Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

JANET AND TONY Continued from page 49 face. He raised his right hand. “I hereby resolve not to buy a single toy for either Jaimie Lew or Kelly unless it’s absolutely necessary.” “And that’s going to be pretty often,” Janet laughed. “Come on. We’d better get dressed. It’s almost seven-thirty.” “Hey!” Janet said entering her room. “What happened to your limp?” “No damage. For sale is one old, battered parent.” He collapsed into a slipper chair covered in ice-blue satin. “Aren’t you going to start dressing?” Tony lounged back comfortably. “I’m giving you a handicap.” Making a pert monkey face at him, she took out her lingerie for the evening. She pushed aside the sliding door of the closet where her clothes were neatly ranged: dresses, skirts, blouses, pants, each in a separate section. “Trouble with you,” Janet said, “is you’re a compulsive shopper.” “Yes, doctor.” She was looking at the plastic boxes up on the shelf. “Who ever heard of a man buying his wife hats? And two or three at a time!” “I send ’em on approval, don’t I? You could always send ’em back.” “Yes, but I never do. Your taste is too good. Like the dresses you buy for Kelly’s dolls. They’re positively the best-dressed dolls in town.” Running a hand along the line of her own dresses, Janet paused and moved it back to a drift of pale blue. She lifted the hanger off the rod and drew out a silk dress cut in the trapeze style. “You’re not going to wear that tonight?” Tony said. “You’ve got your figure back — and cute new clothes to go with it!” “But you bought this for me. Don’t you remember?” Janet smiled slyly, holding the dress against her. “ ‘About time you got into maternity clothes,’ you said. The designer would have loved that! It’s very high-style — last summer it was the latest thing.” “How was I supposed to know? I see it in the window — ” Tony sketched its spreading outline in the air. “ — Think it’s good-looking, have ’em do a fancy giftwrap on it, hand it to you. Then you look at the label and kill yourself laughing!” The last of the smile trembled on Janet’s mouth. “I’m sorry. Now I’ll make a resolution: Next time you do anything that sweet, I won’t laugh— even if it’s funny!” Returning the blue trapeze to the closet, she took out a chiffon dress instead, nearly floor-length at the back, but with a slightly higher hemline in the front, flowing in soft folds. “I think I’ll wear the yellow — ‘topaz,’ they called it. Empire. But modified— it clings when I walk.” Arms folded, eyebrows critically bent, Tony inspected the dress. “I like it,” he finally decided. Getting up briskly, he went into the next room. Janet looked after him fondly as he switched on a lamp in his own brown-and-biege-tinted masculine domain. He paused to give a good-luck pat to a grinning, fat-bellied statuette of an Oriental god. “And you’re always buying things for the house — like that — ” she called out from under her dress. “Like what?” Tony’s voice was raised over the beginning hiss of the shower. He was saying something, but now the shower was going full blast, and she couldn’t understand his comeback. While she put on her robe, she cocked her head, imagining she heard another voice — one that hadn’t learned to shape any words yet, but could build up a volume to rival the hi-fi. Though there was reassuring silence out in the hall, away from the noise of the shower, she went on into the nursery. A shaft of light touched on the gleam of white furniture and a patch of sunshine-yellow wall. Leaning over Jaimie’s crib, Janet could just make out the perfect shape of the small head. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see the tiny fist curled next to the baby’s face. She leaned closer. A clean healthy, happy baby has a special, sweet scent all her own, she thought. If you nuzzle close against it — maybe at the nape of the neck, below the silky hint of hair — it smells sweeter than any flower. But Jaimie was sleeping too peacefully, and Janet straightened, drawing a deep breath of contentment. “Thought I’d find you here,” Tony whispered. He was standing in the doorway, tying his terrycloth wrap, a damp towel slung around his neck. When he came over to join his wife beside the crib, she began, “Did I tell you — ” He put a forefinger against her lips, so she waited until they were out in the hall to continue, “Did I tell you what Kelly said the day Jaimie was a month old? I happened to mention it, and she said — very hopefully — ‘Birthday cake?’ I got a cupcake and stuck a birthday candle in it. But she just scowled and said, ‘Cake!’ I thought she meant it was too little, so I said, ‘Darling, it’s big enough for just one month. When Jaimie’s a year old — ’ And then I realized what she wanted. You wouldn’t think she’d remember all the way back to June!” “My birthday cake,” Tony chuckled. “Can you imagine? “Her idea of a proper birthday cake is a doughnut on a plate, with a nice big candle stuck in the middle. I’ll never forget her face when she carried it in. And everybody’s birthday is ‘Happy birthday, Daddy dear.’ ” “We rehearsed that all day. And . . .” “What’s the matter?” Janet was caught mopping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “Nothing.” “If you bawl just talking about it, what’re you going to do when Jaimie’s a year old?” Janet looked up, blinking the tears away. “I’ll make another resolution: I will not cry!” “You sure?” “Oh, Tony, I shouldn’t. We’ve been so lucky. When I remember how we worried before Jaimie was bom. The night we were in that car crash — I was so afraid that — ” “I was pretty shook up too,” Tony admitted, reflectively rubbing his hair with the towel. (Irrelevantly, Janet thought: His hair curls so when it’s damp.) He started back toward his room. “If Sinatra hadn’t been right in back of us. If he hadn’t taken over the way he did — calling the hospital, calling the cops.” “Lots of ifs,” Janet said. “That’s one wonderful thing about trouble — the way real friends pitch in. Mostly, I think it’s better to remember just the funny side of it. Like that fan of yours who came up while we were waiting.” Tony gave a whoop of laughter. “Was he a prize-winner! I didn’t think I was hearing right. There I am, trying to talk to you as if I’m sure everything’s going to be okay. Inside, I’m half-crazy worrying. And then this joker comes up and says, ‘Gee, Mr. Curtis, I seen you in “The Vikings.” You was great! Ya mind tellin’ me— how’d they cut your hand off?’ ” Applauding the impersonation, Janet hooted. “An Oscar for the grrreat Mr. Curtis!” CALLING ALL CATS ! OF PHOTOPLAY , RIGHT WHERE IT SAYS Dick Clark, Contributing Editor. *4 THAT MEANS HE’S ON THE PREMISES EVERY MONTH, WITH COLUMNS COLUMNS AND OF COOL NEWS. JUST FOLLOW THAT BIRD DOG ^ RIGHT ON DOWN TO THE NEWSSTAND FOR THE MARCH EEEEIS1 . IT’S THE MOST AND IT’S ON SALE icST* #JST FEBRUARY 5.