Sidney Sheldon - A Stranger in the Mirror

And something had happened to Jill. Before, it had been her own life she was fighting for; Toby was merely the instrument she was forced to use. But somehow, that had changed. It was as though Toby had become a part of her. They were one body and one mind and one soul, obsessed with the same purpose. They had gone through a purging crucible. His life had been in her hands, and she had nurtured it and strengthened it, and saved it, and out of that had grown a kind of love. Toby belonged to her, just as she belonged to him.

Jill changed Toby’s diet, so that he began to regain the weight he had lost. He spent time in the sun every day and took long walks around the grounds, using the walker, then a cane, building up his strength. When the day came that Toby could walk by himself, the two of them celebrated by having a candlelight dinner in the dining room.

Finally, Jill felt that Toby was ready to be seen. She telephoned Dr. Kaplan, and his nurse put him on the phone immediately.

“Jill! I’ve been terribly worried. I’ve tried to telephone you and there was never any answer. I sent a telegram, and when I didn’t hear, I assumed you had taken Toby away somewhere. Is he—has he—”

“Come and see for yourself, Eli.”

Dr. Kaplan could not conceal his astonishment. “It’s unbelievable,” he told Jill. “It’s—it’s like a miracle.”

“It is a miracle,” Jill said. Only in this life you made your own miracles, because God was busy elsewhere .

“People still call me to ask about Toby,” Dr. Kaplan was saying. “Apparently they’ve been unable to get through to you. Sam Winters calls at least once a week. Clifton Lawrence has been calling.”

Jill dismissed Clifton Lawrence. But Sam Winters! That was good. Jill had to find a way to let the world know that Toby Temple was still a superstar, that they were still the Golden Couple.

Jill telephoned Sam Winters the next morning and asked him if he would like to come and visit Toby. Sam arrived at the house an hour later. Jill opened the front door to let him in, and Sam tried to conceal his shock at her appearance. Jill looked ten years older than when he had last seen her. Her eyes were hollow brown pools and her face was etched with deep lines. She had lost so much weight that she looked almost skeletal.

“Thank you for coming, Sam. Toby will be pleased to see you.”

Sam had been prepared to see Toby in bed, a Shadow of the man he had once been, but he was in for a stunning surprise. Toby was lying on a pad alongside the pool and, as Sam approached, Toby rose to his feet, a little slowly, but steadily, and held out a firm hand. He appeared tanned and healthy, better than he had looked before his stroke. It was as though through some arcane alchemy, Jill’s health and vitality had flowed into Toby’s body, and the sick tides that had ravaged Toby had ebbed into Jill.

“Hey! It’s great to see you, Sam.”

Toby’s speech was a little slower and more precise than before, but it was clear and strong. There was no sign of the paralysis Sam had heard about. There was still the same boyish face with the bright blue eyes. Sam gave Toby a hug and said, “Jesus, you really had us scared.”

Toby grinned and said, “You don’t have to call me ‘Jesus’ when we’re alone.”

Sam looked at Toby more closely and marveled. “I honestly can’t get over it. Damn it, you look younger . The whole town was making funeral arrangements.”

“Over my dead body,” Toby smiled.

Sam said, “It’s fantastic what the doctors today can—”

“No doctors.” Toby turned to look at Jill and naked adoration shone from his eyes. “You want to know who did it? Jill. Just Jill. With her two bare hands. She threw everybody out and made me get on my feet again.”

Sam glanced at Jill, puzzled. She had not seemed to him the kind of girl capable of such a selfless act. Perhaps he had misjudged her. “What are your plans?” he asked Toby. “I suppose you’ll want to rest and—”

“He’s going back to work,” Jill said. “Toby’s too talented to be sitting around doing nothing.”

“I’m raring to go,” Toby agreed.

“Perhaps Sam has a project for you,” Jill suggested.

They were both watching him. Sam did not want to discourage Toby, but neither did he want to hold out any false hopes. It was not possible to make a picture with a star unless you got insurance on him, and no company was going to insure Toby Temple.

“There’s nothing in the shop at the moment,” Sam said carefully. “But I’ll certainly keep an eye open.”

“You’re afraid to use him, aren’t you?” It was as though she was reading his mind.

“Certainly not.” But they both knew he was lying.

No one in Hollywood would take a chance on using Toby Temple again.

Toby and Jill were watching a young comedian on television.

“He’s rotten,” Toby snorted. “Damn it, I wish I could get back on the air. Maybe I oughta get an agent. Somebody who could check around town and see what’s doing.”

“No!” Jill’s tone was firm. “We’re not going to let anyone peddle you. You’re not some bum looking for a job. You’re Toby Temple. We’re going to make them come to you.”

Toby smiled wryly and said, “They’re not beating down the doors, baby.”

“They will be,” Jill promised. “They don’t know what shape you’re in. You’re better now than you ever were. We just have to show them.”

“Maybe I should pose in the nude for one of those magazines.”

Jill was not listening. “I have an idea,” she said slowly. “A one-man show.”

“Huh?”

“A one-man show.” There was a growing excitement in her voice. “I’m going to book you into the Huntington Hartford Theatre. Everybody in Hollywood will come. After that , they’ll start beating down the doors!”

And everybody in Hollywood did come; producers, directors, stars, critics—all the people in show business who mattered. The theater on Vine Street had long since been sold out, and hundreds of people had been turned away. There was a cheering mob outside the lobby when Toby and Jill arrived in a chauffeur-driven limousine. He was their Toby Temple. He had come back to them from the dead, and they adored him more than ever.

The audience inside the theater was there partly out of respect for a man who had been famous and great, but mostly out of curiosity. They were there to pay final tribute to a dying hero, a burnt-out star.

Jill had planned the show herself. She had gone to O’Hanlon and Rainger, and they had written some brilliant material, beginning with a monologue kidding the town for burying Toby while he was still alive. Jill had approached a song-writing team that had won three Academy Awards. They had never written special material for anyone, but when Jill said, “Toby insists you’re the only writers in the world who…”

Dick Landry, the director, flew in from London to stage the show.

Jill had assembled the finest talent she could find to back up Toby, but in the end everything would depend on the star himself. It was a one-man show, and he would be alone on that stage.

The moment finally arrived. The house lights dimmed, and the theater was filled with that expectant hush that precedes the ringing up of the curtain, the silent prayer that on this night magic would happen.

It happened.

As Toby Temple strolled out onto the stage, his gait strong and steady, that familiar impish smile lighting up that boyish face, there was a momentary silence and then a wild explosion of applause and yelling, a standing ovation that rocked the theater for a full five minutes.

Toby stood there, waiting for the pandemonium to subside, and when the theater was finally still, he said, “You call that a reception?” And they roared.