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By ERNST JACOBI
M
Ifluch has been written about Doris Day’s charm, her brightness, her radiance. There is nothing to question. It’s really there: the shiny blond hair, the clean looks, the sparkling blue eyes and, of course, the smile — a terrific smile, wide, warm, utterly disarming.
The place on the Warner Brothers lot where the stars and the executives eat lunch is called the Green Room. It looked pretty drab until the moment Miss Day, followed by Marty Melcher, came through the door. She brightened the whole room. There’s an electric quality about this girl. She gives off sparks. You know, when you meet someone like Doris Day, that you’re meeting a personality; that you’re in the presence of a star. But a comfortable, down-to-earth sort of star.
“I’m hungry,” Miss Day said, sitting down and looking over the menu. Miss Day has a
reputation for being hungry. “I think I’ll have the steak.”
“Me, too. And I’m having French fries with it,” Marty announced belligerently. “I did twenty laps in the pool this morning. I’m trying to take off a few pounds and it’s murder!”
Marty — Marty Melcher — is Doris’ husband. He’s also her agent, business partner and sometime boss when he’s producing one of her pictures. He’s also known to be her tower of strength.
What was the secret of their success in marriage? I asked.
“It’s very simple,” Marty answered. “Half the time I let Doris have her way; the rest of the time I give in.”
“Don’t let him kid you,” Doris bristled goodnaturedly. “Between my two men at home I don’t stand a chance. They gang up on me and lead me around ( Continued on page 103)