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Rip Van Hudson invariably sleeps through alarm which awakens Bob in the next room. Below, while Rock hates the ring of a telephone, Robert enjoys conversations with girl friends
Take it from the fellow who shares the rent , life around Rock Hudson is as startling as the sound
of that alarm clock Rock keeps under a dishpan
BY BOB PREBLE
• a guy named rock Hudson and I have insanity in common. That’s probably why we’ve managed to live together for more than two years. I first met Rock soon after I’d come to California to find out about my chances in movies. I’d just signed with Rock’s agent, who gave a party and invited all his hopefuls. When I walked into the room there was a big guy pounding on the piano, fracturing some tune that I couldn’t recognize. That in itself should have warned me, but I thought anybody who had the nerve to murder a melody like that must be interesting, to say the least.
At that time Rock was living alone in a house in the Hollywood hills, and he wasn’t liking it. Rock has to have somebody around all the time because he talks a great deal, and when there’s no one there to answer he starts thinking about seeing a psychiatrist. I was at loose ends myself, and when we found we hit it off so well, we moved into a house out in the valley. Just recently we moved back into the Hollywood hills. But wherever we’ve shared the rent, it’s resulted in typical bachelor’s bedlam. Rock leaves his bath towel over the top of the door, or flung into the tub, or sometimes on the floor in a pattern of studied confusion. Whenever I trip over one I make a suggestion between gritted teeth that he try hanging it on the towel rack. Whereupon he reminds me that I don’t even leave my towel in the bathroom — I drag it into my bedroom and leave it to soak the bedspread.
When I came to California, leaving behind a few years of study about Business Administration at the University of Maine and Carnegie Tech, I ( Continued on page 82)