick.”
A nurse breezed in, checked the IV, and left.
Doctor Sturgeon pointed at the IV line. “We’re giving it to you intravenously for a much quicker result. As I told your sister, we’ll get you a room in the rehabilitation portion of our hospital. I don’t anticipate you being there long at all. You should be able to go home and continue any further rehab through outpatient services.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I told him.
He stopped at the door on his way out. “I love your films, Ms. DeMonet. Especially A Sheltered Heart.”
She tried to smile. “Th… thnk,” she slurred, then gave him a feeble wave.
“Someone should be in soon to take you up.”
After the doctor left, I moved to Daphne’s side and took her left hand in mine. I pushed her hair back from her forehead. “How are you doing?”
“Sc… scare.” She shook her head.
“It’s okay. You’re in the right place. This is one of the best hospitals in the country.”
“Stah.” She gripped my hand tight.
“I’m not sure I can stay, love, but I’ll ask.”
Her beseeching expression was all I needed to see. I called for the nurse. As soon as she re-entered the room, I made the request.
“As long as Ms. DeMonet agrees.”
Daphne nodded.
“She still needs her rest. Can you be quiet tonight?” the nurse asked me.
“As long as I can stay, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“Let me see what I can do.” Her gaze dropped to our joined hands, and a knowing look zipped across her face.
The nurse left the room and returned with the okay. They came for Daphne about thirty minutes later and wheeled her into a private room. Another nurse entered and checked her vitals. “We’ll hunt down a recliner,” she told me.
After she left, I went to Daphne’s side. “I guess it helps sometimes to be a famous movie star.”
Daphne did her best to roll her eyes.
I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”
* * *
“She still had her sense of humor even after the stroke,” Bailey said. “How long was she in rehabilitation?”
“Two weeks. As the doctor said, it was a mild stroke. And her health habits had always been good since she stopped smoking not too long after we met. The doctors thought she might be at risk because of her mother’s stroke and death at seventy-six. We continued to be careful with her diet, but they told us that sometimes people are susceptible to these things. There was only so much we could do.”
“Were you at the hospital while she rehabbed?” Chelsea asked.
“Every day and most nights. I know I teased Daphne about the famous movie star thing, but it really did make a difference. And most had deduced that we weren’t sisters by the time they released her to go home. A very helpful nurse told her we needed to file the legal paperwork to allow me power of attorney. That way, my say in her medical care would never be an issue again. We’d never even thought about it. Not too long after we arrived home, we visited her attorney and worked out everything between us regarding wills and such. It’s funny how something like this shock can jumpstart you into action.” Eleanor stood and stretched. “Why don’t we go out to the garden for the next reading?”
They followed her to a set of benches in the middle of the garden.
Chelsea admired the variety of flowers Eleanor had planted. “It’s so beautiful, and I love the way you’ve mixed the colors.”
“I’ve added to it over the years.”
Violets, daffodils, petunias, irises, and a multitude of other flowers surrounded them in a colorful cocoon.
“Bailey, why don’t you pass the book to Chelsea and let her read the next passages from 1996. This is after Daphne’s third stroke. Unfortunately, they kept getting worse. Where you’ll begin is when she comes home from the rehab hospital. She’s regained her speech but still has weakness on the right side.”
Chelsea smoothed down the page when it flapped in the breeze. “Tuesday, 12 March 1996. Daphne returned home last week after a three-week stay in the hospital. She still has work to do in getting her gait back to normal. I’d ordered the necessary equipment delivered to our home so she can finish her rehab work here. I set up the room to mirror the facility at the hospital…”
* * *
“You’re a goddamn slave driver, Steve,” Daphne snapped. Sweat dripped from her brow as she struggled to hold herself upright on the parallel bars.
Steve, the physical therapist, stood in front of her and urged her on, but didn’t assist her in any way.
“Quite colourful language you have there, Ms. DeMonet,” he said. Steve was tall, blond, all muscle, and very, very gay. I could tell he’d now be a dear friend. I’d already grown close to him in the limited time he’d been here. I admired him for many reasons—because of his line of work, but especially because he didn’t put up with anything Daphne dished out. This stroke had left her ill-tempered, which can be normal for a stroke victim. The level of frustration is high when a person can no longer do what they did before.
“I’ll show you colourful language,” Daphne gritted out between clenched teeth. “You ain’t heard nothing yet.” She strained again to move her right leg forward.
I wanted to help her, but I knew it wasn’t the thing to do. This wasn’t about me. It was about regaining her independence and something she told me she felt she’d lost… her dignity.
