There were parties again, and receptions and this ambassador and that senator and private screenings and…Everybody wanted them for everything. They were given a dinner at the White House, an honor usually reserved for heads of state. They were applauded wherever they appeared.
But now it was Jill they were applauding, as well as Toby. The magnificent story of what she had done, her feat of single-handedly nursing Toby back to health against all odds, had stirred the imagination of the world. It was hailed by the press as the love story of the century. Time Magazine put them both on the cover, with a glowing tribute to Jill in the accompanying story.
A five-million-dollar deal was made for Toby to star in a new weekly television variety show, starting in September, only twelve weeks away.
“We’ll go to Palm Springs so that you can rest until then,” Jill said.
Toby shook his head. “You’ve been shut in long enough. We’re going to live a little.” He put his arms around her and added, “I’m not very good with words, baby, unless they’re jokes. I don’t know how to tell you what I feel about you. I—I just want you to know that I didn’t start living until the day I met you.”
And he abruptly turned away, so that Jill could not see the tears in his eyes.
Toby arranged to tour his one-man show in London, Paris and—the greatest coup of all—Moscow. Everyone was fighting to sign him. He was as big a cult figure in Europe as he was in America.
They were out on the Jill, on a sunny, sparkling day, headed for Catalina. There were a dozen guests aboard the boat, among them Sam Winters and O’Hanlon and Rainger, who had been selected as the head writers on Toby’s new television show. They were all in the salon, playing games and talking. Jill looked around and noticed that Toby was missing. She went out on deck.
Toby was standing at the railing, staring at the sea. Jill walked up to him and said, “Are you feeling all right?”
“Just watching the water, baby.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“If you’re a shark.” He shuddered. “That’s not the way I want to die. I’ve always been terrified of drowning.”
She put her hand in his. “What’s bothering you?”
He looked at her. “I guess I don’t want to die. I’m afraid of what’s out there. Here, I’m a big man. Everybody knows Toby Temple. But out there…? You know my idea of Hell? A place where there’s no audience.”
The Friars Club gave a Roast with Toby Temple as the guest of honor. A dozen top comics were on the dais, along with Toby and Jill, Sam Winters and the head of the network that Toby had signed with. Jill was asked to stand up and take a bow. It became a standing ovation.
They’re cheering me, Jill thought. Not Toby. Me!
The master of ceremonies was the host of a famous nighttime television talk show. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see Toby here,” he said. “Because if we weren’t honoring him here tonight, we’d be holding this banquet at Forest Lawn.”
Laughter.
“And believe me, the food’s terrible there. Have you ever eaten at Forest Lawn? They serve leftovers from the Last Supper.”
Laughter.
He turned to Toby. “We really are proud of you, Toby. I mean that. I understand you’ve been asked to donate a part of your body to science. They’re going to put it in a jar at the Harvard Medical School. The only problem so far is that they haven’t been able to find a jar big enough to hold it.”
Roars.
When Toby got up for his rebuttal, he topped them all.
Everyone agreed that it was the best Roast the Friars had ever had.
Clifton Lawrence was in the audience that night.
He was seated at a table in the back of the room near the kitchen with the other unimportant people. He had been forced to impose on old friendships to get even this table. Ever since Toby Temple had fired him, Clifton Lawrence had worn the label of a loser. He had tried to make a partnership deal with a large agency. With no clients, however, he had nothing to offer. Then Clifton had tried the smaller agencies, but they were not interested in a middle-aged has-been; they wanted aggressive young men. In the end, Clifton had settled for a salaried job with a small new agency. His weekly salary was less than what he had once spent in one evening at Romanoff’s.