Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

to be like any other day, a day of work. And ali through the morning it was. Scenes were shot, scenes were re-taken and tempers frayed just a little towards midday as they often did when the sharp Mexican sun beat down upon them from a cloudless sky. But even under the heat of the noon sun Audrey went out at lunch time, in her long-skirted Indian girl costume, to practice riding bareback on her tall, white stallion they called Upa. She was determined to ride every scene in the film herself, insisting she did not need a stand-in. And not having ridden a horse at all before, she needed all the practice she could get. So out on the corral, just off the set, she rode around and around, for more than an hour. Then the director, John Huston, called for the start of the afternoon’s shooting and after being quickly made-up in one of the huts, Audrey re-mounted her horse and rode out to a spot by the bank of a river where she was to wait until the cameras were all set. She was alone and riding without saddle or bridle. Audrey guided her horse into the “ready” position and sat waiting for her cue. But she puckered her brow questioningly when she noticed an unusual amount of confusion and running back and forth away over where the directors and cameramen stood. Suddenly, out from the group, a horseman came galloping directly towards her. Upa became tense. The other horse neared. Then suddenly Upa whinnied and tossed his head violently down towards the ground. Audrey screamed. She had nothing to hold onto and slid helplessly forward, over his head and down onto the hard crusty earth. She lay still, unconscious. Away back by the cameras, Huston, with Burt Lancaster by his side, and almost the entire company around them, watched in stunned silence. Then Huston and Burt rushed forward with three wranglers who knew the horses well, shouting to the others to keep back. “Call the doctor,” screamed Huston as he ran. And a few minutes later up rushed Dr. Hernandez, a Mexican physician assigned to the set. The doctor knelt down beside her. She opened her eyes and tried to move but yelled out as a knife-like pain lashed out across her back. “Lay still,” he said gently, and turning to a man standing behind him, said sharply, “A stretcher — quick!” There was an urgent tone in his voice. “. . . Mel . . . please don’t tell Mel,” she murmured. “Don’t tell anyone ... I want to tell Mel. He worries ... he worries so much . . .” And as she spoke three men arrived with a stretcher and gently they lifted her onto it. “Don’t worry,” Harry Hecht, the producer, assured her. “No one will know until you have spoken to your husband. That I promise.” “. . . and everyone, what’s going to happen to you all. How long will it be, doctor, before I’m well again?” She looked up at him. “It is your back that seems to be hurt,” he said. “And your ankle. But you will be up and about again soon, I hope. First we must examine the injury and then I can tell you.” “. . . and tell Mel. I must tell Mel,” she murmured again. They carried her to the station wagon and placed the stretcher in the back. Then Dr. Hernandez made a brief examination. “Nothing’s wrong, doctor,” she said, tryp ing to hide her pain. “We’ll see about that,” he answered, opening his black bag. Over Audrey’s head and through the window Dr. Hernandez could see John Huston, Burt Lancaster and Audie Murphy talking earnestly together. “He was telling me he believes a vertebra may be fractured, “Huston was telling them. “She must be in terrible pain.” “Then she’s being darn plucky,” commented Audie. “And she shouldn’t keep worrying about putting everyone out of work for a few weeks.” He took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and passed them around. “I hope it will be only a few weeks,” said Burt, taking one. “I’d hate to see her become another Susan Peters.” They had all heard of Susan Peters — the young actress who, more than twelve years ago, was injured in a hunting accident and never walked again. Audie gave Burt a friendly pat on the back. “Cheer up,” he said. “She’ll be okay. Come on, let’s go over and say hello before they drive her away.” And the three of them walked towards the station wagon. “Hello,” Audrey smiled as they peeped inside. “I’m taking a vacation. Want to join me?” They laughed. “Say, that’s a great idea,” joked back Audie Murphy. “What about a place called PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS Cowboys color by Warnecke & Schoenbaechler; Elvis color by Tolmein (Globe); Debbie cover by Gene Trindl (Topix); Eddie Fisher and Mother by Dick Hanley (FPG); Curtis Family by UPI; Tony Curtis & baby by Dick Miller (Globe); Frankie Avalon by Gene Cook; Me I Ferrer and Audrey Hepburn by Wide World; Lana Turner and Cheryl by Wide World; Ritchie Valens plane crash by UPI; stars looking at baby pix by Bill Avery. Durango. Heard the weather’s great over there.” Audrey