“Come on. A few more feet,” Steve said.
Daphne grunted and shifted her right leg forward with great effort to reach the end of the bars.
“Fantastic!”
She glared at him. “Just give me my goddamn walker.”
He moved the walker in front of her.
She leaned onto the handles. “I think that’s enough for this afternoon. I’m through being tortured.”
“But look at the progress you made today, Ms. DeMonet.”
I gave her a towel to wipe her brow.
“Steve, I think you can call me Daphne. You’ve seen me at my worst at the hospital. It’s time to get on a first-name basis.”
“All right, Daphne. Same time tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He gathered his things and left for the door. “Don’t forget to keep doing those exercises I showed you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“See you around two, Eleanor?”
“That’s fine. We’ll be here.”
After he left, Daphne struggled over to a chair and flopped down with a huff. She gave me a sharp look. “What’s with this ‘we’ stuff? I’m the one doing all of the work.”
I sat in the matching chair beside her and reached for her hand. “It’s time you and I had a little talk.” She tried to pull out of my grasp, but I held on tight. “Don’t turn away from me, Daphne.”
She wouldn’t look at me. “Why do I think I’m not going to like this?”
“Because you’d be right. I do understand you’re frustrated. But you need to focus on the positive and how far you’ve progressed these past three weeks. And the fact that they anticipate a full recovery.”
“‘Anticipate’ being the key word.”
I ignored her comment. “You also need to remember I’m here for you and always will be.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to be,” she said softly.
My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
Daphne raised her head. “Maybe it’d be better if you weren’t here to see this, Ellie. Maybe go to our home in Bloomington and get away for a while.”
I found my voice. “That’s a lot of maybes.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Ellie. Ever.”
I knelt in front of her. “Oh, sweetheart, I’d never think of you as a burden. You’re my heartbeat. Don’t you know that after all these years? I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you’re with me.”
Tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. I wiped them away with my thumbs. “I love you and will never stop loving you, no matter our age, no matter our physical condition. You’re stuck with me, love.”
She nodded slightly as she bit her lip.
I embraced her. “Why don’t we go into our bedroom for a while, hmm?” She stiffened in my arms. When I withdrew, I sensed her fear. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t think—”
I stood up and helped her to her feet. “Shh.”
I followed her as she scooted along with her walker to the bedroom we’d set up on this floor. Before Daphne came home, Steve and a friend swapped the furniture from the den with the bedroom furniture upstairs.
She moved in halting steps to the edge of the bed and sat down. I took the walker and set it close by, but enough out of the way that I could stand before her. Our love life had remained passionate over the years. But this last stroke had made her hesitant to show even the slightest bit of affection. I wanted that to change today.
I began unbuttoning her blouse.
She gripped my wrist with her left hand. “Ellie, I—”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers. At first, she didn’t respond, but soon she relaxed. As our kiss intensified, I continued unbuttoning her blouse. I slid it from her shoulders and unfastened her bra. To me, she was still the gorgeous twenty-nine-year-old I’d fallen in love with more than forty-five years ago. I finished undressing her and discarded my own clothing. She made little resistance as I pushed her back onto the bed.
I took my time kissing her until Daphne’s kisses became more ardent and she pushed her tongue into my mouth. Caressing her breasts, I looked into dark eyes full of desire.
“Okay?” I asked softly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I reached to the bedside table for the lubricant, poured some into my hand, and then slipped into her. “Still okay?”
This time she didn’t answer with her voice but with the movement of her hips. I felt her wetness coating my fingers. I took my time exploring her, remembering all of the places she loved before stroking her clitoris. Knowing it wouldn’t take much, I kept my touch light as I encircled her nipple with my mouth. She moved a few more times with her hips and then tensed, grabbed hold of my head, and pushed me into her breast even more.
“Oh, Ellie,” she said in a hoarse voice.
I waited until her spasms slowed before slipping out of her. I kissed her, gentle and slow, lingering for a long time, relishing the fact that I still knew her body. Still knew what she wanted and needed.
She caressed my face with her fingertips. “What about you? I feel so inadequate that I can’t make love to you.”
I smiled gently. “Daphne, you just did. Every time I make love to you, I feel your touch and your passion. It’s always been like that for me. Always.”
She pulled me to her for another kiss. “How did you know?”
“I think I knew you were feeling disconnected from me since this last stroke, and from what you just shared, I think I was right. We both needed this—not only you.”
I laid my head on her shoulder and continued my light caresses of her breast. I brushed my fingers over her nipple and made it harden again.
Daphne squirmed. “You keep doing that, darling, and I won’t need any lubricant,” she said in the low, raspy voice she reserved for the bedroom—and for me.
