Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

Gia Scala (Continued from page 35) "I'm not hungry, Mom," Don said, abruptly, interi-upting her. "I'll help myself to something later." His mother's smile lessened. "What's wrong, son?" she asked. Don didn't answer. His mother looked down at the newspaper in his lap, at the big headline there: GIA SCALA GRABBED FROM BRIDGE WALL— LONDON CABBIE FOILS ACTRESS' SUICIDE TRY. "Do you know her?" Mrs. Burnett asked. Don shrugged. "A little, I guess," he said. "We met a few times on the set, at Metro, when I was doing Don't Go Near The Water." "Of course," his mother said, "the Italian girl who played the native. So lovely she was, too. . . . Now why would a lovely girl like that ever want to go and do a thing like this, try to take her own life?" Again Don shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "The paper says something about her being depressed over her mother's death." "Tsk," said his mother. Then she sighed. "Well, at least the girl's all right now. The cabdriver grabbed her, it says, and she's obviously all right." "I hope she is," Don said. "I'm sure," said Mrs. Burnett. She smiled again. "And I do wish you'd come eat your dinner now." "I hope she is," Don repeated, not hearing his mother, but thinking about a girl far away, whom he barely knew but whom he remembered very well, a girl alone and in distress, a girl he wished very much he could be near right now. . . . Gia's return It was early November by the time Gia Scala returned to Hollywood from Europe. It was a day and a half after her return when Don phoned her. "Yes," she said, "yes, I remember you." He noticed that her voice was different than it had been those few other times they'd talked; tired-sounding instead of alive, very tired-sounding. He asked her if she would like to go out with him. "Yes," she said, without any enthusiasm, "that would be very nice." "I guess you're all booked up the rest of this week," Don said. There was a pause. Then Gia said, "No, I have nothing to do this week ... or next week. You tell me the evening — " "Well," Don said, "tomorrow night there's a dance, a charity ball for The Helpers, over at the Hilton. I bought two tickets. I didn't expect to use them. But if you'd like — " "That would be nice," Gia said. "I will see you tomorrow night then." And she hung up. . . . "I'll never in my life forget how beautiful she looked," Don recalls about that next night, their first few minutes together. "Gia wore a green gown, matching the green of her eyes. And a plain gold necklace with an italian cameo in the center. Her hair was combed back very simply. She was practically without make-up. She looked like a goddess, freshly-arrived on earth. She was the most beautiful-looking girl I had ever seen. And the saddest, too. . . ." The ball at the Hilton was a lovely affair. For the few hours they were there, Don and Gia sat at a table with some of Don's friends and their dates. Once in a while, they danced. Throughout it all, Gia was quiet, speak66 ing only when spoken to, smiling rarely, barely joining in on any of the fun-doings. "Why the far-away look?" Don asked her, softly, at one point. Gia's face reddened a little. "I don't know," she said. And that was all she said. After the dance, they went to the nearby Trader Vic for a bite to eat. "What'll you have?" Don asked. "Just coffee," Gia said. "Well," Don said, winking, "me, I'm a growing boy, and I'll have to have a little more than that." "Korean specialties," he said, reading the menu and trying hard not to make it look as if he were forcing any conversation. "You ever been there — Korea?" "No," Gia said. "Then you've never had the pleasure of trying any of their specialties," Don said. Gia shook her head. Don began to tell her about something that had happened to him while he was there, with the Army. "I was riding around in this jeep one day," he said, "and I came across this old lady, walking up the road. She looked so tired that I stopped and asked if I could give her a lift. Oh no, she said, she'd come a long way but she still had an even longer way to go. 