Modern Screen (Jan-Nov 1951)

$9 76 lovable cotton that's so strikingly smart and perfectly fitting it flatters you completely. Patterned in the prettiest way, it's a Bates combed yarn tissue plaid cotton that washes wonderfully — colorfast, no starching required, and shrinkage guaranteed less than 2^. Choose it in dominant stripes of green, brown or blue. Sizes 12 to 20 and 14'/i to 24'/j. At the following fine stores: all Alden stores The Fair . . . Chicago, III. The Hecht Co Washington, D.C. The Hertz Store, Inc. . . . Terre Haute, Ind. all Lane Bryant stores all Newman & Benton stores all Oppenhelm Collins stores all Burr and Butler stores or write: lENNY FROCKS, nso Broadway, N.Y. 18, N.Y. Both of them had suffered the tinhappiness of marriage breaking up before and they didn't accept love as quickly as others might. But soon they found themselves holding hands in movies and wanting to be close to one another and touch one another. The time for emotions to thaw was sure to come soon — and it did, on Christmas night. It had been a full day. The living room of Doris' home was disorderly with the gay refuse of gift giving. Colored papers and ribbons were everywhere, for there hadn't been time to tidy up. Presents were placed about the room, propped on display in their festive boxes. A large log sputtered quietly in the fireplace, glowing red and playing idly with flame. A tall spruce, decked with tinsel, cotton and shiny artificial snow, stood in a corner, still regal and still ruler of the day. And among its branches, tiny red, green and amber lights burned steadfastly, suffusing the room with their traditional yuletide brilliance. Terry, in pajamas, sat beneath the tree, weary now with a small boy's excitement of Christmas, but still enchanted by the odd assortment of wonders his fortune had brought him. He sat silently winding this toy and peering into the magic innards of that one; and he speculated on the wisdom of sleeping in full Hopalong Cassidy regalia. Doris' mother sat in the softest chair, gazing at the dull, hypnotic embers on the hearth and remembering other Christmases. Doris and Marty loimged on a divan and, without speaking, lived their happiest day over and observed all the happiness that was about them. Presently, Grandmother Day got to her feet. "Come on, Terry," she said, "time for bed." Terry took a long last look at his treasures and rose and walked to where his mother and Marty were sitting. He snuggled between them and took both their hands. "Thanks for everything," he said. "Thanks to both of you. It's wonderful to have such a nice family at Christmas time." Then he went to bed, followed by his grandmother. The boy and girl were alone in the room now, each with his private thoughts. "It's true, isn't it?" Doris said. "What's true?" said Marty. "About it being wonderful having such a nice family at Christmas time — like Terry said." "Yes, it's true," said Marty. "It wouldn't be a real Christmas without a boy and his mother and a grandmother. . . ." "And a father. . . ." said Doris. "Sure — a father," said Marty. "Let's see that he always has a nice Christmas." "Yes," said Doris. NOBODY promised anybody anything, Doris Day said — but they did. They didn't do it the way its done in books, but in that warm room, with the night black outside, and the silent log in the fireplace and the pretty Christmas tree as witnesses, Doris and Marty promised each other a lot. Terry and his grandmother may not have been watching and listening through a crack in the bedroom door, but they knew what was going on. They stagemanaged most of it. From that night on, though, it wasn't friendship between Doris and Marty anymore. It was love and not denied. She was his girl — and he was her guy. Marriage was something that would come when circumstances and time allowed. The time ripened their relationship kindly, for it gave them the opportunity to plan and buy and for the four of them to get to know one another better than ever. The buying was a lark. Marty would find a piece of furniture he liked and drag it out to Doris' house at any hour. She would shop for him. And long before they took their vows they had a home ready to move into, filled with the things they both loved and had selected. If it appears that Marty, once he knew where he was going, moved right into the role of father and head of the family, it was nothing to the speed with which Terry moved in as a son. If he liked Marty before, he idolized him now. And he took great pride in abandoning many of the rather selfish rights of a small boy to shoulder some of the responsibilities of getting the family going. Doris' income is very large, and Marty is one of the most successful yovmg men in Hollywood, but they are both level-headed people and dislike ostentatious living. They particularly think it unbecoming in small boys who have families in the chips. Terry was willing to cooperate to the hilt in this if his mother and Marty wanted him to. He got so that he'd rather have an earned dime than a gift dollar. He would discuss his financial problems with Marty regularly, for he was the business manager — and abide by his decisions. There was a time when expansion seemed desirable in Terry's electric train enterprise. He was, at the moment, short of capital. A parental loan seemed a solution. He took it up with Marty. "Train tracks are pretty expensive, aren't they?" he asked cagily. "Very expensive," said Marty. "How's Ma doing these days?" said Terry. "Oh . . . pretty good," said Marty. "Not great, eh?" asked Terry. "Let's say — fair," said Marty. Terry thought it over carefully. "Okay," he said, "we'll wait for the train tracks." He had them in a week, but he proved he was willing to go along with an economy program — as long as it was in the family. "C'oR a while the Melchers will live in the house Doris has lived in till now. But they will shop, carefully and slowly, for a house they want to make their home in the future. Your Modern Screen Reporter sat in a 1918 railroad car in the Warner Brothers train shed during the last day of shooting on Doris' last picture. On Moonlight Bay, and she told about that house in the future. "I want it to be on a hill," she said, "high above the city, so I can see the lights at night. I want there to be trees around and lots of green, growing things, so I can smell them when I wake up in the morning. I want it to be on a long, quiet street where Terry can ride his bike in safety. And I want there to be lots of kids around for him to play with — and for Marty and me to know. I want it to be a big, soUd house that will stand a hundred years, with lots of beams and stone. It doesn't have to be elegant, but I want a small pool where we can all swim in the simimer — but it has to be big enough to hold a lot of kids. I want many bedrooms, because there will be Terry, my mother, if she will live with us, someone to help take care of the place, and Marty and me. It may take some time to find it, but we will. And it will be worth the trouble, because it wUl be the home of a wonderful family. Just ask Terry." Yes, it is Marty and Doris Melcher now — professional name Day. They are a happy couple, even though they think they didn't have a romance like other couples. They never got engaged — ask the pickled pine breakfront. Nobody promised anybody anything — ask the spruce tree and the lazy log in the fireplace. And nobody helped them make up their minds. They did it all themselves, and it just happened—ask Terry Melcher. The End