* * *
Chelsea looked up from the diary and met Bailey’s eyes. “It’s good to know that forty years from now, this could be us.”
Eleanor chuckled. “It was a department we never fell short in. At that particular point in time, though, she needed to be reminded how much I still desired her.” Her expression clouded. “In the six years after that date, we remained sexually active. But in the fall of 2002, she experienced a devastating stroke, and she was never the same. This one left her completely paralyzed on the right side. Her mind remained sharp, but she had trouble speaking. With the help of a speech therapist, it improved somewhat. She still slurred her words and remained self-conscious about it, even with me.”
“Wasn’t it in 2003 that the Movieland Film Industry honored her with their Lifetime Achievement Award?” Chelsea asked.
“Yes, it was. That was fun to get her to go along with.”
“The scene at the awards show was very touching,” Bailey said. “They still flash back to it in highlights from past telecasts.”
Eleanor gestured to the diary. “Go to the next bookmark. I’ve also noted two passages after that one. Why don’t you read all three?”
Chelsea opened the book to the first marked page.
“Saturday, 8 March 2003. Daphne and I sat in the solarium. We relished the warmth from the sun pouring through the surrounding glass. We were playing our typical game for a Saturday night. Five hundred rummy…”
* * *
“That’s the second time you’ve thrown down an ace. You know I’m collecting them,” I gently scolded her.
Daphne glared at me over her cards in a mock scowl.
I snickered. “That’s one of the faces you’d make at Frank Teller when you disagreed with him over his direction.”
“Pick up the damn card, Ellie,” she said out of the side of her mouth.
Her speech was as good as it was going to get, according to her therapists, but I had no problem understanding every word. She rarely wanted to venture out these days, though, and allowed only certain visitors to the house. She was still a very proud woman.
The phone rang in the kitchen.
“Damn. Meant to bring out the portable before we sat down. Don’t look at my cards,” I said over my shoulder as I stepped back inside.
“Bitch.”
I laughed. “I heard that,” I yelled before picking up the portable right before it clicked to voicemail. “Hello?”
“Ms. DeMonet?” a deep male voice asked.
“No. This is Eleanor.”
There was a slight hesitation before he continued. “This is Sam Trevor from the Movieland Film Industry. May I speak to Ms. DeMonet?”
I glanced at her and marvelled again how beautiful she still was. The sunlight cut a swath across her face and lit her grey hair with a soft glow. I was lost in staring at her and didn’t realise he’d spoken again.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry. Ms. DeMonet’s unable to come to the phone.” I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share with him regardless of whom he said he represented.
“I understand Ms. DeMonet suffered a stroke in the fall. I wasn’t certain how debilitating it was, but I’m calling to inform her that she has been chosen as this year’s recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award.”
“Oh, my. That’s quite an honour, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Do you know if there’s any chance she might be able to attend the ceremony in two weeks?”
I watched as she gazed out of the solarium windows, seemingly lost in thought. I so wanted her to be there for the award, but I wasn’t sure how she’d respond.
“Let me speak with her, Mr. Trevor. Do you have a number where I can reach you?” I scribbled down the number. “Thank you. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
I gathered myself before walking back into the solarium.
“Who?”
Daphne’s questions and speech often became short and to the point, especially if she was tired.
“That was Sam Trevor from the Movieland Film Industry. He called to tell you they’ve chosen you for this year’s Lifetime Achievement Award. They’d like you to be there in two weeks to accept.”
“No,” she said with a voice that brooked no room for discussion.
But I could be just as stubborn. I pushed my chair beside her and took her hand. “Daph, this is such a wonderful honour. Why don’t—”
“Not dead yet.” She frowned.
“Oh, who said anything about your being dead? They want to recognise your work. At least think about it, won’t you?”
“Not like this.” She motioned at her body with her left hand.
It would take a lot more convincing.
Wednesday, 12 March 2003. Sam Trevor was a persistent young man. That much was certain. I hung up the phone and turned again to Daphne as I had the past three times he’d called. She was already shaking her head.
“Sweetheart, think about it. He’s told me they’re honouring you not only for your film work, but also for your humanitarian work with the Gordon Scott Memorial AIDS Foundation. He knows how much money you’ve raised for AIDS research. Standing beside Gordon that day brought awareness to the disease not seen at that time. If not for your film work, at least consider attending to shine light on the Foundation.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes at me. “Not fair.”
At last. A chink in her armour. “It’s not like it isn’t true.”
“One condition.”
“Anything.”
