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By Daphne McVicker
Rita and Fred Astaire are currently tapping it out in "You Were Never Lovelier." Hard work on her recent U.S.O. tour resulted in a complete collapse upon her return to H'wood!
Out of a, jungle of nightclubs with too much praise, too little love, he found a candle at a window . . .
Vic Mature lounged onto the set and stared at the girl they'd picked for him to kick around in this script.
"My God," someone whispered. "What a gorgeous combination. Add up a couple of beautiful humans like that — Vic Mature and Rita Hayworth. What if — "
Hollywood is always ready for a new "what if." Even though Vic was still married, and Rita and Ed Judson Hollywood's prize couple. Ed was a husband who helped her with her career, adored her— and Vic was the man with a hundred girls. But "what if" they said. And, of course^ Vic knew they were saying it. He grinned across at the red-headed gorgeous gal whose dark, shadowed eyes lifted to his with a question. "We know the answers, don't we?" Vic seemed to say.
•Did Rita know the answers? A little southern girl named Cansino had danced to Bobbie Maytorena's orchestra down at Caliente. She was lushly beautiful — grandly gifted. She thought you could marry your good friend who offered you freedom and success. That would be a partnership and a partnership was fine.
A starry-eyed child swaggering under the new name of Mrs. Judson. With a million-dollar budget for her year in pictures.
The stars in her eyes went out.
Rita was growing up and the beautiful body was tense with frustration. She danced and sang through her days,
and then turned back to the black shadows that reached clutching fingers of scandal for her till she screamed aloud in the night.
Now, they'd disappeared for the moment, for she was working on a new picture. With a towering, sulky lad opposite her whose eyes asked her a mocking question. "We know all the answers, don't we, Rita?"
Did they?
There was a long, whistled — "Whee — iooo!" at the magnificent love scenes as the picture went on. And Rita was laughing again. Vic kept her merry. He was swell. Sometimes they were just a couple of roistering children together. Vic thought she was super — not only beautiful. "A peculiar kind of a gal — with a heart that is mellow but dead on the level — " Well, that was a new one or Vic. A girl — love interest — dead on the level? Ir Hollywood? That was funny, that was.
The last day of "My Gal Sal," after the final scene was completed, Vic beat loudly on Rita's dressing-roon door.
"Come on out, 'Sal'," he ordered. "We've got to launcl this picture right. Break a bottle of champagne ovei your head. Drink a toast to it."
Hair flowing, lips curved and gay, Rita came to the door. "But I don't drink," she protested. "And I have to get home, because—" {Continued on page 85)
DECEMBER, 1942
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