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She’s kicking over the traces, flabbergasting her friends,
going wild on the set! All Hollywood is wondering —
"V7"ou should’ve seen her on the set over -*• at Universal the other day,” a cameraman said to a grip in the M-G-M commissary. “In a word — Wow!”
“I’ve never seen such a change in anyone,” an attractive woman whispered to a friend at Ciro’s. “I’ve known her for years, and she isn’t one bit like the girl she used to be.”
“The way she talked up to me!” a movie mogul remarked, “I had to pinch myself to believe it was really happening.”
What is this gossip all about? Jane Powell, that’s what. Yes, sweet, demure little Janie, the girl who has never been associated with anything more exciting than puppy love and spring, has been setting Hollywood on its collective ear.
There must be reasons. Of course, everybody knows that Jane, during the past few years, has put a lot of distance between herself and that sticky-sweet adolescent she used to play on the screen. Today, she is a woman of twenty-eight, mother of three and a divorcee on her
second marriage. So, why all the shouting now ?
To find out, you have to give it the full treatment, a real Sherlock Holmes job — the kind that works over not only the lady herself, but the people close to her.
The change in Jane hits you as soon as you walk in the door of her Pacific Palisades home. Gone are the ruffles, the chintz and Early American maple that Jane used to dote on. In their place is a living room right out of the House of Tomorrow. Not large and pretentious, mind you. But, oh, so modern.
A wall-length window looks out upon the patio. Walls and rugs are beige, and a twenty-foot contour divan overflows with red, blue and white pillows. Of course, there’s a grand piano. A beautiful turquoise seat with gold legs and a red pillow, large black coffee table, beige drapes and a black-and-white marble fireplace complete the picture.
In comes Jane. No ruffles on her, either. She ( Continued on page 96)
by CARL CLEMENT
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