Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1948)

i The Woman I Love (Continued from page 53) The answer: “Yes, and he can be hers.” So in this piece about Susie, the pretty, brown-eyed, brown-haired girl I married, you’ll see why she is more than my wife, more than the mother of our little Alana and David — she’s also my friend Susie, my best friend Susie. I’ll tell you some things I’ve never told before . . . But first, let’s get it straight: This will be no smug account of a “perfect marriage.” Susie and I would as soon flavor our coffee with insecticide as to pin that dangerous label on our union. Nor will this be a saccharine tribute. Susie isn’t the saccharine type. She isn’t “perfect,” praise be; if she were, she might expect perfection from this all too human and imperfect husband. Lret’s put it this way. Susie is right for me. She gives me every reason to believe I’m right for her. We live in the warm loneliness-dispelling assurance that we belong to each other. We get along. IND one of the main reasons we get li along, we both believe, is that we were friends before we fell in love. Marriage counselors today are advising just such a basis— friendship ripening into love — for good marriages. Susie and I didn’t have a marriage counselor, but that’s how it was with us. We were lucky. First time we met, neither of us took the count. Neither of us gasped, “This is it!” The story of Susie’s work as my agent has been told often. That’s all right. That’s “success story” stuff. But Susie and I lived day by day through the early struggles and we didn’t know the happy ending. We shared the disappointments and rebuffs, the tiny triumphs of a small part here, a bit there. All I knew was Susie’s faith in me. This faith kept her plugging for me at the studios as if I, an unknown, were already using Oscars for paperweights, doorstops and bowling pins. It was in those days, making the studio rounds together, that v^e came to know each other. I’m a born worrier, but around Susie I began to feel relaxed, probably because I’d found someone as eager for my success as I was, someone who was worrying for me. We got so we could kid about losing parts — but not always. Susie is a fighter, but she’s also a woman. Once, when it looked as if nobody, nobody wanted this guy she so believed in, Susie cried. “Laddie,” she sobbed, “they’ve just got to see what you can do!” , Not for the first time, nor the last, a woman’s tears worked wonders. Trying to cheer her up, I forgot my own disappointment, my frequent uncertainty and shyness. I forgot myself. “They will, Susie, they will,” I said with more confidence than I really felt. Oddly enough, I began to believe it. Before that first year was out, I had become increasingly conscious of my need to be with Susie. I was living for the moments I could be near her, talk with her, see her smile. And one day — bright boy, this Ladd! ; — light dawned. I was head over heels! I rushed to Susie with this amazing discovery and, happily for me, I found her sharing it. I had to be a success ! now. There was real point in it. And after ! the first reports on “This Gun for Hire,” I j felt that I could ask Susie to name the date. My contract wasn’t for big money, but the hope was there — in the public’s reception, : in the fan mail, in Paramount’s plans for me. Everything was perfect, until . . . Well, the bitterness is gone now, and most 1 of the anger. I’m telling this now because it • I shows, better than I can otherwise, the ; ' kind of girl my Susie is. 1! fW Say GINO (Gee, No!) for these Roustabout shoes in black-as-soot, kitten-soft suede slimiy, trimly highlighted in piping hot red elk. Also accented in black or green . . . 7 ^ ■■ . /f*>cda?(y Twinkle Your ToesT Rise and shine in the TUCSON . sleek 'n’ chic suede or elk, to add ■’ spicy note to any costume. ; Town brown, black, /J red Of green. / J| Available at .All Ketiiu Departnrent and Specialtv Stores . , . lor !)ne nearest you, -/mb to MARILYN SHOE COMPANY Milwaukee Vv’fsf;un-?in P 95