'How far?' I asked her. About forty miles,' she said. Well now, I sure wasn't going to have this little old ELINOR DONAHUE I've just read a terrific story in INGENUE Magazine called "Give a Weekend." Tells about teen-agers doing volunteer work in the Philadelphia slums . . . not glossy charitytype work, but real 'get your hands dirty' helping. What a great job they do! lady walking down that road another couple of days, was I? So I said, 'Hop in, Grandma, I'll drive you and get you home chop chop!' " Gia began to smile a little. "So there we were, the two of us. riding away a little while later," Don went on, "when all of a sudden the woman reached into a bag she was carrying and said to me, 'Here, young soldier, eat.' I looked at what she was holding. It was a dried red pepper, this long and this red. 'Eat?' I asked, ' — that?' 'You honor me with your politeness,' the old lady said, 'now I must honor you with my hospitality.' "Well, let me tell you. Gia — " Don stopped and laughed, happy to see that she was really beginning to smile now. " — I took one bite of that hospitality of hers and — " "Gia!" a voice interrupted him, suddenly. "Giiiiiia, darling!" They both turned to look. A girl — young, pretty, bleary-eyed — was approaching their table. "Gia, sweet-heart," she said, finally reaching the table, "I was sitting over there . . . and I turned around to look . . . and I saw you. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know you were back in town." "I am," Gia said. "And you look so terrif — " The girl brought her hand up to her mouth, to hide a hiccup. "Terrific!" "Thank you," said Gia. "I was worried," the girl said, her face turning suddenly somber. "Oh boy, I was worried, ever since I heard about it, you on that bridge — just thinking about you staring down into that awful, awful water and . . . Gia, I'm so glad you're all right. And here. Back with us." The girl turned to Don, for the first time. "Life, life, it's wonderful, isn't it?" she asked. Don didn't answer. Instead he looked back at Gia. He saw the tears as they began to come to her eyes. "I mean, where'd we be without life?" he heard the girl say and giggle. He reached across the table and touched Gia's hand. It was cold. "Come on." he said, rising from his chair, "let's get out of here." Gia rose, too. Don took her arm. and they began to walk away. "Well . . . pardon me for trying to be so concerned!" they heard the girl say as they left. . . . A little spunk They'd driven back in silence. And it was only when they got to the door of Gia's house that Don spoke and asked if he could come inside for a while. "Why," Gia asked, "haven't I made your evening unpleasant enough?" Don nodded. "Yep," he said, smiling, "you've been pretty bad. I mean, I've been out with friendlier girls in my time. Girls who talked to me, at least." "I'm sorry about that, about everything." "Too late." Don said, continuing his tease. "But there is one thing you can do for me." He brought his hands up to his stomach. "You can give me something to eat. Because I'm starving. And a guy's gotta eat sometime!" "Oh," Gia said, "yes . . . Won't you come in then?" Don followed her through the foyer and living room and into the kitchen. "You'll wait outside the kitchen, please," Gia said. "This is one room that is for the women and only the women." Don didn't move. "Now go ahead, vatene." Gia said. "Go back inside and make yourself a little drink if you'd like. I will have something ready for you in a little while." With that, she took Don's arm and turned him around. "Okay, okay." Don said, very reluctantsounding, but glad deep-down that she was finally beginning to show a little spunk. . . . Don had put some records on the phonograph and Sinatra was singing a moody ballad when Gia walked into the room. "Dance?" Don asked, walking over to her. Gia nodded. "If you'd like," she said. They began to move around the floor. "What's cooking?" Don asked, after a few moments. "Cosa?" Gia asked. "What?" "Smells like something good coming from the kitchen," Don said. "Oh, the calzone," Gia said. "Yes, I hope it is good." "Cal — who?" Don asked. "It's an Italian dish." Gia said. "I couldn't have guessed," said Don. "It's very good," Gia said. "You'll see. It's a dough crust and inside there is the two cheeses — the ricotta and the mozzarella." "And?" Don asked. "And a little pepper and salt." Gia said. "And?" "And a glass of wine, if you'd like." "For a hungerin' man like me — a couple of slices of cheese and some dough?" Don asked, holding back his smile.