Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1963)

ts (she’d introduced them to Eddie and they’d all had r together), on his big night. And he, in turn, warbled ve songs directly to her. ter, Ann-Margret shifted her training site to New York — close to Eddie when he did his show at the Winter Garden, feinted slightly by insisting, “I didn’t come in just to see My mom is with me. I wouldn’t have come except for Bye Birdie’” (to publicize the picture), t Earl Wilson, who had been promoted from the Post's tainment department to . its sports desk so he could cover hampionship fight, took care of that remark. “I pointed illainously that she was with Eddie an hour after arriving, went to hear him at the Winter Garden. He dropped her into a song. He took her to supper at 21 with Darryl lanuck, Attorney Louis Nizer (th , lawyer arranging the ddie divorce in case they ever get one) and Mrs. Nizer.” uple of days later Wilson stated bluntly, “Ann-Margret idding when she said she came to New York to publicize Bye Birdie,’ and not to see Eddie Fisher. They’ve even shopping together and, this morning, were at Basin Street and El Morocco.” posed but not embarrassed, Ann-Margret went on about usiness of keeping close to Eddie’s side. She was with him le African Room (he drove her there in his Rolls-Royce, same car Liz used to flip for), when a dancer in the show to lure him into doing the twist. Eddie begged off and dancer said, “You’re chicken.” Eddie laughed and re1, “That’s the story of my life.” iter, waiters and the hatcheck girl at the club told columLouis Sobol that Eddie — who didn’t have enough folding Sey with him to pay the tab and had to cash a $100 check ve them the biggest tips they’d ever received in the six s of the African Room’s existence. What a way to impress Margret! And she was with him at Luchow’s, as recorded olumnist Frank Farrell, “when the band from the beer en downstairs finished oompahing at 2 A.M., the date ■ no Eddie escorted home was Sweden’s sexpot songbird Ann Igret.” She was with him at Jilly’s before he went onstage le Winter Garden; she was with him at the theater, waiting re wings and watching his every move as he sang his heart to a cheering audience; she was with him after his perlance, at Gary Morton’s opening at the Copa where, acing to one observer, they sat at ringside “whispering sweet things to each other.” atching Ann-Margret and Eddie together during those t days and sweeter nights when Liz was still expected to 8re any moment — and observant New York was watching was difficult to figure out just what Ann-Margret gives ie that not even Liz can — or could. nr one thing, she just didn’t dress or look or act the part he Liz Taylorish glamour girl. Her clothes weren’t the li-clinging, man-baiting kind; it was much easier to picture I in church wearing a yellow straw hat decorated with daisies, a simple white cotton dress with matching white gloves it was to accept her in a night club setting. Perhaps it her long hair — usually deep auburn but temporarily blond her role in “Birdie” — tied back with a black velvet ribbon, (flaps it was her face with that fresh, well-scrubbed look he college girl in town for a weekend. Perhaps it was her e, soft and shy as her warm green eyes. Whatever — the ill impression she made was one of old-fashioned, demure letness. The kind of wholesome girl-next-door that the boypt-door would like to ask over to meet his mother. You know. But Eddie had taken just this sort of girl home to meet mother. The girl’s name was Debbie ! And everyone knows what happened to them when Liz came along. Yes, the resemblance between Ann-Margret and Debbie was startling. Not just the same open-eyed attitude towards life. Not just the same innocent, unspoiled quality, not just the same love and concern for their parents and family. But also the same limited experience with romance before they met Eddie (Debbie’s near-serious relationship with young Bob Wagner and Ann-Margret’s near-marriage to Burt Sugarman). Even their high-school activities were the same! Ex-cheerleader Debbie has her double in ex-cheerleader Ann-MargTet. “When I was a sophomore (at New Trier High School in Winnetka, 111.), I wanted to be a cheerleader and I was out on the football field every Saturday, or on the basketball court between halves. I’m full of bounce and spirit.” And Debbie was a Girl Scout and active in girls’ clubs. Ann-Margret chimes in with, “I was in the Glee Club and the Girls’ Ensemble Singing Group and the Opera Workshop.” All similar, all interesting, and all qualities that, when he was married to Debbie, bored Eddie to death. Ah. but there is another side to Ann-Margret. But the only time she shows it to the public is when she’s performing. Then a remarkable transformation takes place. Off comes that severe, binding black velvet ribbon and her long hair swishes tantalizingly across her face and jiggles back over one shoulder. Off comes that simple, unsophisticated dress and her figure is shown up by skin-caressing long, black velvet tights and a formmolding, flame-colored sweater. Her warm green eyes give off hot sparks, her voice — in conversation so hard to hear — is charged with sex and she belts out a song that can be heard in the kitchen of a night club; her lithe hips roll (so similar to Liz’ when, at fifteen, she wiggled through the studio commissary at M-G-M many years ago), her dainty hands can’t stop moving and her fingers snap rhythmically. An exciting mixture of the sexy madcap and the innocent madonna, that’s Ann-Margret. A Liz and Debbie rolled into one woman and guaranteed to keep Eddie intrigued. A powerful combination for Liz’ challenger! But if Liz was worried, she didn’t show it. Due to arrive in the U.S. even before Eddie opened at the Winter Garden, Liz unconcernedly made her first postponement. There was shopping to do in Paris, her dentist to see in Lausanne. And some unfinished business to attend to with Richard Burton in Paris. (Additional dubbing-in for “Cleopatra.”) Besides, Eddie couldn’t forget Liz even if he wanted to. Juliet Prowse, onstage each night at the Winter Garden as part of his show, reminded him. When he’d asked Juliet to team up with him, he insisted that she cut out her satire number— “I’m Cleo, the Nympho of the Nile.” But she’d refused. “After all,” she told her friends, “when Frank Sinatra and I broke up, he started his night club act with, ‘Anybody want a hot diamond?”’ The Cleo number stayed in. (“There was not a man she couldn’t get; that was Cleo’s problem on and off the set”). There were other references to Liz — in the bumpand-grind-filled Joan of Arc number Juliet sang. “I can give you the kind of action you get from ‘Butterfield 8’”; in her take-off of Camille, “You’ve got the cutest cough, baby. Will I live through the film, maybe?” The critics and columnists blasted Juliet’s act. “Amazingly tasteless exhibition (Watts) ; “tough to describe her act accurately without exceeding it in vulgarity” (Slocum) ; “tasteless” (McHarry) ; “Miss Prowse is a combination of a modern-day ( Continued on page 67) 43