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the airport, just before I got on the plane — he put a jewelry box in my hand. Told me not to open it until I got on the plane. It was this beautiful pin. What girl wouldn't be pleased with this kind of attention?"
If you ask me, as much as she likes Bob — I don't think Debbie is one little bit in love with him. In Hollywood, it is never safe to venture a guess (look at all the 'smart' guys who would have bet their shirts that Bing Crosby and Kathy Grant would never marry) but I'm willing to bet my bankroll that Debbie and Bob will never marry.
I'll make the same flat statement about wealthy Harry Karl, even if Debbie does start dating him again after he is divorced from Joan (Mrs. Harry) Cohn to whom he stayed married a brief twenty-five days! Both of these gentlemen, the younger Bob and the more mature Harry, come under the heading of playboys, whether they like the label or not. Another strike against them, they are not actually of Debbie's world — show business.
It doesn't take an oracle to predict that with her career at its very height, where she can command and get $1,000,000 for her services, her work will become more and more important to Debbie. And show people talk a language of their own.
When I had talked with her several months previous to our luncheon date Debbie had told me frankly, "Despite the way things turned out for us, Eddie and I shared years of real happiness and contentment. I was so proud of him when he began to soar to the top and was in such demand for TV and nightclubs."
And, when and if, she marries again, my money says Debbie will be looking for exactly this kind of happiness. Someone of her own world, in her line of work, has the best chance of winning her hand.
"When I think of marriage again — it will be different from the first time," she said seriously "Then there was just Eddie and me. Now there are my children.
"Every man I am ever serious about again I shall judge by just one considera
tion: will he be patient and loving an i kind to my Carrie Frances— who is stil so little, just going on three, and to Todc who hasn't yet reached his second birth day." She laughed, "It's a case of — lov me, love my kids."
I had just one more question to poi to Missy Reynolds before we called for th check for our luncheon.
"Debbie," I asked, "when and afte: Glenn is divorced and he is a free man would you accept some dates with him?
She gave me a sharp little sidelong glance. "That's not a fair question," she laughed. "He can't possibly be free for s year — California law, you know. Whc knows what a year will bring?"
It will bring a lot of success and mone\ to Debbie Reynolds, that's for sure. Will it also bring a new love? Thafs the question en:
Debbie stars in The Gazebo, MGM, and The Rat Race, Paramount. Glenn also stars in The Gazebo, and Cimarron, MGM.
At 16 I Know I'll Never Have a Husband or Children
(Continued from page 23)
ultimate," she said, "the absolute ultimate."
"Lots of women'll agree with you on that," said Marsha.
"Who is he?" Tuesday asked. "I mean, he's got me all with a pepped-up heart and everything already."
Marsha gave her a quick run-down on the tall, rugged-looking, strangely-attractive actor. John Ireland, she said, had the reputation of being (one) a hyperindividualist and (two) a ladies' man. Regarding the former, Marsha said: "He's a free-thinking, free-talking guy, very salty, very sophisticated, very wild, who does exactly what he pleases, when he pleases." Regarding the ladies — "He's been married twice," Marsha said. "But there've been lots of other loves. Just last year it was Kim Novak. They were crazy about each other. But her studio didn't like it and one day— he was visiting her on the set, you see, and he'd been warned to keep away — and on this particular day two men actually picked him up from under the armpits and threw him out, right onto the sidewalk on Gower Street. John got up and said, 'No woman is worth this.' And that was the end of that love affair."
Tuesday giggled.
"He sounds wonderful," she said.
Marsha nodded. "He is," she said. "Also —I forgot to tell you— he's forty-five years old."
"Oh yes?" Tuesday said, looking away from her friend and back at the action on the set. . . .
To the bitter end
It was two hours later — about 7:00 p.m. — when he came walking over to where she was standing.
"You still here?" John asked.
"Yes," Tuesday said. "Marsha had an appointment and had to go. But I — I felt like staying, to the bitter end."
