Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

ing to cards in the wallet police found on him, he's William Colleran. TV producer, director. New York address: 167 East 61 Street. California address — " "I don't care, he's not my husband," Lee interrupted, looking back at the bed, staring. "... The voice was different." "Of course, it sounds different," the doctor said. "He's practically unconscious . . . Don't you realize what's happened?" Lee didn't answer. "I told you on the phone," said the doctor. "Don't you remember?" Still, Lee didn't answer. "He'd been to a party," the doctor said, then. "He was in his car, alone, coming down a hill, steep, very steep. It was dark. It was late. He must have fallen asleep at the wheel. The car hit a tree. "When the police got to him, they thought he was dead at first," the doctor went on. "I got to him a little while later. The heartbeat was weak, but I could see he was still alive. I gave him some serum. Then we rushed him here. We've examined him. He's suffering from multiple fractures, and a severe concussion of the brain. We've got to operate. We've held up till now, to give him some blood. But very soon, if we're to save him — " "That's not my husband," Lee said. The doctor touched her arm. "You may not want him to be, but he is," he said. Lee pushed him away. She stood rigid now. "He's not," she shouted. "He's not!" Again she smiled strangely, as if she had won a victory of some kind. "Look," the doctor said, "I know how you feel. But I think you'd feel a lot better if you admitted you understood — " "No," said Lee. "Admitted you understood," the doctor said, " — and even cried, if that's what you really feel like doing . . . That is what you feel like doing right now, isn't it? . . . This is a shock, a terrible shock. I know . . . Now, come on, cry a little and — " "No," said Lee. "I never cry. I mustn't cry . . . And besides, there's no need for me to cry." "Lee," she heard the voice moan once more, from under the bandages. "No," she said. "Leeeeeee" — it came again. "Bill?" she whispered. "Bill?" And then, as everything in the room came racing towards her, she fell, fainting, to the floor. . . . "Get her to talk" She felt the blanket around her. She realized she was lying on a couch . . . that there was someone else in the room. She opened her eyes and, turning her head only slightly, she saw the nurse, a big woman, big-boned, middle-aged, the steel rim of her spectacles shining under the shining white starchiness of her cap, seated beside her. "Well," she heard the nurse say, softly, "time you came around . . . How do you feel, dear? Do you feel all right?" Lee nodded slightly. "Where's my husband?" she asked. "Upstairs ... in the operating room," said the nurse. "The operation began about an hour ago. It should only be another hour more, maybe a little less." The nurse remembered the chat she'd had in the hallway, with the doctor, a little while earlier. "I'm worried about her,'' he'd said. "Get her to talk, if you can. Get her to talk and get some of this hysteria out of her system." "Would you like to talk?" the nurse asked now. Lee sighed and lay her head back a little and looked up at the ceiling overhead, as if she were trying to look through it, to a room above where Bill lay now. "Yes," she said, "yes, I'd like to talk, a little." "Tell me," said the nurse, pulling up her chair a little, "about your baby. I've read a little about you in the newspapers. I remember reading when you had a baby last year . . . What's her name?" "Kate," Lee said. "She was christened Kathleen. But we call her Kate." "I bet she's a doll," said the nurse. "She is," Lee said. "Does she look like you?" Lee shook her head. "Like her daddy?" asked the nurse. Lee closed her eyes. "More like her daddy, yes," she said. "Her face is round like his. And she has his eyes and lips. And she's gentle the way he is . . . gentle and lovable, just like he is." "Where is she now?" asked the nurse. "In Tennessee," Lee said. "I was making a picture there. I mean, I am making a picture there, I guess ... In Cleveland, Tennessee . . . Kate was with me and a girl I hired. I left her with the girl when I got the phone call — " How Lee became an actress Her voice began to trail off. "Get her to talk — " the nurse remembered the doctor's words. "Tell me," the nurse said, suddenly, changing the subject, "a person like me who watches TV and goes to movies, we never get to meet actresses, like you. And we wonder so many things. Like how do they become actresses?" Lee shrugged. "How did you become an actress, Mrs. Colleran?" asked the nurse. "Come on. Don't be modest. Tell me all the interesting facts now." "There's nothing very interesting about my story.'" said Lee, opening her eyes. "When I was a little girl, in Boston, I used to watch my great-grandmother. I guess she's the one