The last time I saw Judy was one of the best. Less than a month before she passed out of this life, I went to spend the weekend with her in Delmar. Judy and I have always joked around, and even under the shadow of her recent diagnosis, this weekend was no exception.
We sat around the dining table: Judy, Jenna, my 15-year-old daughter, Vaishali, and me. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we decided to make a movie. Jobs were quickly assigned: Judy, myself, and Vaishali would be actors, and Jenna would stay behind the scenes as camerawoman.
What was our movie about? Nobody knew, and nobody cared. Jenna got the video rolling. Outside, the gray, upstate New York December put out a 40’s film noir vibe.
I fed Judy a line to get her going. “Okay, Gladys, let me get this straight. You were here all night alone. You’re sure?”
The mysterious ways of improvisation kicked in. Judy slipped easily into the persona of a wealthy heiress robbed of a prized cameo necklace. Long sigh, as she traveled deeper into the world of Gladys, considering her choices.
“Umm… ehh…” she started. “Well, there was a — no.” Her hand slapped the air. “Yes,” she declared. “I was alone.”
“Let’s rethink this, Gladys. What did you do, let’s say, after 5 p.m. dinner? Walk me through it.”
Judy’s actor eyes studied me, and the story machine in her head started chugging. Her hand went to her chin. “It started with me climbing the stairs,” she said. “Laboriously… climbing… stairs.”
We were gripped. If she’d been performing to a full house at Lincoln Center, she couldn’t have delivered her lines with more conviction. We weren’t just goofing around her dining room table — this was a gig.