"We're going to be shooting till midnight," John said.
"That's good," said Tuesday. "I mean, midnight would be the perfect time for us to meet — really meet — alone."
"What?" John asked.
"Would you come home with me after you're finished?" Tuesday asked. "I'd like to be with you. To talk to you . . . You see, you fascinate me. And I hear we're quite kindred in spirit — just like one another."
54 John cleared his throat.
"How old are you, Tuesday?" he asked. "Fifteen," she said. " — Sixteen in August."
"Do you know," John said, "that I have a son — let's see — six months older than you."
"Well, how about that!" Tuesday said. Then: "Will you come?"
John looked at her, incredulously, for a moment.
The next moment, he was laughing.
"You're quite a little character," he said.
"I guess I am," Tuesday said, not laughing. "But at least I'm an honest one."
Then she asked again:
"Will you come? I'd like you to come home with me, for just a little while, tonight."
John found himself nodding. "Yes, I'll come," he said. . . .
"My own place"
"I can scream, play hi-fi as loud as I want, do anything. It's the first time I've had my own place," Tuesday said as she showed John around the new Hollywood Hills apartment. "It's a divine feeling."
"You live alone?" John asked.
"Practically," Tuesday said. "That is, my mother has an apartment upstairs. But she lets this be my place. . . . And we get along better this way. We usually get along okay. But we fight sometimes about some of the boys I date, my smoking . . . things."
She walked over to a small bar to pour John a drink.
John, meanwhile, sat on a long couch and picked up a scrap-book from the coffee table in front of him.
It was titled Me! and was crammed with newspaper and magazine articles on Tuesday, all written since her arrival in Hollywood only a few months earlier.
John was scanning the fourth or fifth article when Tuesday walked over to him, handed him his drink and sat alongside him.
She looked down at the book and pointed to a line that read: Says director Rod Amateau — Tuesday Weld has been around for centuries. That's why she knows so much. She cut Samson's hair and kept running.
She smiled. "That's cute," she said, "isn't it?"
"Yeah, sure is," said John, taking a
swallow from his drink. Tuesday reached over and took the book from him and turned the page.
"I think this is cute, too," she said, pointing to something else. She read aloud: " '1 know it looks like I bite my fingernails,' says Tuesday Weld. 'But it's not true. Actually. I have someone come in and bite them for me.'"
"Did you actually say that, all by yourself?" John asked.
"Yes, I did," Tuesday said.
John began to laugh.
Tuesday looked at him, quizzically.
"Are you teasing me?" she asked.
"A little," said John. "Now let's get back to this publicity folder of yours. . . . What else do you think is cute?"
"Well," said Tuesday, turning another page, "this, what Sheilah Graham wrote: Tuesday has a Saturday sophistication. I like that."
She turned still another page.
"But this." she said, "She's a combination of Shirley Temple and Jezebel — I don't care much for that."
She turned more pages, continuing to read aloud from here and there and smiling as she did:
'"I hate clothes,' Tuesday Weld will tell you. 'I'd never wear underwear if I didn't have to — and sometimes I don't.'
" 'I'm a kleptomaniac. I like to take things — not big things, little things.'
"'I've been dating since I was twelve. Now that I'm fifteen, I guess I know a L lot more about men and boys than most '.. girls my age.'
"Quoth the wild Miss Weid: 'I haven't read "Lolita" yet. But everyone keeps mentioning her to me.'
" 'I'm part little girl — bigger part . woman.'
'"Everybody's trying to make me dignified— and I'm rebelling. My motto is: Obey
your impulses!' "
A nice sip of scotch
She looked up from the scrap-book and over at John.
"My impulse right now," she said, "is 3; to have a nice sip of your Scotch."
John shifted the glass he was holding into his other hand, away from her.
"No, ma'am," he said.
"Why not?" Tuesday asked.
"Because you're a child." John said. "And children don't drink Scotch."