Free Imaginary Friends by Nora Ephron Page A

other American woman involved in the anti-fascist underground.
    MARY : And did they?
    MURIEL GARDINER : No. So, when I came home, I wrote Lillian Hellman a letter.
    MARY : And did it say, “You’ve stolen my life”?
    MURIEL GARDINER : No, no, heavens no, not at all. And I didn’t write her the letter right away. But it kept happening. People kept coming up to me and saying, “Have you read this story? It’s your story.” “You must be Julia.” And so forth. So I wrote Lillian Hellman to say that I was struck by the many similarities between Julia’s life and my own and couldn’t help being curious because I had never met her Julia. It was very polite, I assure you.
    MARY’S LAWYER : Did you receive a reply to your letter?
    MURIEL GARDINER : No, I didn’t.
    MARY’S LAWYER : Did you ever hear from Miss Hellman?
    MURIEL GARDINER : Yes. Several years later. She telephoned. Out of the blue. Well, not quite out of the blue. First her psychoanalyst called.
    MARY : Her psychoanalyst?
    MURIEL GARDINER : Yes. I didn’t know he was her analyst. He was a doctor I knew slightly. He said he was calling on Lillian Hellman’s behalf to ask me to deny that I was Julia. By then my memoirs were about to be published, and there had been some publicity—
    MARY : Some articles saying that you seemed to be the basis for Julia—
    MURIEL GARDINER : Yes.
    MARY : And how did you respond to this doctor?
    MURIEL GARDINER : I said I would have to disappoint Lillian Hellman, because I had never claimed to be Julia, so I could hardly claim not to be. A few days later the telephone rang again, and a voice said, “This is Lillian Hellman.” She said she wanted to meet me, perhaps we could have lunch. I said that I was sick in bed, which was true. She said that perhaps she would come to New Jersey to see me, and she said, “I would like to bring with me a very charming young man I am sure you would enjoy meeting.” Well, I assumed—perhaps incorrectly—that he was a lawyer, so I said that if she was bringing a friend, I might have a friend there, too. I’m afraid it got a little silly. A few days later she called again. By then I had pneumonia, and I told her I would have to postpone the meeting. And she said, “I wanted to explain to you why I never answered your letter.”
    MARY : What was her explanation?
    MURIEL GARDINER : I don’t know. You see, she had trouble hearing me, and I had trouble hearing her, so she said she’d call me back and hung up.
    MARY : When did she call you back?
    MURIEL GARDINER : I don’t think she ever called me back.
    MARY : I have just a few more questions, Dr. Gardiner. When you lived in Vienna, did you ever smuggle cash into the country for use in your activities?
    MURIEL GARDINER : It wasn’t necessary. In that period, it was very simple to do bank transfers.
    MARY : And what happened to your daughter?
    MURIEL GARDINER : She lives in Colorado.
    MARY : Thank you.
[To
LILLIAN
.]
Your witness.
    LILLIAN : My witness? She’s your witness. And you’re welcome to her. Look what you’ve done—a courtroom scene, you had the audience on the edge of their seats. You could hear a pin drop. And then your witness takes the stand—“I wrote her a letter,” “I couldn’t really hear her,” “I’m afraid it got a little silly,” and how does it end? It just dribbles away in a gigantic anticlimax.
    MARY : But what about what she said? What about her story?
    LILLIAN : It’s an amazing story. It’s remarkably similar to mine,but I told mine so much better, don’t you think? Someone had to tell her story.
    MARY : Are you admitting you told her story?
    LILLIAN : Of course not. But what if I did? Muriel Gardiner had thirty-some-odd years to tell her story. And did she? No. She just sat out there in New Jersey letting a perfectly good story go to waste. And then my book came out, and she finally told her story. Thanks to me. She got a book contract, thanks to me. And she finally wrote her book, and guess