Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

1 Let's talk frankly about internal cleanliness Day before yesterday, many women hesitated to talk about the douche even to their best friends, let alone to a doctor or druggist. Today, thank goodness, women are beginning to discuss these things freely and openly. But — even now— many women don't realize what is involved in treating "the delicate zone." They don't ask. Nobody tells them. So they use homemade solutions which may not be completely effective, or kitchen-type antiseptics which may be harsh or inflammatory. It's time to talk frankly about internal cleanliness. Using anything that comes to hand . . .'"working in the dark". . . is practically a crime against yourself, in this modern day and age. Here are the facts: tissues in "the delicate zone" are very tender. Odors are very persistent. Your comfort and well-being demand a special preparation for the douche. Today there is such a preparation. This preparation is far more effective in antiseptic and germicidal action than old-fashioned homemade solutions. It is far safer to delicate tissues than other liquid antiseptics for the douche. It cleanses, freshens, eliminates odor, guards against chafing, promotes confidence as nothing else can. This is modern woman's way to internal cleanliness. It is the personal antiseptic for women, made specifically for "the delicate zone." It is called Zonite®. Complete instructions for use come in every package. In cases of persistent discharge, women are advised to see their doctors. Millions of women already consider Zonite as important a part of their grooming as their bath. You owe it to yourself to try Zonite soon. thing. "But," reports Judi, "I got into TV [ and he was going on to school. Besides, j going steady got a little overpowering, too married before married. I don't like to be cornered." So that was that. Came next this fellow, Stewart, who writes her those torchy letters he tears up but keeps sending. "I think I'd have married him even at eighteen, except that his parents raised such a rumpus, and so did mine." reflects Judi. Stewart was Jewish and Judi Catholic, and parental consent was important. There's still a soft spot on both sides. Troy Donahue was number three. He lived downstairs from Judi and they made a couple of pictures together at U-I. Troy didn't even own a car then, but they drove Judts around to friends' houses, and the beach, skated, played touch football — love on a dime. "We were unofficially engaged," says Judi. "but Troy was just too possessive." One night he busted into her apartment jealously when she was just about to retire, made a scene and wound it up pushing Judi's face into a glass-framed picture. That was enough. She bounced off to a friend of Troy's, Wendell Niles, Jr. It was official again, with another ring. But Judi sniffed trouble ahead. Wendell was tied too close to his parents. "I'll tell you one thing," stated Judi, "when we get married. I'm not going to live with your folks." She kept after Junior to get a job on his own. He did, but in New York. That wasn't where Judi meant. "I'm twentyone," she declared herself openly. "And too young to stay tied to someone clear across the country. If you go, I guess it's good-bye." Almost: Barry Coe Judi's closest call was with Barry Coe. At first Judi tabbed Barry as just another movietown snake. At a press party he had his arm linked in another cutie's, but he gave Judi the eye. "And that made me sore," reports Meredith. "I thought — what a two-timer!" Next day when a publicity type called suggesting she shoot a magazine layout with Barry, Judi told them both where they could go. But Barry called most politely, apologized and suggested a day at the beach to get acquainted. Judi was two hours late to give him a hard time. She discovered Barry to be "a real person, honest, unspoiled, unassuming— just adorable." Four weeks later Barry popped the question. "No — let's wait a year and see how we feel then," sparred Judi. "Lucky," she sighs, "that I did." Last May Judi discovered she had a rival, a married actress, that Barry hadn't told her about. "Okay," she signed off. "We're finished. I never want to see you again." "I was too much of a mother to Barry," Judi quarterbacks that year-long episode now. "I did a lot for him — got him a new agent, new press agent, made him more conscious of his career, I think. I don't think that was what he wanted from a girl." Graciously, Judi thinks Jorunn Christensen, (Miss Norway whom Barry met and married last year) is perfect for him. "She wants to be just a wife, stay home and everything," she concludes. "I don't fit that picture." After her break-up with Barry Coe, Judi dropped twelve pounds, but mostly because she got bronchial pneumonia. Her heart did crack a little, but she's not the kind to wither away. "I make snap judgments and I stick to them," claims Judi. "I get hurt — sure — every day. But I've never given any man the satisfaction of seeing me busted up or crying — and I never will!" That's the way love is — that's how it goes with Judi Meredith, to quote Bobby Darin's song hit. A sort of tightrope walk between Heaven and hostilities. Bobby, by the way, is a devoted Meredith boyfriend whenever he lights long enough in Hollywood. In fact, Judi's the only girl he takes out at such times. "We go for rides, sit and gab mostly," says Judi. "Bobby's a great talent and almost as charged up as I am. A little cocky, maybe, to cover up his insecurity," she analyzes, "but a real doll. We're two of a kind and we have a lot of fun. Am I involved? We-1-1-1 — I don't know! Maybe." Like Bobby, Judi also worships Frank Sinatra, who takes her out, too. But at the start of their friendship she promised not to say a word about Frankie, and she's stuck to it. Columnists pester her sometimes long-distance from New York, but she hasn't chirped about Frank and doesn't intend to. "I know," says Judi simply, "that he hates anyone to talk about him, and I respect that. I'd expect anyone to do the same for me — if I felt that way." Judi lives in a cute little apartment perched on a hillside, with a spoiled Skye terrier named Little Face. She decorated the place herself and is forever bustling around fixing it up. If she's not yanking down her curtains, washing and ironing them, she's unscrewing the garbage disposal (as she did the other day) and tuning it up. When she's home she scatters her favorite violets all around, keeps the hi-fi going (music's like dope) and shifts colorful paintings here and there to suit her moods. Meals are no problem: she goes out about every night. When she does Judi loves to dress up. She's a clothes horse who can design her outfits and then spend her last cent, if necessary, to have them made. She likes exciting colors — greens, yellows, oranges and reds — and always real jewelry, diamonds, rubies and gold. She always wears a wedding ring on her third finger, left — "because I don't want to be bothered with phonies. If a man ap proaches me with that on, I know I don't want to go out with him anyway!" She skips both make-up and booze because she doesn't need either one. And where she goes doesn't matter, so long as she's going. Of course, Judi also works — hard. She drives around Hollywood on her scattered TV chores "like a maniac" in her '59 convertible that's had the brakes re-lined five times. Right now she has two video series coming up and a picture at Columbia. But she doesn't care a cookie about money for money's sake. "All I really want," says Judi, "is to be happy — and to make people happy. The only way I know is to entertain them. So, that's what I want to do, all my life, in one way or another." In one way or another, that's exactly what Judi Meredith has been doing, so far: entertaining people and herself at the same time. If, along the way, she kicks up a storm here and there, so much the better. It's usually a beautiful storm to watch, and the world around her comes to life in Technicolor. The last time I dropped in on Judi she was wrapped up in a telephone, as usual. "Yes, Bobby," she said. "I love you. Do you love me? Ah — so? Well, that's too bad, because you wouldn't send anyone else flowers and ask her out to dinner, now would you?" I know Bobby. I stole the phone. "Mr. Darin," I nailed him, "what is your candid opinion of a certain notorious girl named Miss Judi Meredith?" "Now hear this," came back the Knife. "She is just one of the swellest all-around, all-time, All-American girls — ever! And," he added, "you can quote me." So I will. I agree. For various reasons so does about everyone else once exposed to Judi. END