Modern Screen (Dec 1948 - Oct 1949)

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When I returned to Paris, in March, 1945, we were married. What a cold, dreary day that was for such a heavenly occasion! There was a bleak, chill rain falling as we drove to the Mayor's office where the ceremony was to be performed. But, as I reasoned with Quique, how could there be sunshine outside when surely the world's supply was bottled up and overflowing in my own heart? And Quique was radiant, too. The most beautiful bride ever dreamed of! She wore a gown that was silver gray and a little gray hat whose soft coque feather curled downward, touching her cheek. On the way to the registry, we stopped at a flower stand and found some white violets that she pinned at her waist. Until we stood there hand-in-hand before the magistrate. I had never quite realized how petite she is. Her chin just reaches my shoulder. Perhaps it was the sound of her given name, as our friend the Mayor pronounced it, so frighteningly dignified — Berthe Frederique — that made her seem so tiny by comparison. Berthe Frederique, indeed! "Quique" suits her much better. After the ceremony, Quique's parents were hosts at a small reception for our relatives and a few friends. We had no honeymoon. It wasn't an era of honeymoons or holidays. We could have gone to the south of France for a fe*v days, but we chose instead to postpone our wedding trip until happier times. Quique teases me about that. "We came to America on our honeymoon," she tells people, "but on separate airplanes." As a matter of fact, it was almost a year later that I came to Hollywood, and it is true that Quique was delayed another month before her visa was ready. I could not wait for her, as I had promised to start work on a certain date. Quique taunts me, too, about our reunion at the Los Angeles Airport when she arrived. Every woman who alighted and came toward the gate, I would scan anxiously, looking for my Quique ... so intently that I finally worked my way out onto the field and in my excited search, passed her without even seeing her! I could hardly believe my ears when I heard her voice calling my name. Somehow this reunion was different than ever before ... as though it were a finale to all those goodbyes and now we would never really be apart again. This was the honeymoon we'd had to postpone — and now it would never end. And what a perfect spot for a honeymoon was our small Santa Monica apart SEEING STARS? Everyone sees stars at one time or another. We see them practically all the time, but we're not qualified — for the $5 bills, that is. They're for the lucky people whose "1 Saw It Happen" anecdotes we print. So, if you've ever had an amusing incident happen to you and a movie star, write it down and send it to the "I Saw It Happen" Editor, MODERN SCREEN, 261 Fifth Avenue, New York 16, N. Y. The anecdote must be true and it must be short. Try for one of our $5 bills — we've plenty! ment overlooking the magnificent panorama of the blue Pacific! Quique was thrilled by the lush, colorful beauty of California, as 1 knew she would be, and in those first weeks, when I could get away from the studio, we were undoubtedly the two most excitedly happy honeymooners who ever "did" Hollywood. Weekends we would just lie on the beach in the warm, friendly sun or go for long drives up the coast as far as Santa Barbara or south to Laguna. Or we'd explore the city of Los Angeles from the Santa Monica pier to the old picturesque Mission Church far downtown. Quique, who is naturally shy, would go into a panic akin to stage fright when faced with any kind of conversation with a stranger in those early months. Her knowledge of English was limited to "hello" and "goodbye." Just recently, we ran into Rex Harrison at a cocktail party. He and Quique were chatting, Quique very animatedly, when she reminded him of a previous meeting, shortly after her arrival. "Don't you remember?" Quique asked him. "We sat next to each other at dinner." "Of course," Rex replied, with a puzzled look. "Now I remember! But what was the matter with you? I remember talking a blue streak, trying my best to make conversation, but you would just smile politely and look at me as though I were talking Chinese." "Well, you might just as well have been," Quique admitted, "because I had no idea of what you were saying. I didn't know a word of English." her burning passion . . . We have had many good laughs over Quique's English — her old English, I should say — because her present output is better than mine, really. And she can also beat me at gin rummy, which I can take or leave alone but for which Quique has a burning passion. One evening when some friends had dropped in and we had been playing "gin," David Selznick was teasing her about her fondness for the game. "Quique," he chided, "I think you would rather play gin rummy than play a love scene with that romantic movie star, Louis Jourdan." But did Quique deny the accusation vehemently? She did not. Quique just laughed. The more I think about it, the more 1 think I should demand from her a definite "yes" or "no" on this momentous question. However, I do believe she loves me a little better than gin rummy. At least she has known me longer. Quique's willingness to give up family and home and loved ones to come to a strange land with me told me that she loved me a great deal. And I pray that I will never fail her trust in me. There have been times, surely, when she has been lonely and homesick. But she never mentions a word of this. And when I come home from the studio, she is vivacious and tender and interested in how the day went for me. Me, I am not always so considerate. If I am blue or discouraged or tired, I'm afraid I look to Quique to cheer me out of it. We are very close in spirit, Quique and I. We have shared much happiness, we dream many plans, we have shared sorrow and disappointments. In this love of ours, we have found a magic formula that makes the happiness greater for having shared it, the dreams brighter and the disappointments easier to bear. The End