Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

Tour

Houston, Texas

1976

Dena had been in seventeen cities in seventeen days on a twenty-eight-day promotion tour for the network. They had decided that she was the perfect person to send across the country to their local affiliates because of her increasing popularity. They knew she would charm and interest everyone she met. So the publicity department filled almost every minute of her time in each town with television, radio, and newspaper interviews along with luncheon speeches, other personal appearances, and usually, if they could arrange it, a banquet speech at night. Before she flew on to the next city, she’d try to get three or four hours’ sleep and then she would start all over again the next day. It seemed like every town had a local morning show that began at seven. She had known it would be rough but Dena wanted to do it. She wanted to push her TV Que up even higher than it was.

Thank God they had sent their top publicist, Jonni Hartman, with her. Not only did Dena like her, Jonni was a master at getting Dena from one place to another and expert at getting Dena away from fans who wanted autographs for their entire family, or from interviewers who always wanted more time. And she did it without making Dena look bad. Dena had been doing a terrific job charming everyone, until Pittsburgh, when her stomach began to hurt again. She tried to drive herself through it by living on Maalox and Tums.

Right after she finished speaking at a big benefit dinner in Houston honoring the great heart surgeon Dr. Michael E. DeBakey, she and Jonni had to rush upstairs in the hotel, quickly change clothes, and leave immediately for the airport to catch a 10:45 plane to Dallas. They were behind schedule as usual, so when the elevator did not come she and Jonni had to run down ten flights of stairs dragging their luggage. They had made it halfway through the lobby when the pain hit her so hard that she had to stop. Jonni caught her just before she passed out cold.

When she came to, she and Jonni were in the back of a police car with the siren going on the way to the hospital, and before she knew it she was in the emergency room with doctors examining her, talking about the possibility of emergency surgery. After a few minutes, like a parting of the waters, the doctors and nurses stepped aside as Dr. Michael DeBakey, still in his tux from the dinner, walked in and took over.

He smiled and talked to Dena as he examined her. “Well, young lady, it looks like you have decided to stay with us for a while, so we are going to do everything possible to make you comfortable. You know, you were quite a hit at the banquet—you had quite a few doctors who volunteered to take your case. But I said no luck, fellows, she came here in my honor so I’m the one who gets her as my patient. How long have you had trouble with your stomach?”

“Not long,” Dena lied.

He continued to check her out thoroughly, then said to his staff, “No need to prep.” He took Dena’s hand. “You’re going to live. And what I’m going to do is give you a little something to help you with that pain and Miss Reid here is going to be in charge of you.” An older nurse stepped up, smiling. “We’re going to take a little blood,” he continued. “Then we’re going to take you upstairs and put you to bed so I can keep an eye on you. OK? I’ll stop in and see you in the morning.”

The next day Dena was still asleep when Dr. DeBakey looked in. Jonni, tired and frazzled after a night in the waiting room, said, “Doctor, is she all right? It wasn’t a heart attack, was it?”

“No, Miss Hartman, her heart is fine. She had a severe attack of gastroenteritis—inflammation of the stomach lining—probably brought on by stress.”

“Thank God it happened here, Doctor. And I hate to bother you … but I need to know how long it will be before you think she might be back up on her feet. I don’t care, but the head of network publicity has already called me a dozen times to see if I can give them an idea when she might be able to continue her tour. They need to know how many cities they have to cancel and how soon she will be able to do at least some phone interviews. They’re hoping she can pick up in Denver on Wednesday.”

Dr. DeBakey pointed to the paper she was holding. “Is that her schedule?”

“Yes.”

DeBakey put on his glasses and studied it. Jonni said, “You can see she has quite a few more cities coming up.”

“Oh, yes, I can see that.”

“And they need to know as soon as possible.”

“Uh-huh. And just who wants this information?”

“It’s my boss. I mean, he’s really upset and hopes she’ll be able to—”

“And who might that be?”

“Mr. Brill, Andy Brill.”

“Do you have a number where he can be reached?”

“Yes; 212-555-2866.”

“OK, Miss Hartman. I’ll get back to the gentleman.”

“Oh, thank you, that would be great. He’s really coming down hard on me. I told him it was out of my hands.”

“Don’t worry, it is. You go and get some rest.” DeBakey, a tall, thin man, walked down the hall, reached in the pocket of his white coat, and pulled out a few almonds and ate them. He stopped and talked to an intern, checked on three more patients, and then went into his private office. He handed his secretary, Sylvia, the phone number. “Get this guy on the phone for me, will you?” When she buzzed he picked up.

“Mr. Brill, this is Dr. DeBakey in Houston.”

Andrew Brill was audibly chomping at the bit. “Great, thanks for calling.”

“I understand you are anxious to have a report on Miss Nordstrom’s condition.”

“That’s right, we need to have some idea when she might be able to pick up her schedule. We’ve got people screaming all over the country. We’ve already lost Dallas but I was thinking maybe she could do a few phoners this afternoon. Do you think there’s a chance she can get back by, say, Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday, latest?”

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Brill.”

“Yes?”

“Are you people trying to kill her? Miss Hartman showed me her schedule. How could you expect anyone to keep going at that pace?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you understand. This thing has been booked for over six months. We’ve got commitments here.”

“Mr. Brill, I don’t think you understand. This girl is suffering from extreme exhaustion and serious stomach distress brought on by exhaustion and stress.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that as long as she is my patient, she is not leaving this hospital for at least two weeks. You can expect her back at work in maybe a month. Would you like that in writing? I’ll be happy to send it along. And if she does go back any sooner, and if anything happens to her health as a result, I’m perfectly prepared to go on record that your network was forewarned.”

“Forewarned? Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost us to cancel this tour? We can’t just—”

DeBakey interrupted. “If you have any other questions, please feel free to call my office—collect—at any time.”

Red-faced with rage, Brill slammed the phone down and yelled at his assistant, who was waiting to find out if Dena would be on the early morning plane, “That son of a bitch says he’s gonna keep her there for two weeks. Just who the hell does he think he is?”

Thirty minutes later at an emergency meeting with the network lawyers, Brill was informed that Dr. DeBakey was exactly who he thought he was, one of the most powerful and respected doctors in the world. They knew they couldn’t buy him off and they were afraid to cross him, at least in public.