Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1960)

JANET AND TONY Continued from page 51 was no mistake. Janet was mad. But people should have known better than to ever suggest there’d be a separation — or a divorce. No marriage that has survived as much good and bad as Tony’s and Janet’s, is easily destroyed. Besides, they were the first to admit they’d quarreled. Like in the beginning . . . They quarreled over everything and nothing, like newlyweds do. They argued because Tony dropped his dirty socks on the living-room floor — and because Janet picked them up. They quarreled because Janet wanted to have meals three times a day — and no being late — and Tony wanted to exist on salted peanuts, eaten whenever he was hungry. They fought because Janet thought they should buy a house — and Tony insisted they couldn’t afford it. But, in time, they learned to laugh and to give. Tony, coaxed to the table, stayed there to eat, to smile at his wife, to say with the honesty that turned her heart over with love, “You’re right about regular meals, Janet. I feel healthier these days, you know? And Jan — even when we fought about it — I loved you for loving me enough to care about what kind of junk I ate — ” And Janet, learning also to give, to bend, began to leave the ashes in the ashtray rather than to leave Tony’s lap to empty them; learned to let a little untidyness creep into her home and into her life — since it brought with it so much love and tenderness. Learned to soften in her attitudes, learned to be wrong and happy sometimes, instead of right and in tears. The little apartment was, perhaps, not as neat as it used to be. But somehow they seemed to spend much more time in it, together, alone. That was 1951, 1952, the early years. They got through them by being ready to change, ready to grow. But, in 1954, they came to a place and a time where change was not enough — where growth came to a sudden, terrible halt. And the strange thing was — it happened partly because things were going so well. They had moved, by then, from the cramped little apartment, to a rented house — roomy enough to satisfy Janet, not too expensive to overwhelm Tony. They had undoubted security now — money in the bank, contracts in the desk drawer. They had survived tragedy when Janet lost their first baby halfway through her pregnancy — with Tony thousands of miles away on location for a film. They had gotten over that, helping each other, loving each other. They should have been a sure thing by now. But they weren’t. “Why?” Tony would ask her, over and over, pacing the floor, wearing restless paths across the living-room carpeting. “Why am I so jumpy? Why am I so moody all the time? Up one minute, down the next — ” Janet would consider. “Well, the kind of life we lead is sort of uncertain, always on the go — ” Impatiently, Tony shook his head. “That’s not it. Not it at all. Look, if things were lousy, I’d understand it. If things weren’t going okay; I’d be right to be scared or moody. Who wouldn’t be? But, Jan— things are going great. And I’m still — scared.” “I don’t understand,” Janet said worriedly. “What are you scared of? How do you know something’s wrong?” “I’ll tell you. A crazy thing happened this afternoon. I’m standing on the set, see, and this fellow came up and sort of looked at me funny. So I said, ‘What’s the matter, you don’t like my clothes?’ So he said, ‘I never said a word about your clothes.’ And I got furious. I said, ‘Don’t tell me that, you’re looking at them like you don’t like them, now get out of here, don’t stare at me, beat it — ’ and then I found out he wasn’t staring at me! He wasn’t disliking my clothes — or anything! He was just a man, just standing there, that’s all. Don’t you understand?” “No,” Janet said, bewilderedly, “I don’t.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, a new demon had come to rage in their lives; a demon that neither patience nor love, nor talks with Tony’s mother, could drive away. And Hollywood, noting the lights that burned late in the Curtis house, hearing rumors of shouting and stamping and slammed doors, watching Tony stalk angrily through the quiet streets, lips tight, eyes tense — Hollywood watched and nodded and whispered, “They made it this far, but no farther. This is the end . . But there was no divorce. But, that month, they made a decision together that shook both of them deep and hard — much deeper, much harder, than the simple words describing it can imply. It was this: Tony would go to a psychiatrist. Tony would go into analysis. In our day and age, this is not news. In Hollywood, particularly, analysis is as common as Cadillacs — and more costly! f 64 STATEMENT OF OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT. AND CIRCULATION REQUIRED BY THE ACT OF CONGRESS OF AUGUST 24. 1912, AS AMENDED BY THE ACTS OF MARCH 3, 1933. AND JULY 2. 1946 (Title 39. United States Code. Section 233) of PHOTOPLAY, published monthly at New York, N. Y., for October 1, 1959. 