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Let me explain at this point that my wife, who is otherwise normal, does have one special form of madness — a tendency at certain times to believe she's a quizmaster and I'm a contestant. After years of marriage I've found that if I play along seriously for five or ten minutes the madness passes and she resumes her role as a housewife again. So, I furrowed my brow, wiped some imaginary sweat off it with a handkerchief, and tried to come up with the answer. This quiz was definitely not fixed and I was in deep trouble. I tried to visualize the hundreds of photos I'd seen of Liz and Eddie in NewYork when they spent their first notorious week end at Grossingers. Was it last vear, or the year before? Were they wearing overcoats? Was it March or September? Lives and loves change so quickly in Hollywood it's almost impossible to keep track, and yesterday usually seems like a million years ago. For the life of me I couldn't remember.
"Your time is up," she said, handing me a dusty copy of Modern Screen which had a picture of Debbie and Eddie on the cover and, in large black type, the historic words WHY EDDIE WALKED OUT ON DEBBIE. The date on the magazine was July, 1955.
"Seems like walking out on Debbie wTas an old established custom with Mr. Fisher." said my wife. "Even before thev wTere married. Look."
She opened to the article and there it was — all the postponed wedding plans, the hassles with business managers, the problems, the uncountable problems that Debbie and Eddie, not yet married, were already facing — or perhaps I should say running awTay from. "The seeds of future tragedy," I intoned in my most philosophical voice, "were planted from the very beginning."
"Well, I don't know about seeds," said Astrid, "but I do know1 we've got to find those Christmas decorations. Now hurry up and start looking. I hear the kids." And off she ran to the children's room, leaving me sitting there alone marveling at the supernatural ability mothers have to hear the cries of their children no matter how far away they are or how many doors and walls are shut between them. The ability to listen with their hearts. I found myself wondering whether trained baby nurses (w?e'd never had one) could also listen with their hearts, and I decided that probably they couldn't, and then I found myself thinking of all those mothers in Hollywood who, like Debbie, had to hire nurses to bring up their children, competent efficient nurses who could do everything for the children except, perhaps, listen with their hearts.
Suddenly the top of my head began to itch. Now when the top of my head begins to itch, it always means (except in mosquito season) that I've got what the Italians call "a bad thought." I tried to figure it out. I'd been thinking about Debbie, or, more specifically, about her children Carrie Frances and