Modern Screen (Feb-Dec 1958)

because the food was more reasonable than at any other restaurant in town. When they picked us up, my date suggested we walk to Chinatown — a twohour hike if we kept up a good pace. "We'd love to," Kim insisted before I had a chance to say anything. She knew they had made the suggestion to save money. Just how broke they were became still more obvious when they offered to order for us, insisting they were well acquainted with all the specialties. Their choices were the cheapest items on the menu. When Kim's date suggested we hike back again, I was ready to protest. I would have gladly paid the bus fare for all of us, but Kim — fearing they'd be embarrassed — agreed so enthusiastically that I had no choice but give in. After a four-hour walk that night both of us were so exhausted we couldn't get up till noon the next morning — luckily not a school day. Kim had her first real big crush when she was fourteen, to an equals quiet, highly intelligent boy in her class. Theirs was never the typical high school romance with Cokes and dances, jukeboxes and moonlight rides. Instead they would sit on the front steps together in the evening and talk for hours, or write poems to each other. . . . The kind of wife she'll be With few exceptions, all her crushes since then seem to be with the same type of person. I think when she gets married she will pick a quiet, sensitive, intelligent man. . . . And she will make a wonderful wife. First of all, she loves children, which is evident in her wonderful relationship with my boys, Billy and two-year-old Scott. The way she played with them, the care with which she selected their Christmas and birthday presents, the money she put into their bank accounts. I can tell by the love for her own home, the joy she draws out of furnishing it, her pleasure in deciding on the color schemes, the dinner parties she hopes to give some day — by all her hopes and aspirations. It is apparent by her interest in cooking— which is anything but conventional. She never cooks from a recipe book. That would be dull! Instead she dreams up concoctions which must sound strange, to say the least. This dates back to the time we were both little and played house together. Or rather, on Kim's urgings, restaurant. Invariably she was the cook and waitress, while I ended up being the customer. When I tried to order she would never give me a menu. She simply described the specialty of the house. In those days I used to giggle when she suggested salad dressing with cocoanut flakes, or steaks marinated in wine. But when she grew old enough to experiment in the kitchen, she fixed just that and many more dishes like it — and they tasted excellent! Her biggest weakness is still garlic, which goes into just about everything but the coffee. ... I just hope that her husband-to-be is fond of strong seasoning. His only real problem will be Kim's lack of punctuality. And this time I can't blame Hollywood for it! If anything, the necessity of being on the set at a certain time has tended to improve her. When she was a teenager, her boyfriends who came over for dates would spend the best hours of their lives waiting for her. I especially recall one handsome young fellow — I think he went to Northwestern University — who came to pick her up for the first time. "It's nice to meet you," Mom greeted him. "Make yourself comfortable." Then she looked around for some magazines and finally handed him a whole batch. "I hope you like these. . . ." He looked puzzled. "But I have a date with your daughter at seven!" he exclaimed. "Isn't she here?" "Of course she is," Mom assured him. "She is getting ready. . . ." He turned out to be one of the lucky ones. He had to wait only forty-five minutes! The next time he brought along his own book. All considered, Kim has remained the same person in more ways than she has changed. She is as generous as ever, even if she now shows it more in material things than she used to. When she was little and wanted to do something special for me, she'd lay out my clothes on the bed before I went on a Saturday-night date. Today she gives me wonderful and expensive presents, like the leather coat and the single clear pearl beautifully mounted on a gold chain she brought me from California. She is the same child about opening gifts that she used to be. From the moment she stepped into the house on her last visit she kept telling me she simply couldn't wait till Christmas morning to open her packages, and when she did, tore them open with all the enthusiasm of a six-year-old. Physically, she is as brave as ever. I remember how we used to go skating together on the nearby pond. Because Kim had weak ankles, she fell more easily and more often than the rest of us. She never complained. And she doesn't complain now when she is flying, even though her eardrums — punctured when she was little — bother her terribly when she has a cold. Yet she won't even comment on