Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1960)

p Avoid Panic When Your Baby is ill You, above all, must keep your head. The pain or the vomiting could be a very simple ailment, or a very serious symptom. But you wouldn’t run out to ask a neighbor’s advice, would you? And hysterical screaming does no good at all. Our advice is FIND OUT ! Find out from an authoritative source. What source? This Book, of course! A QUICK LOOK AT PAGE 70 OR 72 MIGHT SAVE YOUR CHILD’S LIFE Or it might be page 7U or 76, or even page 102 or 109. But, whichever page, the correct answer is there, plus the help you need in any emergency until the Doctor arrives. As a matter of fact there is advice and help on EVERY page from the very first to the two hundred and twenty-second page. Help for the Baby. Help for the growing child. But there is more than emergency help— there is PRECAUTIONARY help. And that is the most im HERE'S A BOOK TO HAVE ON HAND AT ALL TIMES The Modern Book of Infant and Child Care was written by three doctors who know and love children and is completely indexed for easy reference. Get your copy today. Only $1.00 portant of all. MAIL THIS COUPON NOW Bartholomew House, Inc., Dept. WG-160 | 205 East 42 St.. New York 17, N. Y. Send me a cepy of INFANT AND CHILD | CARE. I enclose □ $1 paperbound □ $2.95 j hardbound. NAME I (please print) ADDRESS | CITY STATE I J DEBBIE Continued from page 21 The large rectangular room at 20th Century-Fox was completely jammed. Above the long lines of tables, every light in the commissary blazed. As people entered, they had to squeeze their way down the aisles, past the extra tables that had been added, to find the places allotted to them. The noise was deafening. Everyone was talking at once. Heads turned often to the doorway to see who would be next to arrive. Surprisingly, Marilyn Monroe — so famous for being late — was one of the first this time. The occasion was Hollywood’s luncheonreception for the Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev. Invitations were scarce, and the people who’d been invited were like a Who’s Who of the film colony. They came early and waited patiently for the highlight of the afternoon — Khrushchev’s speech. A few were aware that another type of drama was to be played out. They waited for two people to appear in that doorway: Liz Taylor and Eddie Fisher. This would be the first time Liz, Eddie and Debbie would be together since the breakup of the Fisher marriage. And people tried to guess how Debbie Reynolds would feel when Liz and Eddie walked in. But it did not turn out exactly as they’d thought it would. Liz and Eddie arrived first. They paused briefly in the doorway to get their bearings and to scan the room for their table. Liz wore a plum-colored crepe dress, cut to a deep V at the front, with a small black-mist hat, which you could barely see, to complete the costume. She looked relaxed and happy. But some people thought she looked a little tired. There were slight rings under her eyes and, though she had been on a diet, she was still heavier than the last time Hollywood had seen her. That had been nearly a year ago, when Liz had hurried off to Las Vegas to be with Eddie, while he waited out the few weeks of his quickie divorce from Debbie. Then, after a hasty wedding, they had left together for Europe, where Liz worked and Eddie waited. They remained there until a few weeks ago, when they flew to Las Vegas. Eddie’s California divorce was still not final and, in that state, Liz was not yet his legal wife. But they had flown in from Las Vegas for this luncheon because, as Eddie, who’s very much in love with Liz, explained, Liz was anxious to be there; she’d seen Khrushchev once before when she and Mike Todd had visited Russia. Liz spotted their table — one at the back of the room — and then whispered something to Eddie. Eddie patted her hand, smiled encouragingly and, taking her arm, led her off to their table. It was not one of the top tables. At best, Khrushchev could be seen only in profile. As soon as they were seated, Eddie ordered drinks from the waiter. Liz just sat there, staring straight ahead and fidgeting with one of her big gold-hoop earrings. Debbie — contrary to what everyone had expected — had not been there to see the two of them arrive. She arrived almost twenty minutes after their entrance. She arrived alone. She wore a smart dress and looked chic— a definite change in Debbie is her interest in clothes now. She knows what is most becoming to her, and dresses with more confidence. But, before she could enter the room, a studio publicist ran over to her and said, “Liz and Eddie are here.” Debbie merely said, “It doesn’t matter. Why should that matter?” And then she started across the room, past many curious eyes, to her seat at producer Sam Engel’s table, and only three tables away from where Khrushchev himself sat. She sat down directly opposite Gary Cooper, and looked at the Soviet Premier as he sat at the head table, smiling, nodding, speaking, through his handsome interpreter, to Spyros Skouras. Liz kept turning her head, but she couldn’t see Khrushchev, who had begun his speech now. Finally, she kicked off her shoes and climbed up on top of the table for a better look. Debbie did not turn around. She sat there, listening to the speech, and she seemed completely at peace with herself and with the world. A few people remarked that she looked as if she were used to everything by now — as if she could handle anything— and they couldn’t understand it until a friend of Debbie’s told them what Debbie had confided in her. She said the change in Debbie had begun in Spain, while she was making the movie, “It Started With a Kiss.” She said that this was where Debbie had found herself — her identity as a person— at last. It was all because of a dance, she said . . . It happened one night in Granada, when a group of the people working on “Kiss,” went to the gypsy caves outside the town to see the dances. Debbie sat with her friend, Camille Williams, and with Gustavo Roio, the handsome young Spaniard in the picture, beating her hands in rhythm as the dancers whirled to the guitars and tambourines in the great white-washed cave. But even as she clapped time along with the others, Debbie seemed preoccupied— as if she wasn’t really there. A whole family sat in chairs in the long hall, grandmothers, grandchildren, uncles, aunts and cousins, mothers and fathers, lovers, teenagers; and, one by one, they’d whirl into the dance. There were solos and duets, two gypsy girls danced together, their black eyes flashing, their black hair swinging and shining in the candlelight, and then a seven-year-old boy stamped out onto the floor. He, too, danced while everyone clapped out the rhythm. And, then, the family insisted that the visitors dance for them. Guitars and tambourines kept up the flamenco music and first Camille, then Gustavo, arose to dance. Debbie sat there for a moment, when it was her turn, looking uncertain, but the music — and the mood of the place — had caught her up in their spell. And finally, she stood up, taking a few hesitant steps toward the center of the floor of the cave. Then, in the light of the sputtering, stubby candles, she began to dance — first slowly, almost awkwardly, as if she were afraid she would break, shatter something within her. But after a while, she was whirling about, her hair flying, her heels clicking, and she looked as if she’d found she could fly — as if she were suddenly freed from some dark cage. Before that dance — that moment of complete, abandoned joy — she’d been feeling PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS Pat Boone color by Topix; Annette and Paul Anka color by Topix; Mario Lanza by Phil Bure hman; Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis Courtesy of Columbia ("Who Was That Lady?"); Doris Day color courtesy of Universal-International ("Pillow Talk ). 74