Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1959)

LIZ AND EDDIE Continued from page 52 P 90 hanging limp, that the long, silky fur was stained with blood. “She was at the side of the road. Must’ve been a hit-and-run driver,” he mumbled. Then Liz said softly, “How can people do such things? An innocent creature that never hurt anybody!” An omen of bad luck? It almost seemed so. It seemed to represent all the unhappiness that was being left behind in that house on Copa De Oro Road. Resolutely, Liz stood up straight, and began to busy herself with final packing details, bustling the boys and the baggage into the car. Then she went inside for the baby — Liza — bringing her out to the car. And finally they were all settled in. As the car swung around the curves of the road, up and down hills, past the exquisite landscaped estates of Bel Air, she made sure she looked only directly ahead. The trip was a pleasant one and ended several hours later where the road ran flat and straight across parched desert country. Ahead they could see the ranch they had rented, only a mile from the airport, only five miles from the ’round-theclock razzle-dazzle of downtown Las Vegas; yet Liz felt a glorious remoteness and freedom in the calm space around her. At an intersection, a signpost flashed by. They were traveling along Paradise Road! Take that for a lucky omen. Somehow, these days, she saw omens in everything. As they slowed and turned off the highway into its grounds, a man stepped into the middle of the dirt road and halted the car with a raised hand. Before the driver could speak, the man spotted Liz. “It’s okay, Mrs. Todd. Just checking.” The guard waved them on, and Liz settled back, reassured. As the owners of Hidden Wells Ranch had promised her, she would be safe from intrusions here; her privacy was being well protected. The main building looked secluded, set in a grove of juniper trees. Still farther from the road was the cottage where she and the children would stay. It was hardly luxurious, a modest-sized white frame house with vines creeping around the screened-in porch. But it had a peaceful, comfortable look, with lots of play area outside for the children. “There was a pool!” Michael said excitedly, as they climbed out of the car. “I saw it!” “Swimmin’ pool,” little Chris exclaimed, hanging onto his older brother’s hand. “Did we bring our trunks?” Michael went on. “Can we go in?” “Tomorrow morning,” Liz promised, “we’ll all go to the pool. But right now it’s nap time for everybody, or you’ll be too tired to eat your dinner.” In her arms, Liza stirred and murmured, in her sleepy baby-talk, words that sounded like “Maggie” and “went away.” The tiny girl didn’t know about the family pet and the hit-and-run driver, of course; the idea of death was too much for even her half-brothers to fully understand. Maybe too much for any of us, Liz thought, as she leaned over and touched her lips to the baby’s dark hair. Her own mind was thinking back to a far deeper tragedy. Its pain had receded; rather, she had learned to live with it and to look again to the future. Yet there seemed to be a strange look on her face as she saw Mike Todd still alive in his daughter’s small features. The children had napped and been fed and played with and tucked away for the night before Liz began dressing for her own dinner. She would be taking her meals over at the main building. Feeling oddly listless, she chose a bronze chiffon dress. No longer new, it was cut full in the Empire style. After she’d put it on, Liz scarcely glanced at herself in the mirror. She wandered into the living room and stood idly by a window. The quiet she had longed for suddenly seemed oppressive; the dark sky, in spite of the brilliance of stars over the desert, suggested looming emptiness. Moving to the opposite window, she saw the stars blotted out and the darkness lightened by a pink-tinted glow rising from the north: the gaudy flare of Las Vegas’ neonlined main drag. She could sense the gaiety and music in the night clubs, the tension hot and crackling around the gambling tables. But it was all more than five miles away and suddenly she felt cut off from everything, suspended in air, aimless. Where was she heading? Yet in a split second, her restless mood changed. All it took was the sound of familiar footfalls on the wooden steps leading up to the porch. The screen door creaked open and closed gently, and then he was across the porch and into the living room and his arms were around her and everything was all right. She smiled at him and slid her hand across his hair, long but brushed back neatly. “We’ll be at home here,” Liz said softly. “It’s going to be a wonderful rest.” Eddie had brought with him, into the room, the exhilarating gambler’s spirit of show business, and Liz was swiftly caught up in it. His opening night had to be a complete triumph. It just had to be. She had faced with him the uneasy atmosphere of his TV show’s closing night. Oh, he had put on a terrific performance then; the columnists had saluted his showmanship and courage. Ship had gone down with colors flying. “We’ve got just the right line-up of songs, I think.” Eddie was now striding up and down the room, “And the boys in the band are great. I’ve got a feeling — the Tropicana’s lucky for me.” “You mean you’re lucky for it. You were its very first star.” Eddie had scored a hit at the hotel’s opening, two years before. People in Las Vegas remember the occasion sentimentally; one woman says, “Debbie came up while he was here. She brought their baby, and Eddie brought them out on the stage. It was real nice then.” Yes, Debbie had turned their suite at the Tropicana into a nursery, with lots of furnishings from home, even a rocking chair for Carrie’s lullabies. But this time Eddie’s suite at the Tropicana was reserved in his name alone. “I think I’ve learned a lot since then,” Eddie said. “Singing — acting — whatever it is, the important thing is to keep on learning.” Liz looked at him. “Hmnun,” she said, her head on one side, waggling a finger at him. “There’s something there, all right.” Eddie knew in a second who it was that she was imitating, who it was that she was quoting. “I’ll never forget Mike saying that.” The name was never long absent from the conversation whenever Liz and Eddie were together. Now they could talk about Mike Todd happily, grateful to remember the man they had both loved, as husband and as friend. “First time I met him,” Eddie had told her once, “I was only seventeen, the greenest kid you ever saw. But Mike gave me one chance after another at that audition. No favors, mind you — he did turn me down in the end. But he believed I’d make it some day.” He crossed the porch in quick, springy steps, charged with nervous energy. Eddie would need that for his opening show, Liz understood. Who could forget the surging vitality, the drive that had made Mike Todd a master showman? Eddie had that energy, too, she was sure. The next three days were lazy days for her. Michael and Chris seemed to be in the pool as much as they were out of it. Whooping and splashing, paddling around with superb confidence, they made Liz laugh, they made her happy. Liza played in the sun, gaining strength and new life under its warmth, which gradually made her mother forget the frightening days of the little girl’s illness, only a few months before. Tenderly, Liz shielded her from any overdose of the desert heat. Whenever Eddie had time between rehearsals, he came out to the ranch, and on each visit he seemed full of buoyant optimism. Yet Liz could feel the mounting tension as Monday went by, Tuesday, Wednesday, with the minutes ticking closer to the opening that night. Fortunately, there was one experience she did not share; it was kept from her until the day after it happened, when the ugly facts hit the papers. On Wednesday afternoon, Eddie left his room and arrived downstairs at the Tropicana entrance to see a line of pickets outside, four men and a woman, parading up and down with WHO ARE YOUR FAVORITES? I y/ant to read stories about (list movie, TV or recording stars): ACTOR ACTRESS (1) 0) (2) (2) (3) (3) (4) (4). The features I like best in this issue of PHOTOPLAY are: (1) (3) (2) (4) Name Age Address 7-59 Paste this ballot on a postcard and send it to Reader's Poll, Box 1374, Grand Central Station, New York 17, N.Y.