Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1951)

June — and the Familiar Stranger ( Continued, from page 59) know it’ll be a happy birthday. Evvie’s giving me a party. We’ll look forward to seeing you both then on the first.” Evvie spoke to her dad, hung up and eyed the small figure opposite. “Daddy said you had all the details, so he wouldn’t repeat them. Give — ” June was smiling. “He speaks with a Southern accent, did you notice, Ev?” “Why not? He’s been living in Memphis for twelve years.” “I wonder,” said June, far off again, “what he’ll look like. Twelve years is a lot of years.” EVVIE and June, ten and eleven when their parents broke up, had felt as if they’d been tom down the middle. Dorothy, several years older, understood things better but to the younger girls, life without both parents seemed unimaginable. Mother was the constant center of their little world. Daddy, traveling for National Carbon and Carbide, had to be away a lot; but when he came home, everything turned gayer and more exciting. He had a dry humor that made them giggle, and a disposition that nothing could rile. He played the piano and sang and took them all dancing at Alt Park. First he’d dance with Mother, then with each of the girls. Deep in their hearts, the girls hoped at first that Mother and Daddy would get together again — a hope that died when Daddy married Florence. They rarely talked about it. Even as youngsters they realized that what couldn’t be helped had best be left unhashed. Marie and Fred Stovenour faced the reality of their rift with regret, without rancor, but chiefly with the determination that their children should suffer as little as possible. Summers and holidays were to be spent with Daddy. Far from trying to push him out of their lives, Mother did all she could to bring him close. Casually, she managed to keep him in the picture. “Your father would be proud of you, June — ” “Evvie, you sound just like your dad — ” Dad, when occasion arose, referred just as naturally to Mother. Between them, they eased the first tension and pain. “Be sure to make Florence feel comfortable,” Mother always said when she packed the girls off on a visit. They knew what she meant. They’d been taught courtesy and fairmindedness. It wasn’t easy for Florence. To take their unhappiness out on her would be wrong. In addition, she was a lovely person. They liked her. One day stands etched in their memories for its mingled experience. “Florence,” said Evvie, “is going to have a baby — ” June gasped. “Who told you?” “Nobody. She’s just getting fat.” “Lots of people get fat.” Though they’d outgrown the cabbagepatch stage, both were rather naive than otherwise. That Evvie, a mere child of eleven, could possibly know what she was talking about, her twelve-year-old sister refused to believe. Yet a vague uneasiness persisted and, candor being one of the Stovenour ways, she went to Daddy. “You know, Evvie said a funny thing today. She said Florence was going to have a baby. Isn’t that silly?” “No, it’s true. She is.” June’s heart plummeted. Only then did she realize how much she’d been counting on Daddy to laugh it off. Even Evvie, standing by, looked lost for a moment. Evvie was the airy one, always turning things into a joke, laughing so she wouldn’t cry. June’s feelings showed more. Both stood helplessly silent now. “I want to tell you something you mustn’t forget. It’s true that you’re going to have a little sister or brother, and that • I’ll love it. But nothing can change my love for you. Nobody else can take your place with me.” The baby was three months old in the summer of ’39 when Daddy’s company transferred him to Memphis. The younger girls went down for a month. Unwilling to leave Mother alone, Dorothy elected to stay behind. What they remember of that distant summer is a hodgepodge of unrelated events and feelings. How June, being older, handled the finances of the" trip, with Evvie asking politely at intervals: “Am I getting a dime for every dime you’re getting?” The panic when they couldn’t find Daddy at first in the station crowd, and the relief of hearing his voice calling their names. The motor trip when they picked cotton and Daddy taught them to play poker with license plates. Florence’s kindness and the way she always referred to little Freddie as “Your brother.” And of course the goodbyes that finally had to end it. Trying to salve the pangs of separation by thinking of the next time, happily unaware that it was to be twelve years off. Many factors combined to keep them apart. Money was not too plentiful. Then Mother re-married. Not that Pop, as they called their stepfather, could take Daddy’s place. They loved him for not trying to, but for making a place of his own instead. Then Twentieth Century-Fox discovered June. She was just fifteen when they moved to California. In Memphis little Bobby was born the same year. At three, he contracted polio. Despite operations, he still uses braces and crutches. As correspondents, none of them rated high, but they kept in touch with each other by phone and wire. When they talked of meeting, it was always “Maybe next year,” till the hurrying years had piled up to a dozen. And now at last Florence and Daddy were coming. “Look,” said June, “it’ll be like a second honeymoon for them. Let’s find them an apartment.” The apartment when they found it looked so pretty that Evvie promptly offered to swap for the duration. June took her to lunch instead, and they laid plans. “Ev, suppose we were coming out here for the first time, what would we like to do most?” “Go through a studio, see the footprints at Grauman’s Chinese, dance at the Cocoanut Grove, eat at the Beachcombers.” “But the very first night,” June said, “I’ll cook them a fried chicken dinner at my apartment.” Under the talk and laughter, the stir of anticipation, the fun of lining things up, ran a submerged current of anxiety. When they told Mother, she reacted in character — calm for herself, pleased for them, wishful that they should show their guests a good time. Only how would it be when Mother and Daddy met? Ghosts of the old heartache rose — the divided loyalties, the dread of hurting either parent — ghosts that made them feel a little like lost children again. A car with Tennessee plates pulled up in front of Evvie’s apartment. A few seconds later another car drove up. The girl inside, catching sight of two strange yet familiar figures unloading bags, turned her wheel fast and whisked into the driveway. Through Evvie’s back door she came, lugging a huge basket. “Here’s your chicken and salad and strawberries.” “My chicken?” “You’ll have to cook dinner. I’m taking There is no magic at all about The Common Sense Way to a beautiful figure. But if you follow the suggestions Sylvia of Hollywood has for you in her book No More Alibis you may, perhaps, challenge the beauty of the loveliest movie star! Here the author tells you how she helped many of Hollywood’s brightest stars with their figure problems. She names names — tells you how she developed this star’s legs — how she reduced that star’s waistline— how she helped another star to achieve a beautiful youthful figure. 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