Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1951)

Liz as a Bachelor Girl (Continued from page 38) home one afternoon, and said, “Elizabeth, sing for Miss Hopper.” (After which I said, “Elizabeth, sing for Mr. Mayer.”) I know that Elizabeth has been severely criticized for moving into her own apartment, and not running home to Mamma, following her divorce from Nicky Hilton. I don’t blame Elizabeth. I think it is high time she broke the umbilical cord. But I haven’t approved of some of the things that young lady has been up to lately. I was all set to give her a verbal slugging. But when she said, “Just not nineteen happy, Hedda,” in a voice loaded with emotion, I was trapped. “Show me your apartment,” I said. “Let me see how the world’s most famous bachelor girl lives.” I once wrote in my column, “Liz Taylor has very little temperament and almost no side.” I was as right as rain. Elizabeth has just about as much side as a barn swallow. Her apartment proves that. To begin with, it’s a furnished apartment, second-story rear, with back staircase conveniently near by, in one of those brand new two-story apartments in Westwood. Modernistic both inside and out. The living-room is painted in soft sea green with darker wall-to-wall carpeting. A twopiece sectional sofa covered in gold-brown nubby material is separated with a twolayer end table. On the end table is a handsome gold clock, one of Elizabeth’s wedding presents. Also on the end table are two pieces of wood with fancy metal tops in a slinking design. Elizabeth said she didn’t have the slightest idea what they were, but she liked them. 4LSO in the living room are a pink-gray ft chair, a pink armchair, a modernistic desk and chair, and a very attractive end table of glass. I dragged out a chartreuse chair from one of the bedrooms, and Elizabeth agreed it helped to give the room something. The drapes, of a heavy white and gold check material, are always drawn. It’s a room without a view. On the desk and the tables are cigarette boxes (Liz is a moderate smoker) and silver dishes full of peanuts and candies — of which she is very fond. When you’re nineteen and weigh 112, that’s all right. As nothing in the room belongs to Elizabeth, except the gold clock and silver knickknacks, it doesn’t reflect her at all. The paintings are dreadful. “And you the daughter and the niece of international art dealers,” I chided. From a closet she hauled out a painting of a girl by Angna Enters and paintings of a windmill and flowers by Benton Scott. I helped her hang them. “You’re my first company, Hedda,” she complained. “Most of my things are in storage at Bekins. The silver tea service in the dining-room is mine, and I have some of my own silver in that box in the corner. (Elizabeth was given a silver service for forty-five by Gorham for a wedding present because she posed for them.) I have some of my china, not much, in the kitchen cabinets, and,” she added with a giggle, “I have cups without saucers. Before I have any more company I’ll have to make a trip to the warehouse. I plan to do the whole place over in time,” she continued. “I shall start with my bedroom. It’s dusty rose and it’s dreary. I keep my eyes closed until I get out of the room in the mornings so I won’t have to see it. But everything costs so much. Right now I am on a strictly no-spending campaign. For the first time I realize the value of money. And I haven’t got any of it. Well, not literally. But I soon will be broke. See that telephone pole?” She Does tjour daughter haw truths she can trust about MANY TH/MGS, PFALZ. AMP ^ F/LZSF/ MUST WALZM Ek YOU ABOUT A GM V£ H WOMANLY OFFENSE . . IMF ATS ALL TF/S / FFAFL ABOUT MAFF/AGF tap*. L/YG/FMF.MOMP* fc/fT ' Modern mothers will make sure their daughters have the latest scientific information on this intimate subject. . 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