Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

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Ages 2 inos. to 20 yrs. Hush 1 small photo for approval Print child's and mother’s name, address on back. Returned 2 weeks. No obligation. Testimonials sent. HOLLYWOOD SPOTLITE, Dept. AE 8344 Beverly Blvd., Hollywood. Calif. Woman Nearly Itches To Death "I nearly itched to death for 7^2 years. Then I dtscovered a new wonder skin creme. Now Tm happy,” says Airs. D. Howard of Los Angeles Here’s blessed relief from tortures of vaginal itch, rectal itch, chafing, rash and eczema with a new amazing scientific formula called LANACANE. This fast-acting, stainless medicated creme kills harmful bacteria germs while it soothes raw, irritated and inflamed skin tissue. Stops scratching and so speeds healing. Don i suffer ! Get LANACANE at druggists ! not knowing what to say — but suddenly there, beside her, handing her a notebook she had dropped, starting to talk, a little breathlessly, about nothing at all. And Cheryl, staring at them with hurt, frightened eyes — and then, slowly, beginning at last to understand. When they left her, they had promised to save her a seat at lunch. For the first time that day, she ate her sandwich and drank her glass of milk as part of a crowd. And the curious eyes that focused on her were met, for once, not by her own shy ones, but by those of the girls around her — defiant and unafraid. All it took was that. Within a month she knew half the girls in school. They walked her home, they traded notes with her, borrowed her clothes, and found to their surprise that they didn’t have to think of Cheryl as a charity case — she had a lot to offer in friendship, a good sense of humor, a tremendous amount of generosity, a sympathetic ear. It got to the point where one teenage boy complained to a reporter, “Cheryl? Why, she’s the most popular girl in school. If you say anything bad about Cheryl, you can’t get a date with any girl in the place.” And as facts began to replace fiction, the stories, the jokes died down. What was there to say about Cherry really? That she was a quiet girl who usually sat in the last row of class. That she was, despite her new friends, still shy, still withdrawn. That, as the boy said, once the girls took her in charge, they looked out for her just fine. C^herry had never had friends of this sort j before. These were not the girls who had gone to private school with her, girls a little too rich, a little too spoiled, a little too homesick for real friendship. These were not the girls she had met in the few weeks of school she had gotten in the' dozens of cities, the foreign countries she had visited with her mother — girls who knew that Lana Turner’s daughter was staying for just a few weeks, who regarded her as an object of curiosity to be pumped for information about Gregory Peck and then dropped for more permanent pleasures. These were girls who were used to living in one place, to going home at night to their parents and families, who were not overly impressed with movie stars because the town was full of them even if their kids seldom went to the same schools. These were normal, average girls, interested in normal average things. Slowly, Cherry began to imitate them, to dress like them, laugh like them. Her tongue became accustomed to the give and take of their chatter. She stopped stooping to hide her height. Her gestures became less awkward because she no longer felt stared at whenever she moved. And the bad dreams began to disappear. Lana, seeing it happen, told her mother that the weight was beginning to lift from her heart. She almost burst with happiness the day Cheryl told her she had been invited on a picnic one Sunday. “But of course I turned it down. I told them, ‘That’s my day with my mother.’ ” Steve Crane, watching this closeness grow, called off his suit for Cherry's custody. “She seems to be doing so well,” he told friends. “As long as she’s happy, it’s all right with me.” And Cheryl no longer felt that her parents were tearing her to pieces in their battle for her custody; she no longer had to feel disloyal to each by loving the other. She even began to date. She had been a little too tall, a little gawky at the time of the tragedy. Now, with her sleep less troubled, she was beginning to fill out in all the right places, to grow up, to know how to wear clothes. Some of her dates were arranged by her girlfriends in school, but more and more boys were becoming automatically attracted to Cherry, to her dark good-looks, her graceful walk. In December she went to New York with her father to meet his new fiancee, Helen DeMaree. Lana, who, a few months before, had viewed Steve’s announcement that he was going to marry again with real fear — afraid it might be part of a plan to convince the court he could provide a real home for Cherry — no longer protested against her going. She helped her choose new clothes. She even met Helen when she brought Cherry home, and thanked her for “being so good to my little girl.” Then, after they drove to Cherry’s grandmother’s house Lana took time to admire the scrapbook of clippings Cherry had made from the trip; the photographs and menus. And they laughed together over the gossip column items that hinted Steve Crane was so attentive to his daughter that his fiancee was probably jealous For the first time in nearly a year, she and Cherry were able to be together without strain, without guilt, with a return of the wonderful closeness they used to share. For Lana, work and quiet and old friends had healed her own heart — but seeing that her daughter was happy, too, was beginning to bring back real joy to her life. Then, that day, when Cherry called Lana to suggest that she go to dinner with Grandmother and herself at the Luau, Lana didn’t even hesitate. The Luau belonged to Steve Crane — a few months ago she would have starved to death before eating in there. There were usually reporters around on the lookout for celebrities — a few months ago she would have avoided being seen by them, would have protested violently against publicity for Chervl. But now — “Sure,” she told her daughter cheerfully. “You want to pick me up or shall I come by for you. . . ?” But Lana had expected a quiet dinner for three — not this wonderful surprise. The waiters handed round rum drinks, served in hollowed out pineapples, and brought a glass of milk for Cheryl. And as they were being served one waiter slipped a large box, wrapped in colorful palm-tree patterned paper, under Cheryl’s chair. Then, just as Fred May was about to stand and make a toast, Cheryl whipped the box from under the chair and placed it in front of her mother. Lana gasped. “It’s for you — Mother. Open it.” “Quiet, everyone,” called Fred. And they all watched Lana unwrap the paper, unclasp the box and draw out an Hawaiian hat, gaily decorated with brilliant tropical flowers. “Oh . . . Cherry . . . honey . . . !” she cried. “There's a note too, Mother,” said Cheryl, peering into the box. Lana found it tucked in a corner of the hat, and after she had slipped the small card out of the surprise gift, her eyes filled with tears as she read: “To my mother . . . Thank you for everything— Cheryl.” Fred lifted his drink. “To Lana,” he said, holding it high. “And our charming hostess,” he added, turning to Cheryl. “To Lana and Cherry,” chanted the others. And they drank. The dishes were taken away, the desserts arrived, and the coffee. And then Lana noticed her daughter looking at her watch and heard someone remark, “Curfew time, huh, Cherry?” And she saw her daughter nod. “I have school tomorrow, you know,” Cheryl said. This time there was pride in her voice as she said it. The pride of a girl who had found the place where she belongs at last. Down the table, Lana’s eyes met Cherry’s, and the look they exchanged was one of love and understanding. The End LOOK FOR LANA IN U-l’s “IMITATION OF LIFE.”