Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1945)

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Around nine o’clock everyone goes home; for this is a crowd of actors and tomorrow’s camera will wait for no one. Then you and Barbara do the dishes, while Sonny sits astride a kitchen chair nearby learning his script for tomorrow’s scenes. Sonny always learns his dialogue while Barbara works in the kitchen. When his lines are learned, he grabs a copper pan and a spoon and does some quick (and very good) drum routines. Then Barbara cues him on his lines for the next day, after which the three of you go out to the veranda and sit for a few minutes looking down the valley, listening to the evening symphony of frogs, crickets and coyotes . . . for a very few minutes. By that time you’re all sleepy. And you all troop off to bed . . . you having just decided to take them up on their suggestion that you stay overnight. Upstairs, you find to your discomfiture that you’re going to have Barbara’s room — because, though there’s a guest room downstairs, it’s one of the rooms that Barbara hasn’t yet furnished to her satisfaction in this new house. So they’d rather put you in Barbara’s square, gay bedroom with its sloping ceiling and its tiny marble fireplace. The wallpaper is white with quaint nosegays of rose and maroon blossoms; and there’s a cedar chest, a walnut double bed with a pale green spread, and a chaise-longue with a white fur thrown over it . . . but none of this is finished yet, Barbara tells you. Sonny has his own yellow-tiled bathroom, but he doesn’t like it so he shares Barbara’s . . . and so do you! You love her dressing room, which is a fluffy combination of red and white; and on her frilled dressing table are two pictures of Sonny with the two inscriptions on them: “I love you, Baba — Sonny,” and “To my beloved Baba — Sonny.” «\A/ANTA see my room?” Sonny asks ' ' boyishly now, and even though Barbara protests that it isn’t any more finished than her room, in you go. His room is almost Spartan in its neatness. A mahogany dresser holds some after-shave lotion, and a wooden paddle from his days at Yale in the DKE house with the legend burned into it: “Sonny Tufts from Tink Carey.” There’s also a picture of his brother David in his uniform as a lieutenant commander. On his chest-ofdrawers are only three objects: A pair of cowboy boots with silver trimmings, flanking a stunning picture of Barbara dressed in Spanish costume. On the wall are two graduation diplomas, one from Yale, one from Exeter, and both made out in Sonny’s real name: “Bowen Charlton Tufts III.” Now he guides you through Barbara’s sewing room, and all of Barbara’s sewing equipment from machine to wire dress form is here. Yes, Barbara not only paints china, cooks, cleans, gardens and upholsters, but she also makes all of her own clothes. She has even made plaid shirts for Sonny; and his favorite pair of slacks came out of her sewing machine. Sophisticated? Well, hardly! Sonny’s day begins long before you wake up the next morning, with a shower in which he invariably sings “Accentuate The Positive.” By the time you yawn your way downstairs, Barbara has made his breakfast, and has driven him to Paramount Studios because Sonny hates to drive; and now she’s back hard at work “A Frenchwoman gives as much thought to her selection of perfume,” says Renee McCormick, “as she does to her clothes. Although I had my choice of innumerable French perfumes, 1 use Djer-Kiss. It is a lovely fragrance — not only feminine, hut unmistakably chic!” Pronounced "DEAR KISS*