night, and the following day I could go longer and harder than anyone. But there is a certain vulgarity in thinking you can get away with smoking. It got me in the end, and it will get you, too, if you continue.” Danny’s eyes met my own.
The sound of the oxygen pump filled the room, and Dad drifted into sleep. Minutes later found Danny and me on theroof of the hospital, inhaling Marlboro Reds for all we were worth, in full and accurate knowledge of how fleeting and precious this thing was that we were getting away with.
* * *
Before the doctors would release Dad from the hospital, they generally pumped up his system with a blood transfusion as we heaved a collective sigh of relief and packed up his room. Then we’d go down in the elevator, through the lobby and the sliding glass doors, and out onto the pavement in the hard light of day, with Maricela pushing Dad in a wheelchair attached to a large canister of oxygen. At first he might stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel or out at the beach house of his friend the actor Burgess Meredith, in the colony off Malibu Canyon Road. Even though Dad was in such poor health, I think they shared some good times there, he and Buzz. On one occasion, Dad rented the main house and moved into the master bedroom and had a fine view of the Pacific Ocean as it rolled over the pale Malibu sand outside the windows. Buzz took up temporary residence in a little guesthouse next door, often dropping in with a fine vintage from his wine collection for them to share and enjoy.
Soon Jack offered his ranch house in Ventura, and we moved Dad out there. The property was remote, however, and proved too far from the hospital. Allegra was stalked by someone following her car in the canyon one night, so we decided to rent a place for Dad in Beverly Hills. On subsequent occasions, Gladys and Maricela rented houses and apartments for Dad in the area, in order to be close to his doctors until he regained his strength and could return to Mexico.
Gladys was spending more time in Puerto Vallarta, having adopted a baby, Marisol. She stayed there to take care ofthe business of Dad’s houses, his work, his correspondence, his many obligations, plans, appearances, dependents, and friends. Maricela had been doing all the traveling with Dad and was with him at all times when he was in the hospital—that is, until someone she didn’t like would enter the room. Danny’s beautiful mother, Zoë, was a frequent visitor, and when she arrived Maricela usually disappeared.
On one occasion after Dad had come out of the hospital and was installed in a rented home in Beverly Hills, an attractive Irish nurse came to look after him. Maricela took to sleeping on a hall bench outside his bedroom with a loaded shotgun in her lap and Diego, their Rottweiler, by her side. She suspected the nurse was taking advantage of “Papi.” Maricela seemed utterly devoted to Dad and he to her.
* * *
Dad’s life was constantly moving, even when he was not. After every health crisis, the painful efforts to reclaim life followed. Filled with drugs, unable to sleep, with no appetite, he always held on to his regal bearing. On one occasion, having narrowly escaped death and hovering on the brink for five days in the respiratory intensive care unit of Cedars-Sinai, he awoke asking for beluga caviar and a glass of very cold Château d’Yquem.
Later that same day, Dad’s agent, Paul Kohner, came to see him in the ICU. Paul, at this point, must have been eighty-five—almost blind, walking with a cane, and his skin had the quality of a mille-feuille. He had to be assisted over to Dad’s bedside by aides on either elbow. Tears were running down his cheeks as he beheld his old friend and client. “John!” he exclaimed in a whisper, close to Dad’s ear. “John, it’s Paul!”
Dad opened his eyes and fixed Paul with a cold stare. “You sold out,” he responded weakly from the pillow.
As a wave of wonderment and shock crossed
The sound of the oxygen pump filled the room, and Dad drifted into sleep. Minutes later found Danny and me on theroof of the hospital, inhaling Marlboro Reds for all we were worth, in full and accurate knowledge of how fleeting and precious this thing was that we were getting away with.
* * *
Before the doctors would release Dad from the hospital, they generally pumped up his system with a blood transfusion as we heaved a collective sigh of relief and packed up his room. Then we’d go down in the elevator, through the lobby and the sliding glass doors, and out onto the pavement in the hard light of day, with Maricela pushing Dad in a wheelchair attached to a large canister of oxygen. At first he might stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel or out at the beach house of his friend the actor Burgess Meredith, in the colony off Malibu Canyon Road. Even though Dad was in such poor health, I think they shared some good times there, he and Buzz. On one occasion, Dad rented the main house and moved into the master bedroom and had a fine view of the Pacific Ocean as it rolled over the pale Malibu sand outside the windows. Buzz took up temporary residence in a little guesthouse next door, often dropping in with a fine vintage from his wine collection for them to share and enjoy.
Soon Jack offered his ranch house in Ventura, and we moved Dad out there. The property was remote, however, and proved too far from the hospital. Allegra was stalked by someone following her car in the canyon one night, so we decided to rent a place for Dad in Beverly Hills. On subsequent occasions, Gladys and Maricela rented houses and apartments for Dad in the area, in order to be close to his doctors until he regained his strength and could return to Mexico.
Gladys was spending more time in Puerto Vallarta, having adopted a baby, Marisol. She stayed there to take care ofthe business of Dad’s houses, his work, his correspondence, his many obligations, plans, appearances, dependents, and friends. Maricela had been doing all the traveling with Dad and was with him at all times when he was in the hospital—that is, until someone she didn’t like would enter the room. Danny’s beautiful mother, Zoë, was a frequent visitor, and when she arrived Maricela usually disappeared.
On one occasion after Dad had come out of the hospital and was installed in a rented home in Beverly Hills, an attractive Irish nurse came to look after him. Maricela took to sleeping on a hall bench outside his bedroom with a loaded shotgun in her lap and Diego, their Rottweiler, by her side. She suspected the nurse was taking advantage of “Papi.” Maricela seemed utterly devoted to Dad and he to her.
* * *
Dad’s life was constantly moving, even when he was not. After every health crisis, the painful efforts to reclaim life followed. Filled with drugs, unable to sleep, with no appetite, he always held on to his regal bearing. On one occasion, having narrowly escaped death and hovering on the brink for five days in the respiratory intensive care unit of Cedars-Sinai, he awoke asking for beluga caviar and a glass of very cold Château d’Yquem.
Later that same day, Dad’s agent, Paul Kohner, came to see him in the ICU. Paul, at this point, must have been eighty-five—almost blind, walking with a cane, and his skin had the quality of a mille-feuille. He had to be assisted over to Dad’s bedside by aides on either elbow. Tears were running down his cheeks as he beheld his old friend and client. “John!” he exclaimed in a whisper, close to Dad’s ear. “John, it’s Paul!”
Dad opened his eyes and fixed Paul with a cold stare. “You sold out,” he responded weakly from the pillow.
As a wave of wonderment and shock crossed
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