Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

have gotten sick just the night of the awards ... so sick that her doctor had to come and sit by her bed to make sure she wouldn’t try to somehow get to the theater and . . . A new voice cut through my thoughts and I looked up to hear a brunette woman whose red dress matched the shoes next to mine saying, “Joan, I’m just dying to see the rest of the apartment. Could we have a tour?” “Oh, I love showing people through the place,” Joan said. “Maybe, though, the men wouldn’t be too interested. I guess we can leave them here with Al.” “Hey, no fair,” I said. “Well, I’d like to have you along,” Joan said. “I just didn’t think you . . . All the men who want to come are welcome.” Then, when all fourteen of her guests stood up and started to follow her into the dining room, Joan laughed, half with surprise, I guess, and half with pleasure. “We used to have eighteen rooms, all rather small,” Joan explained, “so we remodeled the place into eight large, sunny ones.” “What an unusual table!” one of the guests exclaimed, running her hand over the inlaid gold and silver discs of the first diamond-shaped table I’d ever seen. We moved on to her kitchen which was immaculate. It could have served as an operating room in a pinch. In, a corner, one of Joan’s French poodles waited for her to call him. “Here, Masterpiece,” she called and he bounded over to her to have his ears scratched playfully. When Joan told him to sit, he obeyed her instantly. Then she led us through the hallway to her writing corner with its carved desk and chair. A sheet of her silver-monogrammed letter paper was centered on the white desk pad. Upstairs, she took us into her bedroom which is the most feminine room I’ve ever seen in my life: all pink and white with one wall covered with soft drapes. “That’s my garden,” Joan laughed, pointing to a collection of tall rubbery plants in the far corner. “Oh,” she said excitedly, “I must show you the bed!” And with a wonderful carefree abandonment, Joan stretched out on the pink bedspread. Leaning over to one side, she turned a knob, and the head of the bed noiselessly rose to a forty -five degree angle, the way hospital beds do. Then she fiddled with another knob and the lower part of the bed rose to a sharp angle. Now both Joan and the bed were in a V-position. She’s a good sport, too, I thought, as we stood watching, and laughing as she jerked back and forth. Toying with the knobs, Joan returned the bed to its normal position. “I want you all to see my view,” she said. “It’s my California in New York.” Joan walked toward the curtained wall, paused for a long moment to heighten the dramatic effect, then parted the curtains in the middle with one hand and whispered, “Look!” Outside, the snow sparkled in the air; millions of jewel-like snowflakes glittered all over Fifth Avenue and Central Park — probably the last snowfall of the season. The island of Manhattan, with its own island of park at its heart, lay spread out before us. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispered. We stood there, all of us, watching quietly, and, for the first time that evening, I realized Joan was just one of us, a simple human being awed by the beauty before her. “What about coffee?” Joan asked, breaking the spell. We nodded and she led the way back to the living room, then glided out towards the kitchen. It was Al’s turn to take the stage. “She’s a wonderful woman,” he said. “You’ve no idea what she does for people . . . and she’ll never talk about it. She probably wouldn’t like my telling even you, but did you know she’s been financing eight beds in the Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital for more than twenty years? They’re for show people who aren’t able to pay their own way. Well, one day, when she went down on a visit and found a plaque had been put up commemorating her generosity, she ordered it to be pulled down immediately. “She looks after the beds with her own doctor who takes personal care of the patients.” Soon we had our coffee and not long after that it was time to leave. Then I found myself back in the hallway and almost couldn’t find my own plain black shoes. The red-silk landmark I’d parked them next to had already departed. It had been a most unusual evening. As I left I thanked Joan and Al, shook hands with the few guests who were still putting the final knots to their shoelaces and walked down the hall to the elevator. I was practically the last to go. Just as the elevator man swung the doors open I overheard Joan’s dramatic voice saying, “Oh, Al, look! Someone’s left fingerprints on my lovely white wall.” “I wonder who could have put them there,” I heard Al say just before the door shut. Everyone in the elevator had heard and somehow I felt they were all looking at me. Gosh, I thought, did I do it? Am I the one who put the fingerprints on Joan Crawford’s wall? I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets and hoped hard that it wasn’t. The End 1. Germicidal protection! Norforms are safer and surer than ever! A highly perfected new formula releases antiseptic and germicidal ingredients right in the vaginal tract. The exclusive new base melts at body temperature, forming a powerful protective film that permits long-lasting action. 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