Carrie And Me: A Mother-Daughter Love Story Part 23

I feel myself becoming more of a woman, no longer a girl. I was driving today thinking that I've been working at what I love (acting, singing, writing, directing) for eighteen years. I've built this cabin, been married, and divorced. I've had a life!

And that life was preparation for this next, second half. And when I look ahead to "Chapter Two" I wish to take all these things that I've learned and done and make something wonderful, lasting, beautiful, and kind from them.

5. The Hollywood Arms set has been flip-flopped. (The first design had the Murphy bed stage left. It was now stage right.)

6. Carrie had two tattoos. (At first I could only think of the bird-of-paradise, and then I realized I'd forgotten the first one she got, years ago. It was a small one on her upper left arm ... of her zodiac sign, Sagittarius.)

7. She thanks me for putting up with her different hairdos and colors.

8. There will be some negative press for Hollywood Arms but she wants me to ignore it. Enjoy what we accomplished together. No matter what happens, this project was our gift to each other.

9. Something (an object) related to Carrie will be onstage, "hidden" in the set.

10. Mama, when you walk out onstage I'll be there with you.

He handed my ring back and the reading was over. I thanked him for getting in touch with me. I attempted to pay him, but he would have none of it. Even though some of the things he brought up during the session didn't make any sense at the time, I couldn't help but be impressed by some of the bits of information-things he couldn't possibly have known. However, I knew he was mistaken about my "walking out onstage," because I wasn't acting in our play. I would be in the audience, and in the wings at the end, waiting to hug the actors after their bows.

We opened October 31 at the Cort Theatre. I was in the wings watching our wonderful cast taking their bows, when Linda Lavin (Nanny) pulled me out onstage to take a bow with all of them. "When you walk out onstage I'll be there with you."

I was later told that our stage manager had "hidden" a small snapshot of Carrie on the set behind the Murphy bed.

What to make of all this? I don't know. n.o.body knows. Lots of people would say it's just a coincidence. Could be, but I remember one time hearing someone say, "A coincidence is G.o.d's little miracle, in which he chooses to remain anonymous." I choose to believe the latter, maybe because it makes me feel better.

On Broadway

We received mixed reviews for Hollywood Arms. Some were pretty negative, and others ranged from mild praise to raves. Months later, I was thrilled when Michele Pawk walked away with a Tony Award for her performance as my mother, Louise.

The review I won't forget was written by New York magazine's John Simon (considered by many to be one of the theater's toughest critics):

Plays about pa.s.sion are profuse and easy: heteros.e.xual or h.o.m.os.e.xual, interracial or senescent, kinky or chaste. What is difficult and rare is a play about affection, which is what Carrie Hamilton and Carol Burnett's Hollywood Arms is. Authentic affection; not syrupy or sentimental, posturing or feel-goodish, gussied up for theatrical effect. Hollywood Arms is about real people.

He goes on to praise the actors and Hal Prince's marvelous direction. His review ends with this final paragraph:

If only this thoroughly endearing play and production could have been seen by Miss Burnett's daughter and coauthor, Carrie Hamilton, dead before even the Goodman Theatre premiere. One fervently hopes that the joy of such a true creation accompanied her on her final journey.

All I could think of was my baby and I had gone the distance.

I'd like to close Part One with one of my favorite e-mails from Carrie:

Mama, I've been thinking about that magician and endurance artist guy we saw in New York a couple of years ago (David Blaine, I think) who buried himself in a six-foot coffin inside a water tank for seven days, remember? Remember how everyone got in on the debate, is it art? I believed it was, indeed, as it brought out all kinds of emotions in the people who saw it (anger, fear, love, sadness, cynicism, etc.). My own fear was that people would walk away, and not think twice about what they saw (whether they liked it or not is barely relevant). Which brings me to the word legacy.

I think our legacy is really the lives we touch, the inspiration we give, altering someone's plan-if even for a moment-and getting them to think, rage, cry, laugh, argue, or walk around the block dazed. (I do that a lot after seeing powerful theater!)

More than anything, we are remembered for our smiles; the ones we share with our closest and dearest, and the ones we bestow on a total stranger who needs it right then, and G.o.d has put us there to deliver.

More later, Mama... .

What follows is Carrie's (half-finished) story "Sunrise in Memphis."

PART TWO

Sunrise in Memphis

by Carrie Hamilton

The noise in the airplane cabin is terrible. Wind rus.h.i.+ng at a terrific speed. Metal tearing, people screaming, objects cras.h.i.+ng. The plane has a large rip in its side, and the scene is mayhem. People are being pulled to the hole by the force of suction, while luggage, food trays, and magazines fly through the air. It's a horrific scene out of our worst travel nightmares.

Incredibly, a girl in her early twenties is sleeping, oblivious to the mayhem around her. Kate, still dressed in last night's club clothes, her mascara smudged around her eyes, tosses and turns in her seat, unaffected by what's going on.

When her eyes finally do snap open, she takes in the scene with amazing calm.

"Oh, great, this is f.u.c.king great. I'm twenty-three years old and I'm going to die in a plane crash." Kate, not freaking out at all, is just observing. The noise is unbearable.

Elvis's "Blue Christmas" is playing somewhere, faint at first, but it gets louder and louder, until it becomes the only sound Kate hears ...

On the single-lane desert highway, Kate is asleep in the pa.s.senger seat of an old but well-maintained pickup truck. She's wearing the same clothing and smeared makeup she wore on the plane. The wind is rus.h.i.+ng by her open window, creating a sound not unlike what she heard on the plane. The radio is on, with Elvis singing away.

Kate's eyes open and she sees a man in the driver's seat, dressed in denim-work s.h.i.+rt, cowboy hat. He seems to be in his early thirties. He looks over and gives Kate a warm smile.

"Hey, do you feel like breakfast? You must be hungry."

Before Kate can absorb this, he has floated the pickup truck to an off-ramp and into the parking lot of a truck stop. Putting the truck in park, the cowboy gets out. Kate checks herself in the rearview mirror, picks up her tote bag, and ignores the cowboy, who is at her door, holding it open with a flourish.

"Ma'am?"

Kate shoots him a look and exits the truck. She strides ahead of him toward the diner. Somehow, he beats her to the door and holds it open.

"After you."

As Kate enters the cafe followed by the cowboy a waitress in her early fifties grabs a couple of menus and approaches them.

"Smoking or non?"

The cowboy answers, "Non," but Kate overrides him with, "Smoking."

The waitress gives the unlikely duo the once-over, hands them the menus, and shows them to a booth.