Modern Screen (Jul-Dec 1945)

MEMO ON JUNE (Continued from page 43) Got that straight? There is no feud, there has never been, and there will never be. Moreover, don't expect to see any rumors of feuding between June and Betty because, when preliminary tests were being made for "The Dolly Sisters," June broached the subject bravely. "Because this is my first picture with you, because we're both blondes and both dancers, and because I'm new and you're established," she said to Betty, "some bright brain might get the idea that there might be some jealousy between us. Let's not let it happen, huh?" hi, sis . . . "You're my sis in the picture, and my sis in the commissary or wherever I see you from now on," agreed Betty. The first day of shooting, Betty shouted at June when she came on the set, "Hi, Sis — glad to see you." And that is the attitude that has prevailed. Item 2: It has been published here and there that June is engaged to Farley Granger. 'Tisn't true. They are good friends; they exchange letters regularly; if Farley were here they would undoubtedly be dating frequently. But Farley is a long way away (in Honolulu) and this will probably be a long war. June wants it understood that, much as she likes and admires Farley, there is no formal understanding between them. Item 3: June has a new house, a dream department, that is taking up every possible spare moment of her time. No, this isn't the house she thought she had bought in a Wilshire district lane amid a settlement of elegant, but rather austere mansions. There is a story about that original purchase that failed, investing the Haver honey with some theories about one's not getting the thing one thinks she wants most of all. Take the instance of her car. One night she, her mother and her sisters, were touring the town's used car lots. On an apparently deserted lot they found exactly what June had been seeking: A low-slung blue convertible with radio built in, plenty of pre-war chromium trim, and fairly new white side-wall tires. "That's for me," she jubilated, sliding under the wheel. The next morning, as soon as she imagined the proprietor of the car lot would be in attendance, June and her family rushed down. They arrived in time to see another lucky customer driving away iri the blue blaze. But, a few weeks later, June found her present car, newer, neater, a hotter job on every count. "Everything happens for the best," she confided sagely. To get back to the Haver housing situation, after having made all the arrangements to buy this Wilshire place, June learned that a series of legal documents forbade the purchase. The woman seeking to sell the house could not do so as her title wasn't clear. But June had planned a circus playroom and had bought a dozen clever accessories; she had told everyone about her plans and had driven past the address whenever she had time and gas. So instead of being floored by the disappointing news that she couldn't buy this property, June and her family began to devote Sundays to finding another home. And, as reward for their patience, they finally located a Colonial house in Cheviot Hills — not far from the studio — that could be had reasonably. The lower floor consists of a living room, dining room, kitchen, breakfast room and maid's quarters, a formal entrance hall distinguished by a romantic stairway ("I'll walk down that when I get married," June bubbled to her mother), and a library. Upstairs there are three bedrooms arid three baths. June is buying the vacant lot next door and on that will have constructed a swimming pool and an outdoors playroom, the decorating motif of which will be music. In a shadow box she is going to have a miniature orchestra that — when agitated by an electrical current — will appear to play a recording. The coffee table is to be a discarded bass viol, fitted with legs and planted in the middle. June's room has pale blue walls, a huge blue tufted headboard bed, and a dark blue rug; her dressing room has cupboards for hats, shoes, coats and dresses, and there is a mirror arrangement that will reflect June in triplicate. Her bath, even the tile, is pink. So far her favorite room is the breakfast nook because it is papered with red strawberry decorations, and the kitchen is done in red and white. Everywhere in the house the inquisitive guest will find music boxes that June has collected: There will be that green leather box playing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" that was sent by a fan after the picture of the same name was released. She also owns a yellow china friar who plays the Illinois loyalty song, as well as several powder boxes that sing when the lids are removed, and a little gold grand piano. At no time will there ever be a shortage of guests among the happy Havers. For example: A few weeks ago, a stationer friend of June's (who had printed her name on a huge box of pink stationery, then displayed it in his window) telephoned to say that three returned service men, taking a day off from the hospital, had noticed the stationery, entered the shop, and asked if the man knew June. When he said that he did, they asked if he would telephone June and ask her to allow them to visit her. June said that afternoon would be great. When the bell rang around two o'clock, she opened the door— not to the original three — but to thirty -five men! music d la carte . . . They trooped into the living room, sat on lounges, on tables and on the floor. "Play for us," they said, so June gave them an energetic hour of music. Then everyone adjourned to the yard and spent nearly two hours taking pictures. June changed clothes twice to give them three different poses, one in slacks, one in the dress she had been wearing when the delegation arrived, and one in a bathing suit. The boys had a glorious time, June had ditto, and so did her mother and two sisters, who swore afterward that when the gang left the living room it looked like a Disney short in which a platoon of Mickeys trailed out of a toy-town cab. You can see why June needs a big house; she intends to have walking wounded from all the nearby hospitals as frequent guests. News of this sort naturally gets around, which fact explains the couplet recently received in a fan letter from the South Pacific: Others may hanker for spring, winter or fall, But I call 12 months of June the best year of all. 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