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marriage is just a year older than Jayne Marie,” Jayne told me. “A dear little girl called Tina Marie.”
“We’d love to have her with us, of course, but being a mother myself I know how impossible it would be to part with a child. And as long as she’s in Los Angeles with her mother, Mickey can see her,” Jane said.
This Mickey, this twenty-seven-year-old Mr. Universe, to whom Jayne gave her heart on sight, is quite a lad. She’d first glimpsed him at the New York night spot, The Latin Quarter, where Mickey was appearing with Mae West — and from the first instant, it was love for both of them.
He’d traveled a long way and through devious routes from a boy of seventeen, fleeing the Communists in his native Hungary, to the heart of Jayne Mansfield. But exactly as Jayne had yearned for Hollywood, Mickey had yearned for America and all things American.
“Why wasn’t I born in America?” he would ask his father, a man of means and owner of a theater chain in Budapest.
Mickey was thirteen when the Communists took over, and, incidentally, took over his father’s theaters one by one. He remembers hiding all day in bombed-out buildings, sneaking out at dawn for food and water and receiving a back full of shrapnel for his efforts.
At seventeen, with a Pan American ticket from London to New York in his pocket, gift of an American soldier, he made his way across the border to Prague, to Frankfurt, to London, hitchhiking all the way, missing Communist bullets on one occasion, escaping internment camps for displaced persons, walking through the nights, too excited to eat and even shrewdly making a dollar or two along the way.
In Frankfurt, the American Consul granted him a six-month visitor’s visa and somehow, in some wonderful way, he finally made New York.
He couldn’t leave the airport with the wonder of it all. Nothing was bombed. He stood and stared and gulped his tears of happiness.
A job at fourteen dollars a week and all the bananas he could eat in a small Brooklyn fruit store, gave him sustenance. And gave the fruit dealer a shock when the bananas, by the bunch, disappeared within the fruit-starved lad.
Eventually he made his way to Indianapolis and the home of a cousin. And since the cousin was a professional dancer and Mickey had studied ballet and drama in Budapest, they formed an adagio team and toured the country. Later, after he’d received his first citizenship papers, Mickey married an American girl and again took to the road as a team.
After the breakup of the act— and the marriage — Mickey became a builder in Indianapolis, building and selling houses at a fat profit. On the side, he quietly bought up hilltop lots that today are worth many times their value.
At the suggestion of a friend, Mickey, always a muscular marvel, entered a “Mr. Indiana” contest and won. Encouraged, he entered a “Mr. Mid-Western” contest in Kansas City and won. But the heavy Hungarian accent lost him the “Mr. America” contest in Cleveland. “It wooden look right, a ‘Mr. America’ talk like me,” he explains.
So, with his American citizenship papers in hand, Mickey set out for England and the “Mr. Universe” contest at London’s Palladium. And won. And stood on the stage and almost wept his Star Spangled speech of thanks.
As Mr. Universe, Mickey joined Mae
West for an extended tour that ended forever the night Jayne walked into the Latin Quarter and walked right out with Mickey in tow.
He never went back.
When Jayne came to Hollywood and a movie career, Mickey, their love, their cats and a white mink coat in the middle of August, came along. Jayne was all set to kill the people with furs and feathers while Mickey remained quietly in the background, building things around Jayne’s home. Dog houses, fences, swimming pools, bed headboards and mosaics of Jayne. All in pink, her favorite color
His devotion was apparent to all. And calmly accepted by Jayne until that fatal day when love reappeared, and the couple decided they were altar-bound, a proud and happy-beyond-words Mickey, a new and glowing Jayne.
Today Mickey is busy with “Golden Boy,” a men’s perfume about to go on the market. “We need only a little more backing to put him over,” he says, and frankly admits to selling his precious bonds to buy Jayne’s ring. His role as Tarzan in Jayne’s movie, “Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?” brought favorable reviews, and Mickey himself isn’t averse to a movie career.
“I wait and they will maybe one day find me,” he says. And “they” could certainly do worse.
Leaving “Mansfield’s Madness,” as Jayne has elegantly dubbed her small abode, 1 was suddenly struck by a thought.
“By the way,” I called to the two ol them at the top of the outdoor stairs, “where will you spend your honeymoon?1'
By the blankness on their faces I knew this was one more detail that had been overlooked.
“Maybe to Alaska,” I suggested.
“T’as right,” Mickey said. The End
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