Pointing at me with her good hand, she said in a voice as strong as I’d heard her speak in some time, “If you go, too.”
“I don’t think—”
“That or nothing.”
I sighed, knowing when I was beat.
Sunday, 23 March 2003. I kept nervously smoothing out my sequined blue gown and wondered again why I’d agreed to do this. We were backstage at the Easton Theater as we waited for them to call us out.
“Ellie.”
I looked up from my task.
“Beautiful,” Daphne said with a lopsided smile.
“No, you’re beautiful, Ms. DeMonet.” And she was, in her black gown and diamond jewellery. I’d called a designer friend of ours, and he gleefully brought over stacks of gowns for us to go through. We’d settled on the Versace she was wearing.
I heard the crowd cheering out front. The stage director motioned to us. “It’s time.”
I wheeled Daphne to the spot he’d shown us and watched as he counted backward from three with his fingers. Before he got to one, he retreated farther out of camera sight and pointed at us.
The curtain rose, and we walked out into blinding white light. From what I could see through the glare of the spotlight, everyone was on their feet. The sound was deafening.
We continued to our next marked spot, and clips from her movies began to play on the big screen. They had asked me how I wanted to proceed. Usually, this portion of the ceremony occurred while the honouree remained backstage. But without Daphne’s knowledge, I’d told them to wait until we got out onto the stage. I wanted her to see it all. She’d earned it.
We looked up at the screen and watched as the snippets of her life in film played out before us. When scenes from The Brave Few appeared, she grabbed my hand that rested on her shoulder. They showed the pub scene with Gordon and then, to my surprise, played our scene together in the nightclub. The crowd reacted with laughter just as they’d done all those years ago, when Daphne delivered her line, “You look like a woman who knows exactly what someone needs.”
From there, the clips moved through more highlights with a lengthy clip from A Sheltered Heart that drew even louder applause. Finally, the tribute ended with Daphne passionately speaking before Congress in 1986 to call for more funding to fight AIDS.
With that, the screen faded to black and slid slowly up into the rafters as the applause continued.
A microphone rose up from the floor. Sam Trevor walked out to stand in front of it with the gold statuette clutched in his hands. The applause died down enough for him to speak.
“Daphne DeMonet, your career spanned many decades, and your films reached audiences worldwide. You won the Best Actress Award in 1963 and were nominated twice more, once for Best Supporting Actress in 1968 and for Best Actress again in 1970. But tonight, we’re honouring you not only for your body of work in film, but also for your humanitarian endeavours in the battle against AIDS. Ms. DeMonet, may I present you with the 2003 Movieland Film Industry’s Lifetime Achievement Award.”
He took care to place the statuette in her left hand as I’d instructed him to do. She looked up at me in expectation. I swallowed my fear and stepped up to the microphone.
“Daphne thanks you, Mr. Trevor, and the Movieland Film Industry for this prestigious honour. Hollywood welcomed Daphne with open arms almost sixty years ago. She made many friends, and one who remained close in her heart was Gordon Scott. She’d like to remind everyone tonight that, although treatment for AIDS has improved over the last twenty years, we still haven’t found a cure. She plans to fight on until that day is here. Thank you again for your kindness.”
The crowd rose once more to their feet and applauded for several more minutes. Daphne caught my eye and motioned with her chin. Thinking she wanted to say something to me, I leaned down and put my face next to hers. She surprised me with a soft kiss to my cheek.
Overcome with emotion, I wanted to tell her I loved her. But I was incapable of speaking around the lump in my throat. She winked at me then, her eyes shining in the spotlight, letting me know in her own subtle way that I needn’t say a word.
* * *
“We’ll stop there,” Eleanor said as she stood up. “We’re almost at the end of our journey, my young friends.” Her expression was sad, and again, Chelsea had the overwhelming desire to rewrite history to keep Daphne alive.
“We’ll let you rest, Eleanor,” Bailey said. “Is tomorrow okay to return?”
“How about ten?”
They agreed and she retreated into the house.
Bailey ran her fingers through her hair. “Damn it.”
“I know what you mean. I was thinking the same thing.”
They were quiet as they walked to the front and got into the Jeep.
“Check out the time.” Bailey pointed to the dashboard clock.
“Wow, it’s almost noon. Do you want to go to the Hoosier Hang Out for burgers and talk about the reading?”
“Yeah. When I get back to the house, I need to enter what we heard today into my file and send Joanne an e-mail. She’ll want to know we’re nearing the end.”
Chelsea stared out the window and grappled with her sorrow. More than just the end of the readings and the interview—it would be the end of Daphne’s story.