1. The names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business managers are: Publisher, Macfadden Publications, Inc., 205 East 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. ; Editor. Evelyn Pain, 205 East 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. ; Managing Editor, Claire Safran, 205 East 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. ; SecretaryTreas., Meyer Dworkin, 205 East 42nd St., New York 17, N. Y. 2. The owner is: (if owned by a corporation, its name and address must be stated and also immediately thereunder the names and addresses of stockholders owning or holding 1 percent or more of total amount of stock If not owned by a corporation, the names and addresses of the individual owners must be given. If owned by a partnership or other unincorporated firm, its name and address, as well as that of each individual member, must be given.) Macfadden Publications, Inc., 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17, N. Y. ; Meyer Dworkin, c/o Macfadden Publications. Inc.. 205 East 42nd St., New York 17. N. Y. ; (Mrs.) Anna Feldman, 835 Main St., Peekskill, N. Y. ; Henry Lieferant. Hotel Franconia, 20 W. 72nd St., New York 23, N. Y. ; (Mrs.) Elizabeth Machlin, 299 Park Avenue, New York. N. Y. ; Irving S. Manheimer, 205 East 42nd St., New York 17. N. Y. ; Samuel Scheff, 1841 Broadway, New York 23, N. Y. ; Joseph Schultz, 205 East 42nd St.. New York 17, N. Y. ; Arnold A. Schwartz, c/o A. A. Whitford. Inc., 705 Park Ave., Plainfield, N. J. ; Charles H. Shattuck. Box 422, Pharr, Texas; (Mrs.) Elizabeth B. Wise. RFD 1 — Box 326, Onancock, Va. 3. The known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding 1 percent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are: (If there are none, so state.) None. 4. Paragraphs 2 and 3 include, in cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books of the company as trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for whom such trustee is acting; also the statements in the two paragraphs show the affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to the circumstances and conditions under which stockholders and security holders who do not appear upon the books of the company as trustees, hold stock and securities in a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner. 5. The average number of copies of each issue of this publication sold or distributed, through the mails or otherwise, to paid subscribers during the 12 months preceding the date shown above was: (This information is required from daily, weekly, semiweekly, and triweekly newspapers only.) (Signed) MEYER DWORKIN, Secretary-Treasurer Sworn to and subscribed before me this 23rd day of September, 1959. (SEAL) TULLIO MUCELLI, Notary Public State of New York No. 03-8045500 Qualified in Bronx Co. Cert. Filed in New York Co. Commission Expires March 30, 1960 But to Tony Curtis, brought up in the hard, tough world of the slums, lying on a psychiatrist’s couch was not a fashionable pastime— but a terror and a disgrace. It was something for crazy men, not for him. For guys who thought they were Napoleon. It was an admission that he had lost control of his own life. . . . For all he knew, it meant he was really insane — that he would end up in an asylum . . . And to Janet it meant, in a little way, she had failed as a wife. Tony, literally shaking in his shoes, went to the analyst the next day and was relieved to find, not a cushioned couch, but a desk and a chair, and a battery of tests lined up for him to take. He took them; the result came out: Sick. That he already knew. But something else came out that he had not expected: “Your intelligence rating is very interesting,” the doctor said. “Your score is in the ‘low-brilliant’ class.” “ ‘Low brilliant!’ ” Tony snorted. “What are you giving me? At the studio I tell them, don’t send me complicated scripts — I don’t understand a word of them.” “Really?” the doctor said gently. “Now, that’s interesting, too, isn’t it? Why do you suppose a man who has a brilliant mind thinks he’s stupid?” That night, Janet heard the story from her bewildered husband. She listened carefully; she said nothing. Tony’s prob : lems belonged to the psychiatrist now, j j didn’t they? However much it hurt, she I would be doing the right thing for him I by not interfering — wouldn’t she? But she had always read a great deal, I ever since her college days. That week, 1 she finished a book, a new novel by a fine I writer. She dropped it casually, one evening, on a table by Tony’s club chair. “Just >1 got done with it today,” she remarked, offhand. “I thought it was pretty fair — maybe j you’d like to read it — ” “Aw,” Tony said disparagingly, as he had said so many times in the past, when J Janet suggested a book, a movie, a play 1 he thought too intellectual for him. But, j this time, his voice trailed off. This time J Janet, busying herself on the other side I of the room, saw from the corner of her 1 eye, that her husband’s hand moved slowly 9 toward the book, picked it up, dropped it, fa picked it up again . . . The lights burned late in the Curtis 1 home again that night. But not because 1 of a fight. Tony was reading a book. Two days later, at dinner, he said to her: “You know, I finished that book of yours this afternoon. I phoned you five times to tell you what I thought about it — got me all worked up. Only, finally, I remembered you were working today — 1 funny, I was really dying to talk about it.” $ Her heart did a small flip. And she I thought: I should have been home this 1 afternoon. It was important. I wish I had been. The months went by. Now Tony was * seeing the doctor three to five times a 2 week. Almost every day, Janet watched I him go. Tony did seem calmer now, she I told herself. Happier to live with. And, fl of course, that was good for him, good J for their marriage. But she herself felt I helpless, useless. She didn’t want a good 1 marriage handed to her on a silver platter I — she wanted to build it herself, with her 1 own hands and heart. But she waited. And then, one day at the studio, she ] received a phone call. They held up j shooting to let her answer it, because j Tony insisted so. She picked up the phone 1 and his excited voice said, “Jan? Jan — r listen, honey. We had what the doctor i calls a ‘breakthrough’ today. I remembered .