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can Rocks marriage be saved?
HER SIDE HIS SIDE
Everything had seemed so perfect when Phyllis Gates was wed to Rock Hudson, every girl’s dream man — handsome, tall and strong, steady, faithful and honest. The kind of man who makes an ideal husband. And, with his career going into high gear, there wasn’t a single cloud in the way of the petty financial problems that beset so many newlyweds to mar their happiness. They were going to have an idyllic life, travelling to all the far-off places they wanted to see; then, after a while, settling down and children . . .
Rock’s work as a star, she knew, was complicated and demanding, something quite baffling to the uninitiated. But what girl understood the business better than she, who had been executive secretary to Rock’s agent, Henry Willson ? She felt that she knew it very well. And that she knew Rock well, too. They’d dated for a year, steadily, before they married. Now, she wonders if she was not wrong, on both counts. Very wrong. And, what hurt the most, wrong about Rock.
From the beginning, even from the day they were married, things weren’t quite what she’d expected them to be. They’d had the quiet little wedding they wanted, away from the glare of Hollywood. ( Continued on page 93)
“Phyllis is a wonderful girl,” Rock Hudson would say, when people asked him about his wife. “She’s warm, and kind — well, wonderful. You know.” He never was much of a man with words. And some things, he felt, were too personal to be paraded for everyone to see.
Phyllis. She was everything he’d been looking for in a wife, for so long. She wasn’t like the Hollywood glamour girls. Not that he had anything against glamour girls. But he didn’t want to marry a career girl. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he believed that a woman’s place was in the home, making her husband happy and raising his kids.
That was what Phyllis wanted, and it suited him fine. It was so great, after his long, empty bachelor life, to come to the house he’d built as the fulfillment of all his dreams, to find a light in the window, and Phyllis there to greet him, with a hot dinner ready.
How nice it was to have a wife who attended to all the worrisome details he never could cope with — like remembering to send his suits to the cleaners, and sending thank-you notes. He’d always been careless about such things. He was a miserable correspondent. But Phyllis ( Continued on page 92)