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THE marriage Lana Turner fought long and hard to save has ended. Lana, with new reserve and maturity, doesn’t talk about it, or about Steve Crane whom she is divorcing. Heretofore she always has been willing — even eager — to talk of whatever she was doing or thinking or feeling. She has followed her impulses with a child’s lovely and reckless impulsiveness, caring nothing about vague tomorrows, interested only in the same bright hour.
Years in themselves do not bring maturity, a philosopher has said, it is what happens in the years. . . . This being true, bringing Cheryl into the world, planning to equip her to face life and coming, at last, to the end of her rough, uncertain road with Steve, all these have been more important to Lana than anything that ever happened to her before. And it is, after all, understandable that this should be so.
Lana is aware that she is different. “I’ve changed a lot,” she said not long ago. “People used to call me impetuous. How I hate the word! Maybe I was impetuous once. But no longer.
“My mother — my pretty mother who is a grandmother at forty — can be found, any fine day, buying out the toy department at Saks. She is living with Cheryl and me in my little house in West Los Angeles and we manage beautifully.
“I’m so lucky to have my baby. She’s getting so cute. She’s going to be musical, I think. Already she beats her hands in time to rhythm and turns her head in the direction of any music she hears, and listens intently. She’s naturally a good little girl and I want her to grow up that way. I’m really not spoiling her.”
Lana has come a long way from the little high-school girl a talent scout discovered at a soda fountain in Los Angeles. She wore red then — red shoes and red dresses and red hats. Sometimes you could scarcely see her for her clothes.
She knows better than that now. The other day, for instance, she wore a heavy white crepe dress, cut low of neck, and white high-strapped slippers but no hat or stockings or gloves. Her whitely gold hair was piled high in provocatively tumbling curls. Her flawless complexion glowed like pink carnations and her arms and lovely legs were browner than Russian mink.
Only a few weeks earlier, on April 8, Lana had begun her suit for divorce from Stephen Crane, charging that he caused her “great pain and anguish from which she continues to suffer.” She had asked the right to the exclusive custody of baby Cheryl Christiana, bom last July 25, conceded the right of visitation to the baby to Steve and waived alimony claims. ( Continued on page 79)
ana
. . . reacting just as Hollywood thought she would to her recent divorce from Stephen Crane
BY RUTH WATER8URY
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