“I’ll Wear Tab Hunter’s Friendship Bracelet Forever”

Hello, Lucky. That’s a cute name. Is it your real one?” Tab said, looking down at me when we were introduced.

Ever since Photoplay called to tell me I had won a date with Tab, I wondered how it would be at the moment we met. Somehow it was easy. I found myself saying:

“Mom and Dad were so glad I turned out to be a girl, they called me Lucky. It’s a lot better than Harriet Koch, don’t you think?” We laughed and Tab said, “Well, from now on you’re ‘Tiny’ to me.” (Tab is six feet tall; I’m five-foot-one.)

I didn’t know till much later that Tab had a secret reason—my bracelet—for stopping.

“How’d you like to take me shopping for my mother?” he suggested. “It’s her birthday today.” I nodded “yes” and Tab said, “Fine. Let’s go.”

After we picked up the engraved silver candlesticks he’d chosen for her and Tab had called his mother in California, he stopped at the toy counter. “Here’s a cute autograph hound,” he said, picking one up and waving it at me. I had told him I didn’t like the one I had. This was the saddest-eyed basset hound I’d ever seen.

Tab bought me an autograph hound, then he wrote on its ear: “I’m so sad. Please give me a good home. Tabaroo.”

“Did you know,” Tab laughed, “when basset hounds eat, they have to have their ears clothes-pinned together so they don’t drip into their food? Do you like him? He’s yours.” Before I knew it he handed it to the sales lady who promptly asked Tab to sign one for her daughter. I really felt “on the inside” being with Tab then.

When we left the store (me clutching my basset hound under one arm), it was freezing out. “Let’s have some tea at the Plaza,” Tab suggested.

We arrived breathless and panting from running all the way up Fifth Avenue. Tab introduced me to his favorite way of drinking tea—with honey! (It’s good.) We talked about his horses and of how we both loved Cape Cod in the summer and all of a sudden Tab said, “Say, how about having dinner with me?”

My folks called for me at the Pierre. First thing I said was: “Look, Mom!”

I was speechless and flattered, too, because I had overheard him talking about another date for dinner and the opera with some movie people.

“Yes, I’d love to,” I managed to say. “If you’ll give me half an hour to change my dress at my cousin’s house, and I’ll call my folks.” Luckily, I’d brought in a dressy dress which Photoplay had made for me and my little fake-fur jacket, and my Dad said he’d be glad to drive in from Chatham, New Jersey (where we live) to pick me up whatever time I said.

Tab arrived at 6:30 o’clock and we went to the Hotel Pierre for dinner. That’s when the biggest surprise of all happened. We’d finished our lamb chops (Tab had ordered two for him and one for me) and our salad, when he pulled out a small box.

Saying goodnight before Mom and Dad drove me home to Chatham, New Jersey, Tab said, “Write me soon, Tiny.” Tiny’s a nice nickname, but I think “Lucky” suits me even better than ever now.

“It’s not 14 Karat, but I thought you might keep it to remember me by.”

I opened the box and inside was a lovely gold bracelet with a heart-shaped charm which said on one side: “To Lucky From Tab” and on the other, “Photoplay Contest, January, 1959.” Tab slipped it on my wrist and, for the first time all day, I didn’t know what to say.

“Would you like to dance?” Tab said, noting my confusion. But then since there wasn’t another soul on the dance floor, we agreed we’d feel too self-conscious.

When we were shopping, Tab stopped and pointed to some candlesticks. “It’s my mother’s birthday,” he said. “Let’s goin.”

Over coffee, I looked at my watch and realized that the day and evening had flown by and that my parents were due any minute in the lobby to pick me up.

“Would you like to meet my family?” I asked, feeling like we were old friends.

“Look, Mom,” I said, before I remembered introductions. “Look at what Tab gave me.” Mom thought it was very pretty and both she and Dad agreed that Tab was so natural and unaffected, they could hardly believe he was a movie star.

Then we said goodnight and I started to get into the car right outside the lobby. I told Tab that I’d wear his bracelet forever.

“Just remember, Tiny,” Tab grinned, “when I call you this summer in Cape Cod, that I’m the guy who gave it to you.”

THE END

—LUCKY KOCH

SEE TAB IN COLUMBIA’S “THEY CAME TO CORDURA” AND PARAMOUNT’S “THAT KIND OF WOMAN.” HEAR HIM ON HIS WARNER BROS, RECORD OF “APPLE BLOSSOM TIME.”

 

It is a quote. PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE APRIL 1959