“Gee, it’s good to be home,” said Gene McGrath.
Terry Moore, his wife, flopped down on a huge sofa beside him and looked around at the apartment, a modest twelve-room, two-storied affair in the middle of Caracas, Venezuela. “Yeah,” she said. “Only this is the third...
They grabbed a tramp steamer to Genoa, drove through Spain, and took a train to France.
The first thing they did when they hit Paris was get lost, so they headed for the nearest policeman. Between his pidgin English and Dorothy’s pidgin French, they were on...
At fourteen, like most teen-agers, Kim Novak hated her own looks. Her baby-fine, white-blonde hair she regarded as the end in nothing, her lashes were even more so, and her skin looked to her like skimmed-milk.
On impulse, she decided to get herself turned into a...