Modern Screen (Dec 1948 - Oct 1949)

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People are always calling me Mrs. Madison, and men hardly ever call me at all. But, cross my heart — even if only one Guy believes me — I'm not married! Once, driving home from a day of sailing like fhis, Guy and Gail were amazed to hear over the car radio, an announcement saying: "At this very moment, Guy Madison and Gail Russell are eloping!" ■ "They don't seem to believe me," said Guy. "You try it." All right, I will. Ladies and Gentlemen, Guy Madison and I are not married. And the following is the way I feel about it. I don't particularly like not being married to Guy. After all, when any Gail meets a Guy, she begins to think in positive terms — not negative. When I met Guy I thought of many things — and kept them to myself. For instance, I thought of the Modern Chinese furniture which Mother had given me to furnish my apartment. (Now, while I like Modern Chinese very much, it's not my favorite. I prefer Early American. But Modern Chinese was the decorating theme in Mother's home.) I thought of the sort of linens I would like (blue — and my mother has just sent me a set including sheets, pillow slips and towels, all in blue and monogrammed with my initials in peach), the silver, the sort of home I would like and its arrangement. I thought of all these things, which shows what effect he had on me. Don't all girls have such thoughts when they meet someone they like? Or even imagine they could like? After I got to know Guy better I found he had certain plans, too. And since they concerned both of us, I could let him in on a few of mine. I did. Our discussions had to do with our personal lives and our professional lives. It seemed to us that if we continued to like each other we ought to be able to do something about it by such-and-such a time. And we felt like two sensible people when we made this decision. In any other place in the world — in Peoria where my mother and father went together for years before heading for the altar, in Bakersfield where Guy's parents did the same, in Pascagoula, Quebec or Sourdough, Alaska — in any other place you are permitted to make such long-range plans about so serious a thing as your future together — and to go through with them. But not in Hollywood. We found that out on a Sunday about 18 months ago. Casually dressed (I was wearing shorts), we turned into a drive-in on our way home from Laguna Beach where we had spent the day sailing. Guy ordered hamburgers and malteds for both of us and we sat listening to a radio commentator over our car radio. Our food came. Guy started to drink his malted and I picked up my sandwich. Then — "Exclusive!" came a voice. "At this moment Guy Madison and Gail Russell are eloping!" Guy choked on his malted. I found myself staring at my hamburger and thinking how unlike a wedding cake it looked. On the way home we kidded about it. "What kind of an announcement did you send?" I asked. "The usual," he replied gravely. "With rosebuds on it, pink cherubs and all (Continued on page 91) 65