"We're going to stop for good on New Years Day, 2000," Rene told me one day. Everywhere in the world, they were organizing megashows to celebrate the
millennium. Rene was already considering several proposals, but I was certain
that only one place interested him: Montreal. This great event—which would be
followed by our long-needed rest period—seemed
a long time away. But just knowing that it was coming, and that I could look
forward to it, renewed the fervor and
pleasure I got from singing. Knowing that the whirlwind would be calming down somehow sped me forward.
Our plan for the beginning was a long stay in Quebec, a full month in summer. We would play golf and start building our house. But then something happened—the worst thing we've ever encountered—that would force us to put off this project.
7
On the plane between Minneapolis and Dallas, where we were going to be based for about ten days, I noticed that Rene kept touching his neck with his hand. I'd noticed that he seemed preoccupied all day, and I asked him what was the matter, even if I knew the answer I'd get.
"Nothing."
"Let me see."
My hand grazed his neck. I felt a mass on the right side, in the hollow under his ear. It felt hard and fat like an egg.
"How long have you had that?"
"It's nothing," he told me. "It'll go away."
I was furious with him.
"Why haven't you seen a doctor?"
"I haven't had the time. It just happened in the last few hours."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, not at ail."
Immediately, I thought it was serious. A bump that forms in several hours and doesn't hurt is something to be concerned about. During the whole plane ride, I tried not to think the worst, but it was impossible. I still felt the nasty sensation of that hard little mass under my fingers.
The next morning, very early, Rene went to be examined in a Dallas clinic. He didn't want me with him.
"You sleep," he told me. "You have a show tonight. You've got to be in shape."
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