it, no matter how miserable she feels. Unfortunately, she is still as easily hurt as she used to be. If there is even a slight misunderstanding during a dinner conversation, she will freeze, say nothing. And the heavy silence will continue till she has worked things out in her own mind. She just cannot overlook the problem. Fortunately, she doesn't carry a grudge. As quickly as she gets into a mood she can throw it off again. Maybe that's why she is so successful on the screen. I don't know. I am not a professional. But sometimes I wish that for her own sake she were a little less imaginative, a little less successful, and a great deal happier. . . . END You can see Kim in Bell, Book And Candle for Columbia. natalie answers 28 questions (Continued from page 46) you now have a butler at your house. Do you find it easy or difficult to have a servant? Does it take a little while to get used to it? (Merelee Willson. San Francisco, Calif.) Natalie: No — it's wonderful! But we were lucky to find someone like David. He's an excellent cook, an efficient housekeeper and an interesting person. Fan: How's your cooking? (Lynn S., Montreal, Canada) Natalie: Great — ./hen I'm out of the house. I cook only on the boat and love it. And if I may be permitted to be immodest, I think I'm doing very well. But I don't like to be domestic at home and since I don't have to be, I see no point in pretending to be anything I'm not. Fan: Every time my husband comes home he starts talking about wanting to buy a boat with an outboard motor. "Look what fun Natalie Wood and Bob Wagner have with their boat." I know you have a great big one, but I wish you'd either convince me that Jim — that's my husband— is right, or admit you only pretend to have fun because Bob seems to like boating. C'mon. Give. . . . (Carolyn Smith, San Diego, Calif.) Natalie: I love it. It's the greatest life in the world. And if I were you, I'd talk my husband into the boat. Believe me — romance on the high seas is the greatest! Look what it has done for me. . . And by 72 the way, I've always been enthusiastic about it, even when R.J. still had the much smaller and much less comfortable twentysix-foot boat, with the head in the bow where you had to back in to get there, and with few of the other conveniences we have now. They say that living on the water makes you feel ten years younger, and I believe it. (Signed, Your childbride, N. W.) Fan: My boyfriend says you and most actresses are stuck-up and he wouldn't go out with you or any girl in Hollywood. I've always been a fan of yours and can't believe that. If you can be objective on that point — is it true? (Anne McKinley. Shreveport, La.) Natalie: You better ask my husband! Ed: We did, and this is what R.J. had to say: "No. she isn't — but if she were, she'd have a right to be." Fan: A talent agent has asked me if I wanted Jessy — that's my five-year-old daughter — in pictures. He said he could get her a contract. Jessy has done some modeling and through it gotten a number of offers to appear on TV and in the movies. From your experiences — and if I'm correct, you've been in pictures since you were four years old— would you say I should let her go ahead if the offer is legitimate? In other words — would you go through it again if you had the choice? (Mrs. A. Hochschaffer, Hollywood 46, Calif.) Natalie: I would go through it again— definitely. But generally speaking, and specifically in your case, I would say it depends on how your daughter feels about it. In other words, leave it up to her, the way my mother did with me. Of course I was a ham from way back. But although mother was quite sure how I felt about it, she discussed it with me in as much detail as she felt I might understand at that age. On the other hand I've worked with a lot of children who were forced into films, who would much rather have played with dolls or jumped rope or done a lot of other thing's, and I think their mothers were wrong. If I had a daughter I would encourage her to do whatever she would like to do most — whether it's playing the piano or painting or whatever it is. And if it happens to be acting, that would be fine, too. Fan: Who are you most like . . . your father or your mother? (Stanley M., Pittsburgh, Pa.) Natalie: I would say about half and half. I think I've inherited my father's temper and my mother's persistence. Fan: Do you feel more independent now than you did before? From what I read I was under the impression that your mother always made a lot of decisions for you. Is that true, and if so, has Bob taken over that role? (P. B., East Hampton, N. Y.) Natalie: My mother has never made any decisions for me! She used to advise me, at least when I was little. But she never told me what to do. As for R.J., we talk things over. No one tells the other what to do. Fan: Before you were married, you used to be very close to your family, particularly your mother. Are you still? (Dorothy Reardon, Albuquerque, N. M.)