who started me off, in a way." "Was she an actress?" asked the nurse. "No," said Lee. "She was a minister, a Methodist minister . . . And from my earliest years I can remember watching her in church every Sunday, talking to the congregation. I used to think it was the most thrilling thing imaginable, somebody standing and talking to people and holding them spellbound, moving them ... I made up my mind that that was what I wanted to do someday, be a lady minister and talk to people. . . ." "Now I think that's real interesting." said the nurse. "Go on ... Go on, and tell me more." Lee said nothing. "Go on," said the nurse. "Get her to talk — " she remembered. "Well," Lee said, " — I learned in time that to be a minister you needed to have a calling — some kind of divine calling, either from within yourself, or from God. I never had the calling. But still," she said. "I wanted to talk to people, to groups, to congregations of one sort or another. And one day, I remember, my mother took me into town to see a play. And I realized then, sitting in the audience, watching the actors on the stage talking out to me and all the other people, that this was like a church, in a way, and that being an actor was like being a minister, in a way — at least, in a way important to me — " The nurse smiled. "So you began to study acting hard and your mother and father sacrificed every penny they had," said the nurse, "and then one day you were discovered, sitting in a restaurant — and boom, you were a star. Right?" "Partly," Lee said. "I didn't study acting very hard as a child. And if I had, it wouldn't have been a sacrifice to my par ents. They were not poor. In fact, they were wealthy — " She paused for a moment. "But yes, you're right," she said then, "I was discovered, in a restaurant." "How do you like that?" the nurse said, pleased with herself. "Well!" Two discoveries "It was a restaurant in New York," Lee said. "I was living in New York with my mother and we went to dinner one night. And just as we were about to leave this man came over. He said he was a producer, that he had a play that had just started rehearsals, that he had one part open— for a girl who looked like me, and that he'd like it if I came to the theater and tried out. I did. And I got the part.'" "Just like you read about," said the nurse. "Yes," Lee said, " — except the play flopped." "Easy come, easy go, eh?" said the nurse, laughing a little. "Then what happened, Mrs. Colleran?" "I did some television work," said Lee. "Then I did a picture, my first picture.'* "Which was that?" "It was called A Face in the Crowd." Lee said. "I had a small part. I played the drum majorette, who marries Andv Griffith—" "Ohhhh." said the nurse. "Now was that you?" "Yes," Lee said. She smiled a little. She seemed to be remembering something. The nurse, glad to see the smile, wanting to see it stay for a little while, at least, leaned forward and asked, "And what did I say that was so funny?" "Just what he said," said Lee, " — the very first time I met him." ' Your husband, I'll bet," said the nurse. Lee hesitated. "Tell me about it," said the nurse, "if I'm not being too nosy . . . That first time you met." "It was at a party," Lee said, after a moment. "It was a few weeks after the picture opened. There were lots of people there — some of the biggest names in the business. And I was a nothing. But when I'd be introduced to them, always as the girl in A Face in the Crowd, they'd say. 'Oh of course, you were wonderful, just wonderful.' At first, it made me feel good, very good. But then, after a while, I noticed that all of them, every one of them, said it exactly the same way ... I began to think that half of them hadn't even seen the picture, or me . . . And I began to feel sad." "And then," said the nurse, "Prince Charming came along — and he had seen the picture." "Yes," said Lee. "The person who introduced us, me and Bill, mentioned A Face in the Crowd. Bill looked puzzled. I told him I'd played the drum majorette. 'Ohhhh,' he said, 'now was that you?' — just the way you said it. And then he said. You were pretty good, Miss Remick. You aren't going to win any Academy Awards for what you did. But you were pretty PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS The photographs appearing in this issue are credited below page by page: 9 — Globe; 10 11 — Darlene Hammond of Pictorial Parade, £>ave Sutton of Galaxy. Frances Orkin; 12-13 Vista Photos. Globe, Wide World: 14-15 — Vista Photos. Wide World. Frances Orkin, UPI; 16 — Frances Orkin, Toby Massey of Gilloon. Al Wertheimer of Topix; 22 — Globe: 2427 — Greene of FPG. Gilloon Agency: 28-30 — Larry Schiller; 32-33 — Galaxy; 35 — Globe; 37 — Dalmas-Pix: 38-41— Wide World, Pictorial Parade. Bob Beerman; 42-43 — Globe; 44 Dick Miller of Globe; 46-50 — UPI. Wide World. Bernie Abramson: 51-53 — Carl Fischer.