Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

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e andra, is that you?” His voice came over the telephone, just as deep as it ought to be when you measure six-feet-two from your crewcut to your white bucks. “What time should I pick you up tonight?” I was glad he couldn’t see my face as I answered, “You’ll never believe what’s happened.” There was a pause at his end of the line and then he said, “What?” “Well, you see, it’s like this. I . . . uh . . . I’ve been shot!” “You’ve been what?" “We were shooting this scene. I didn’t tell you I was making a western, did I? Well, you know we use blank bullets, but if they hit you, you can sometimes get hurt anyway. Well . . . um . . . one of them hit me.” “Gosh Sandy,” he said, “that’s awful. Are you hurt bad?” “Oh, it’s only a shoulder wound,” I said bravely. “Well, who shot you?” “I was ambushed by an Indian.” “Did you pass out?” he asked. “Oh, no. I ... uh ... I just staggered a bit and then someone caught me.” “Did you bleed a lot.” “No, only a little. It’s just a flesh wound.” “Gosh!” “I told you you wouldn’t believe it.” “How’d you get to the doctor? On a stretcher?” “Well, there’s always a doctor on the lot. He just came over to our set and tended me there.” “Oh, I see. Well did you have to come home in an ambulance?” “Yes, but it was a small ambulance. And they didn’t turn on the sirens.” “Is the bullet still in your shoulder?” “Oh, no, they took it out right there on the set.” “What’d they do with the bullet?” 1 Continued on page 94) I’ve got the MUMPS by SANDRA DEE Take a tip from me. If you’ve got to be sick, cheer yourself up with a pretty blue blanket and a frilly bedjacket. Honest, it’s better than penicillin.