Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1948)

According to all indications this young lady's very first encore of a Park Avenue tumbler will be far from her last. The fact is she’s a very discriminating woman. w You see, more women have encored t cith their purchases , the fresh sparkling beauty of the Park Avenue than any other tumbler ever made. W Furthermore, since the turn of the century, Federal-fashioned tumblers, tableware, beverage sets, occasional and ornamental pieces have graced millions and millions of American homes. Look for the Shield ^ of Federal when you buy glassware. It’s your assurance of lovely crystal, unmatched in color, clarity and brilliance, at a very low cost. THE FEDERAL GLASS COMPANY Columbus 7, Ohio Blue Jeans ( Continued, from page 35) time the elderly couple had gone home — which was their big mistake. For had they carried their sleuthing a little further they would have discovered a number of unpredictable Yvonnes all housed in the same intriguing frame. The start of the De Carlo-Lancaster idyl was typical. The minute Burt stepped on the Universal lot (description — tousled light brown hair, blue eyes, six feet three inches of muscular build), all the matchmakers at the studio said, “Yipes! We must bring him and Yvonne together!” So they did. The setting was perfect — a romantic tropical set complete with palm trees. The costumes were perfect: Burt was dressed in prize-fighter tights for his role in “The Killers,” and Yvonne was wearing one of her breath-taking dancing costumes. But the result! Bored at first sight! They each nodded a brief and faintly sneering, “How do you do,” and then walked rapidly in opposite directions. TWO months later, Yvonne went to a big Hollywood party escorted by a man who had best remain nameless. The dress she wore was one of her De Carlo designs — a gray background print with big splashes of red and yellow flowers picked out in sequins. She was warmly cordial to everyone she met— and then she remet Mr. Lancaster. The bow she gave him was ice trimmed. But he acted as if she had enveloped him in a torrid embrace. “Darling!” he shouted. “I’ve been waiting impatiently for you to come — let’s dance!” Dance they did. And while they danced they exchanged insults. “What a stuck-up, affected star role you were playing when I first met you,” murmured Burt in her ear as they tangoed. “May I say the same? And you haven’t changed on second sight,” said Yvonne in her most honeyed tones. But Burt had more to say and he said it. “Know when I first liked your looks? When I saw you a week ago, walking across the lot on your way home. You were wearing flat sandals and a little print peasant dress. You looked like an Italian peasant girl and you looked swell!” “You mean I looked natural?” snarled Yvonne. “Exactly. And you look almost natural tonight!” he added. So what was the result of Meeting Number Two? She ditched her escort and went to dinner with Burt to continue the Battle of the Sexes. It’s been going on ever since, at swimming pools, amusement parks, symphonies and stables. Speaking of stables, when Yvonne finishes with Burt, he’ll be as much of a horseflesh expert as she — she’s teaching him all the tricks of riding. Meanwhile they carry on their kiddingquarrelsome romance everywhere in Hollywood . . . whenever she isn’t off boating with Stirling Hayden. Or talking aviation with Howard Hughes. Or going out with some new swain. Not that she doesn’t have women friends, too, whom she jams into her jigsaw puzzle days. She sees Pat Starling, Helen Walker, Ava Gardner and Maria Montez regularly and often. But mainly she’s acting on impulse — all over Southern California. On Sundays, for instance, her telephone rings steadily with invitations to come swimming at lavish pools, in her most lavish bathing suits. But does she accept? No. Because, much and Mink earlier that morning, Stirling Hayden had walked from the sixty-five-foot schooner he calls home across a dock and into a public telephone booth. There he had called Yvonne and said “How about some day labor on your day off, kid?” And Yvonne, lying in her huge bed looking up at its silken canopy, had said, “Surest thing you know!” With which she had replaced her satin night gown with a pair of faded and paint-splashed blue jeans. Then she had added a pair of dirty tennis sneakers, a patched shirt and she was ready to kiss her mother goodbye for the day and drive down to Santa Monica harbor and Stirling’s boat — to swab decks and polish brass with Stirling. Her parties are as unpredictable as her life. To begin with, they’re so small they can hardly be called parties . . . yet the most unexpected things happen at them! TAKE the last one. She gave it in honor of the RCAF flier who made her a star by leading twenty buddies in sending her picture to Walter Wanger. His name is Ken Ross-MacKenzie and he had just flown down from Vancouver. The minute Yvonne heard his voice over the telephone, she shrieked cordially, “I must give a party for you — tonight! Come at six!” She then gave him the address of her one-acre ranch in San Fernando Valley (which boasts a one-string of horses), and called Ava Gardner, Burt Lancaster, Maria Montez and Pierre Aumont. Then she herded her mother into the kitchen to get a bouffet dinner, topped by a big ham. At six o’clock, Ken Ross-MacKenzie arrived, and Maria and Pierre. They were coated knee-high with mud. Yvonne was amazed. “Where did the mud come from?” she inquired. “From the road outside your house,” they informed her sourly. “No doubt you overlooked it, but all the roads around here are tom up. The city is apparently laying pipes. And we will bet you two to one that your other guests never get here.” They lost their bet because both other guests arrived. But Burt Lancaster was an hour late, and Ava Gardner two hours tardy — and each blanketed in mud. Their cars were stuck hopelessly in ruts a block away. Burt got his out — with the help of a tow-truck and some heavy boards — in time to go home but Ava’s stayed tipped in a muddy ditch all night long. She hitched a ride home with the other guests. After dinner three neighborhood musicians plowed through the mud to entertain them with a jam session. It was a fine party . . . although everyone spent it in their stockinged feet to avoid tracking mud on Yvonne’s new rugs! One of the most unpredictable things about Yvonne is her attitude toward the “Keep Face” rule of Hollywood — where everyone buys swimming pools, mansions, cars and coats on the installment plan, but nobody mentions same. Nobody except De Carlo. When she first bought her oneacre estate she told everyone blithely, “Yes when I get the mortgage paid off it’ll be mine, all mine!” Everyone gasped. Nobody had a comeback for that kind of repartee because nobody in those parts had ever before heard it. By the time a mink coat came into her life, people should have been used to her honesty. The mink coat was a result of a good-will tour she made to Mexico. “I simply have to have a mink coat GOLD IS WHERE YOU FIND IT! You’ll find Photoplay’s GOLD MEDAL Award winners IN FEBRUARY PHOTOPLAY! 72