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ManBehindThe Shadow
(Continued from page 39)
and leads the way to a cupboard that holds his collection of old mustache cups. "I had more of these cups, but I got rid of them when I was clearing out a lot of my good things. I rented the apartment for a couple of years, and didn't want to leave them around. Which was just as well, as the place was a wreck when I came back to it."
He and his mother had lived there together until her death four years ago; now, theoretically, he lives alone.
As a matter of fact, his friends call the eight-room apartment "The Hotel Morrison," and give thanks that he isn't married. A bachelor with a large apartment and a hospitable soul is a friend indeed these days, especially in over-crowded New York.
"But a cousin of mine is coming from St. Louis to stay with me, soon," he says enthusiastically. "She was a singer and a prima ballerina before she gave up her career to raise a family. Now she's going to do some television here. She looks like my sister; nobody'd think she has a grown-up son and daughter."
He has a portrait of them together, to prove it. The cousin has the same blond good looks, evidently the same dark gray eyes.
A Siamese cat named Tobey roams about the apartment protesting against a stranger's presence. The house boy also protests, when unexpected visitors turn up, that the place is a mess. Far from looking like anything of the sort, the apartment seems just about perfect.
The dining room, behind the living room and opening from the foyer, is most decorative with its sharp pink walls contrasting sharply with the deep blue of the Wedgwood china on a sideboard. An old lamp and shade of rare vaseline glass hang above the table. The room might be a stage set for a smart little dinner party.
Up the stairway leading from the foyer is the playroom. "I do most of my entertaining here," Bret explains, and the vision of smart little dinner parties vanishes into thin air. "I'm going to make photographs here tonight."
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