Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

over to her and they exchanged surprised greetings of “How’s Bob . . .” "In town three weeks. . . while we stood by. “What in the world is that?” Leslie asked, pointing down to some little fur objects on the counter. “That,” said Dolores, “is the latest in covers for golf club handles — mink, yet! Bob figures if he takes care of his golf clubs in style, they’ll return the favor and help him do eighteen holes under eighty-four strokes. I only hope,” Dolores sighed sadly, “that husband of mine stays in town long enough to use them.” Then Mrs. Hope’s expression lighted up, “Why not get a set for your husband?” “I’d really love to buy them for Peter,” Leslie said, “but how can I? He doesn’t play golf!” Lugging a brand new backgammon set for Mr. Hall, we trudged back to the toy department where he was still entranced with the model trains. “Blast it!” came a low moan from Peter, who had just accidentally derailed an express. Then quickly he leaned over the glass partition, righted the engine and cars and silently grabbing Leslie’s arm, hustled her away down the aisle. When we stopped for breath, we found ourselves in front of some toy houses — a lovely corner of miniature domesticity. “Funny, but when I was a child I never played a great deal with toys and dolls and things like that,” and she gestured toward the miniatures. “I started dancing when I was ten and somehow the idea of a home and family was pushed out of my dreams by the idea of becoming a ballerina.” Reminded that that’s exactly what she did become — and a mighty famous one at the age of eighteen when she was picked out of Roland Petit’s Paris ballet to appear in “An American in Paris” — Leslie laughed. “That’s true, but it took me so long to develop a real set of values, to find out that a husband and family are the most exciting goals to work for.” And with a backward glance at the miniatures we wandered down to the doll section. At the far end of the counter stood the figure of a prima ballerina, her tutu of an iridescent silver texture, a small crown upon her head, caught in a pose of eternal beauty. Beneath it a pink fan was spread out and on it rested two satin dancing slippers. Leslie gently lifted the ballerina off her pedestal and held her up. “She is so lovely, yet somehow so sad. When she is twenty she will be loved and applauded. At thirty she will be at the peak of her talents, and at forty? Then there will be nothing for her but to teach the young ones.” Then, coming out of her reverie, “That is how it so often goes.” And she rested a slim gloved hand on Peter’s arm. “It could have been that way for me. But fortunately, I wasn’t that dedicated to my career. Do you know why I decided never to dance again? Well, after Christopher was born, I made myself get back into practice again — after all, it’s not easy to give up such a big part of one’s life. I worked up my practice periods from a half-hour a day to hours and hours. Then, one evening after I'd been practicing — oh, I don’t know how long, I was so exhausted I got a chill and had to wrap myself in a blanket and drink hot tea. And I thought to myself, ‘This is so foolish. Here I am, a happily married wife and mother with a wonderful future before me and I’m trying to kill myself. For what?’ And suddenly, there was. just no answer to that. So I decided I would never dance again. And I still feel I never will.” Peter’s eye was caught by a collection of toy soldiers in suits of armor. “I really ought to have one of those,” he said. “A director can’t be too careful these days!” “You should have had it the first time I met you,” Leslie murmured. “You’re telling me! You see, what happened is, they hired another Peter — Peter Glenville to direct the stage version of ‘Gigi,’ the first show Leslie did in London after leaving Hollywood three years ago. She was delighted when she heard who was to do it. Then, suddenly, plans were changed and they brought me in as substitute. I won’t say the quick-switch horrified her, but it must have been unnerving.” “It certainly was,” Leslie picked up the thread of the tale. “I’m afraid I was ready to be disagreeable when I met Peter number two, but after the first rehearsal I found myself saying. ‘He’s marvelous!’ every time anyone would ask me. Then I suddenly realized I was in love with him — and I don’t think he was too far behind,” and she looked to Peter for agreement. Just to tease, he said, “Well-1,” and appeared very uncertain. “Then, too,” Leslie continued, trying to suppress her amusement, “Peter’s rather outgoing and I’m shy. But some of his ease with people rubbed off on me, I think, and I got so I didn’t even mind making a ‘thank you’ speech opening night. “That was quite a change for me because up until then, I’m afraid, I considered most of the people I worked forincluding the audiences and especially the executive people in charge as . . . as . . .” and she searched for the right word, finally pointing and saying, “like that.” There on the floor was a huge bear with a friendly yet slightly menacing expression on his face. “But Peter’s given me such a feeling of assurance that now I can hold my own with almost everyone. Why, I spent months begging M-G-M for new, more adult roles and now they agree with me that I was right and they were wrong!” “And that’s not the only way she’s changed,” put in Peter. “Don’t you think she looks different?” We agreed and added that furthermore we’d noticed it when we first saw her but we’d hesitated to bring it up until she did. At this, she threw back her head and laughed. “I really don’t have the same face I did three years ago,” she beamed. “I mean,” she continued, “when I went back to M-G-M for retakes on ‘Gigi,’ Bill Tuttle, head of makeup, looked at me and seemed very puzzled. I said, ‘What’s the matter, Bill?’ But he didn’t answer — just went on looking at me suspiciously. Then, in the middle of doing my hair, he threw the comb down on the table with a bang and went over to the wall where he keeps life masks he makes of players when they first come to the studio. He took mine down and brought it over. Then he shook his finger at me and said. ‘I was right! You just don’t look like this girl!’ And I said, ‘That’s right, Bill, because I’m not. I'm so happy these days I really am a different person!” “I think I will buy Chris those railroad trains,” Peter suddenly broke in, as if he’d been mulling over the idea and finally come to a decision. “And I think I’ll buy your mother something in the jewelry line rather than the lamps. And I think,” he said looking down at the large box under Leslie’s arm, “that is very, very big for a bottle of perfume.” Leslie’s face went rosy as she clutched Peter’s backgammon set a little tighter under her arm. “Now that we’re on the subject, just what is that package on the floor next to you? You weren’t really watching the trains all the time we were away shopping, were you?” she asked disconcertingly. It was Peter’s turn to redden as he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Well,” he began. “I can’t tell a lie and I won’t tell the truth, either, so I suggest we all go out and have something to eat. Incidentally, darling,” he said to Leslie as he led us swiftly onward, “have you ever thought of taking up golf?” The End Leslie’s next for m-g-m is george Bernard Shaw’s “the doctor’s DILEMMA.”