Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

becoming attractions A. “Deauville,” a sparkling new fragrance by DuBarry. is a floral bouquet with lively citrus notes and warm woodsy undertones. Perfume, j/2 02 •, $5.00.* B. Formulated to leave your hair in the “pink” of condition, new pink Pamper shampoo by Toni now replaces original amber-colored Pamper. 35(L 60G $1.00 C. Something different in fragrance: Caron’s new and exotic “Narcisse Noir" (Black Narcissus) lotion. 5%-oz. size. $6.00*; with atomizer cap. $7.00.* D. F or a soft touch: Angel Skin hand and body lotion by Pond’s now comes in new plastic squeeze bottle with convenient dispenser cap. 10-oz. size, $1.25.* E. From French couturier. Balmain, his “Jolie Madame” fragrance in new pursesize perfume, $4.00* and cologne in leak-proof bottle for travel, 2 oz., $3.00.* *plus tax “I — uh — just spoke to my son. He’d like to come for a visit. . . .” “Your son?” Betsy said, astounded. “Cary, you haven’t got a son!” Cary turned slightly purple. “Oh, of course. I mean, my — my step-son.” Betsy’s voice was even more bewildered. “But I haven’t got a child, so how can you have a step-son? What on earth . . . ?” “I’m putting it very badly,” Cary sighed. “What I mean is — I know it’s a lot to ask of you under the circumstances, but — it’s Barbara’s son Lance. He wondered if he could stay with us a while. We — we used to be very close.” It was a lot to ask. But Betsy, looking at her husband, saw deeply as she alwavs did. Saw how much Cary wanted them to have children of their own. how deep the hurt had gone when it looked as if there wouldn’t be any. “Of course,” she said softly. “Ask your son to stay with us as long as he likes.” Of course, not everything was perfect, not right away. There were tbe little things. Reading was not Betsy’s only hobby: she wrote, she painted, she swam. Shortly after their marriage she decided to take up photography. As with everything she does, she threw berself whole-heartedly into it. Within a week, their honeymoon house was bursting with cameras, flash bulbs, light meters. On literally every chair were stacks of manuals about picture-taking. Cary, stumbling for the fourteenth time over one of eight tripods, finally lost his temper. “Betsy, you’ve got to find a hobby that doesn’t take up so much room! Why don’t you learn how to write on the head of a pin?” And there was the time that they shocked Hollywood by telling a reporter calmly that they not only had twin beds but separate rooms! “Cary believes in it,” Betsy said blithely'. It would have been too hard to explain that he was just now, under Betsy’s guidance, learning that being alone for a while could do wonderful things for a man, that he had to have a place now where he could shut a door and be completely alone with the new personality emerging from himself. In the storm of interest the separate rooms aroused, a dozen reporters appeared at the Grant house. Betsy, remembering all the things Cary had told her about courtesy-at-all-times, tried to be polite. Finally it was too much and she threw caution to the winds. “How much do you charge for your magazine?” she demanded of the writer. “Fifteen cents.” “Well, for fifteen cents, nobody gets into our bedroom!” These two people had found so much within themselves, wffh each other that, at first, they really didn’t need anyone else. To those whom they loved, Dorothy di Frasso, Lance, Ingrid Bergman, the Stewart Grangers (they were god-parents to little Tracy Granger) they were friends for a lifetime, friends far beyond the ordinary run. But for the world at large — they were too busy being together. And there was nothing they didn’t do together. They went on health kicks together; for a while they lived exclusively on a Vitamin C thing called “Rose Hips.” When Betsy took up writing instead of acting— because it left her free to be with Cary — he insisted on reading her every page. "Then he would tell me exactly what was wrong with it. I would get furious, rave and rant — and then when I calmed down I’d know he was perfectly right. He’s a perfectionist, that’s all.” So successful has the collaboration been that Betsy today is a top TV writer (she uses pseudonyms) and, though she denies it, some of her friends credit her with having written the script of Cary’s new picture, “Houseboat.” And the togetherness went deeper than that. “I’m sick and tired,” Cary said recently, “of being questioned about why I look young for my age and why I keep trim. Why should the idiots make so much of it? Why don’t they emulate it, rather than gasp about it? Everyone wants to keep fit, so what do they do — they poison themselves with the wrong foods, they poison their lungs with smoking, they clog their pores with greasy make-up. they drink poison liquids. “What can they expect?” Pretty strong talk for a man who admits that, only a few years ago, he was a chain smoker and a frequent social drinker. How did the change come about? “Betsy hypnotized me. Literally. She studied up on hypnotism, and when I decided to give up smoking, she tried it out. She put me into a trance and planted a post-hypnotic suggestion that I would hate smoking. We went to sleep and, the next morning, I reached for a cigarette, just as I always did. I took one puff — and instantly I felt nauseated. I didn’t take another that day, and I haven’t had one since.” Nor does he over-eat, over-drink, or gain weight any more. “I have only one vice left. Making love to my wife.” He would grin at you. “I recommend love." “She is the only person in the world who has ever belonged entirely to me,” 1 Cary had once said of Betsy. “I love her so much that — words fail me.” But after j nine years, Cary had to face the reality of a marriage that had ceased to be a marriage. Betsy might belong to him, but she couldn’t be left to wait alone for him in the unfeeling manner of a possession. He couldn’t be that selfish to anyone he loved i that much. He had to set her free. “As far back as I can remember, I longed ; for a home of my own. for roots,” Betsy had once said. “All my life I never had ' any until I met Cary. . . .” She’d given up her acting career and turned to writing, a , lonely, solitary profession, so that her career wouldn’t conflict with Cary’s career or with their marriage. Now, after nine ! years, she could pace the empty halls in the tragic knowledge that she still had not found the home she longed for so deeply. She knew that Cary would welcome her along on his many trips to make nictures in Spain or England, in France or Italy, or on his promotional tours throughout the States. But this, too, was not her way of life. She would go back to acting — j at least until she found that true home. “We have had, and shall always have, a deep love and respect for each other,” their mutual statement read. “But, alas, our marriage has not brought us the happiness ! we fully expected and mutually desired. So, since we have no children needful of our affection, it is consequently best that we separate for a while. . . . There are no plans for divorce. . . . We ask our friends to be patient with, and understanding of our decision.” They made the statement, each with a deep desire for what was best for the other. They smiled, each brave for the other, at their last time together for . . . for how long? It was as simple as that. A glamorous man with an unhappy heart. A plain girl who had been lonely all her life. Love brought them together once — and though they are parting almost for love’s sake, it may bring them together again. The End you’ll ENJOY CARY IN M-G-m’s “NORTH BY NORTHWEST” AND BETSY IN 20th’s “INTENT TO KILL.” 74