laughed. “Ow!” she screamed a second later. “Don’t make me laugh — it hurts.” Then minutes later the laugh turned to a yawn as the sedative the doctor had given her began to take effect. Sleep . . . lying in her bed Audrey sighed. Sleep then but not now. She looked over at the window. It was already quite dark out. Soon Juanita would be back with the bowl of soup and tell her to try to sleep . . . sleep. But it was so hard to sleep, so very hard. Mel, Mel would come soon. But soon seemed so far away when all you could do was to lie on your back and look at the ceiling. It had been wonderful, though, speaking to him, and hearing his deep voice at the other end of the line. They had just brought her back to the house and set her in this hospital bed which went up and down like a seesaw, just by pulling a lever at the side, when the telephone by the bed rang and she had been told that her call to Los Angeles was coming through. “. . . Hello, hello darling . . .” He seemed so far away, a faint shadow of a voice in between the crackling on the line. “Hello, Mel?” “They tell me you’re sick and in pain, darling. Be brave and rest quietly and I’ll be right there. We’re taking a plane out tonight and I’m bringing a doctor, so . . .” but his voice drowned under the whistling and crackling until only the words . . . “I’ll be there . . .” came through clearly. “Don’t worry about me, darling,” she cried. “I’m all right.” But as she spoke tears began running down her cheeks. And gently the doctor took the receiver from her trembling hand. “He’s coming here . . . soon . . .” she told him. And a wonderful smile spread across her tear-stained face. “That’s good. That’s very nice,” said the doctor, taking the opportunity of insisting she lie as still as possible and rest until Mel arrived. Then he collected his bag and instruments and quietly left the room. . . . But that had been hours ago now. Hours to lie and think. Hours broken only when he came in to peep and see if she was all right and when Juanita brought her something to eat or drink. Hours to worry, hours that ticked by so slowly she wanted to get up from her bed and move the hands of the moon-faced clock that smiled sleepily at her from the table at the end of her bed. She closed her eyes. The pillow seemed so warm, there wasn’t a cool spot left. Think about something pleasant, that’s what she had to do. Or count sheep . . . yes, didn’t her mother always tell her when she was a small girl in Holland to count sheep when she couldn’t sleep? One sheep, two sheep, three, four, five. . . . Again the door opened. It was Juanita with a cup of soup. “Un poco?” She said, bringing the cup over to the bedside. Audrey lifted her head slightly and drank some. What kind of soup is it? She thought. It’s salty, but I wonder . . . And for a moment she took her thoughts away from her pain. Then Juanita left the room and she was all alone again and in the dark. She looked up at the ceiling. The moon had begun to make silhouettes across the beams and shapes darted about like tiny elves. One elf, two elves, three, four, five, six, seven . . . Gradually Audrey dropped slowly, drowsily to sleep. . . . There was a noise downstairs! Men’s voices . . . American voices! Mel! It must be Mel! The door opened slowly. She turned her head. “Mel!” she screamed. And he came running over to the bed and kissed her very, very gently. She forgot about the pain, forgot about her fears. Mel was here! “You do look funny tucked tight in bed like a Christmas package,” he joked. “Oh, Mel. It’s not funny at all,” she scolded. “The doctor said . . .” “I know, darling. I know what he said.” She looked at him questioningly. “He said,” Mel went on, “that it’s not too serious and that the injury hasn’t touched the nerves ... so you should be up and walking . . .” “But when? In a year, maybe.” “No, silly. In a few weeks — four at the most.” “Is that what he said?” “Sure, darling. You know I speak Spanish so even if his English wasn’t so good, I’d have understood him anyway. And from the conference he has been having downstairs with the doctor I brought with me, they seem to be in perfect agreement. But my fellow is going to examine you thoroughly anyway.” And suddenly she found herself laughing, almost uncontrollably, until the sharp pain in her back made her stop. Mel was laughing too . . . she was going to be all right. Mel took her hand. “And darling,” he added, “I’ve got a wonderful surprise. I was going to keep it until later but, well . . . it’s this. I’m flying you with me back to Los Angeles — home. And I’ll be able to be with you all the time there and you’ll have all your old friends around you while you’re getting well, and . . .” “Oh . . . Mel,” she whispered, clutching his hand very tightly. “Everyone’s being so good ... so good to me.” —ANITA ALLEN Audrey’s currently in mgm’s “green mansions.” WATCH FOR WARNERS’ “THE NUN’S story,” and u.a.’s “the unforgiven.”