Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1938)

ARRIAGE IS A LAUGH 77ie Gene Raymonds have successfully hurdled that first year of matrimony — that supposedly awful, awful first year. This is how they did it! BY RUTH WAT ERBURY IT was suddenly quiet in the Raymond-Mac N Donald living room as we all stopped to catch our breaths from laughing. That was what gave me the hunch. "You two have been married almost a year now, haven't you?" I asked. "Lacking exactly twenty-seven days, four hours and nine minutes," said Gene. "And you are still laughing all the time?" They obliged by laughing again and nodded their heads in assent. "What about laughter as a basis for a perfect marriage?" I persisted. "Would you be making a noise like an interviewer?" Gene demanded. "Well, why not? I might as well admit that 1 was pretty suspicious of all that sweetness and light published about you two a little over a year ago, just before you were married. You sounded simply too happy to be true; but, after all, no people in your position stay married unless they really have a good time of it. "So far you have solved the problem that has broken up almost every Hollywood romance — two stars, two careers, all that handicap stuff, and getting through the first year, that supposedly awful first year of marriage, and you both still looking so beamingly content and Miss MacDonald spoke from behind those lovely teeth of hers in the sinister voice of the villainess in the old melodramas. "And me laughing all the time," she muttered darkly. "And at what things?" She swung an enormous orb in the direction of her lord and master. Mr. Raymond set his teeth. "You laughing?" he hissed, sounding just like Basil Rathbone on a clear day. "What about me, my fair beauty? Would you like me to tell about the time we went searching for sunshine, searching it in Arizona, the state which you selected to find it in? Shall I tell that to let our friend here know how we laughed and laughed that time?" The loveliest voice on the screen suddenly honied over like the voices of all the obedient wives in the world. "Yes, dear," purred Mrs. Raymond. "And you won't interrupt?" "Yes, dear," she purred again. "You mean you will interrupt?" "Oh, yes, dear." Gene turned his back on her with what was intended to represent sternness. "Ignore her," he said to me. "That search for Arizona sunshine happened this way . . . and it will give you a fair idea of what I have suffered for this marriage. "My wife, that redheaded woman over there, desired sunshine. We have it in Los Angeles, you know. In fact, the place is famous for it. But that brand wasn't good enough for her. She had to go away and get sun. I suggested a place called Palm Springs. Thousands from all parts of the country migrate there seasonally just for the sun. But no. That sunshine wouldn't do for her, either. We had, by chance, been in Palm Springs once before when it rained down there. It does rain there, very, very occasionally. But she had to act as though it always poured in Palm Springs. And she had heard somewhere that the sun absolutely positively always shone in Arizona." Gene turned back toward Mrs. Gene. "You had heard that, hadn't you, darling?" "Yes, dear," answered Miss MacDonald. "And you really planned the whole trip?" "Yes, dear." "And I consented to go because . . . ." "Yes, dear." "Hey, what is this?" demanded Gene. "A sound track," announced Jeanette's voice in deep tones. She was stretched out on the couch by now and her eyes were closed so that you couldn't be positive but what she might be talking in her sleep. IGNORE her," said Gene, turning back to me. "This is the way it happened. We packed up and left Los Angeles on a beautiful balmy afternoon but as we were coming into Flagstaff I heard a low gasp from my bride. It seems it was morning. Of course I wouldn't know that for you know where I was, don't you? Yes — in the upper. My bride, being down in the lower where the windows are, had pulled up the shade and was looking out. 'Oh, Gene,' she was asking. 'What do you think I see?' ' 'Well, what do you see?' I asked. 'From my vantage point I can't see a thing. I'll bet you're seeing beautiful sunshine.' " 'No,' she said, 'I'm seeing snow.' "Now that made everything dandy because, since Los Angeles is in the semi-tropics and Palm Springs the desert and we were supposed to be coming into even brighter and warmer sun than either of them offered (at least according to what my bride said), I had packed neither overcoat nor woolens. "But there we were, and since my wife had planned for us to go to some near-by ranch, and since that was as far as our train went anyhow, we got out. "And it was indeed snowing and the temperature was somewhere within friendly distance of about nine below zero. There was the man to drive us to the ranch, too, but, after a little chat with him, my wife found out that the real place for sunshine wasn't Flagstaff, anyhow, but Prescott, a mere drop of 3,500 feet in altitude from where we were. One happy benedict — Gene Raymond UlD you ever drop 3,500 feet in altitude in a matter of just a few hours? And did you ever make the drop in a rickety old car, with the driver taking his hands off the wheel every little while to point out the scenery? No? Well, I assure you it is a thrill, but a honey you could get along without very nicely. "I must say for my bride, though, that she never said a word. Of course, perhaps she was merely trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "We just rode along mile after mile and both of us tried to appear absolutely fascinated by the scenery. All I could think of was that I hoped we could get to Prescott alive and find a nice, hot meal somewhere. "Finally, however, we did get to Prescott and I trust I never hit a place that is damper and chillier than it was there that noon. But by this time Mrs. Raymond had learned, somehow or other, that the place for sunshine wasn't Prescott, after all. The place was Phoenix. So we kept our teeth clenched and said we must laugh, we must laugh, over and over to ourselves and discovered that we could get a bus to Phoenix. It was leaving almost immediately but we had time for a bite, they said, at the restaurant across the square. "We rushed over there, with visions in mind of sizzling chicken, great piles of vegetables, steaming coffee and discovered that today's dish was cold roast beef. They did have the coffee, though. So we climbed up on twin stools and ate that roast beef washed down with weak coffee. Then we made a run for the bus. "Another joy I'll bet you've never had, you lucky girl, is to go down a mountain road in a bus. Do they rock you! We sat back in our seats with that cold roast beef sliding from side to side and made up our minds we wouldn't be sick and pretended that we were going to sleep. But the man in back of us had asthma, so that was that. 22