Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M Part 1

Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M.

Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tiffany's, and the Dawn of the Modern Woman.

by Sam Wa.s.son

COMING ATTRACTION.

Like one of those accidents that's not really an accident, the casting of "good" Audrey in the part of "not-so-good" call girl Holly Golightly rerouted the course of women in the movies, giving voice to what was then a still-unspoken shift in the 1950s gender plan. There was always s.e.x in Hollywood, but before Breakfast at Tiffany's, Breakfast at Tiffany's, only the bad girls were having it. With few exceptions, good girls in the movies had to get married before they earned their single fade to black, while the sultrier among them got to fade out all the time and with all different sorts of men in just about every position (of rank). Needless to say, they paid for their fun in the end. Either the bad girls would suffer/repent, love/marry, or suffer/repent/marry/die, but the general idea was always roughly the same: ladies, don't try this at home. But in only the bad girls were having it. With few exceptions, good girls in the movies had to get married before they earned their single fade to black, while the sultrier among them got to fade out all the time and with all different sorts of men in just about every position (of rank). Needless to say, they paid for their fun in the end. Either the bad girls would suffer/repent, love/marry, or suffer/repent/marry/die, but the general idea was always roughly the same: ladies, don't try this at home. But in Breakfast at Tiffany's, Breakfast at Tiffany's, all of a sudden-because it was Audrey who was doing it-living alone, going out, looking fabulous, and getting a little drunk didn't look so bad anymore. Being single actually seemed shame-free. It seemed fun. all of a sudden-because it was Audrey who was doing it-living alone, going out, looking fabulous, and getting a little drunk didn't look so bad anymore. Being single actually seemed shame-free. It seemed fun.

Though they might have missed it, or not identified it as such right away, people who encountered Audrey's Holly Golightly in 1961 experienced, for the very first time, a glamorous fantasy life of wild, kooky independence and sophisticated s.e.xual freedom; best of all, it was a fantasy they could make real. Until Breakfast at Tiffany's, Breakfast at Tiffany's, glamorous women of the movies occupied strata available only to the mind-blowingly chic, satin-wrapped, ermine-lined ladies of the boulevard, whom no one but a true movie star could ever become. But Holly was different. She wore simple things. They weren't that expensive. And they looked stunning. glamorous women of the movies occupied strata available only to the mind-blowingly chic, satin-wrapped, ermine-lined ladies of the boulevard, whom no one but a true movie star could ever become. But Holly was different. She wore simple things. They weren't that expensive. And they looked stunning.

Somehow, despite her lack of funds and backwater pedigree, Holly Golightly still managed to be glamorous. If she were a society woman or fashion model, we might be less impressed with her choice of clothing, but because she's made it up from poverty on her own-and is a girl girl no less-because she's used style to overcome the restrictions of the cla.s.s she was born into, Audrey's Holly showed that glamour was available to anyone, no matter what their age, s.e.x life, or social standing. Grace Kelly's look was safe, Doris Day's undesirable, and Elizabeth Taylor's-unless you had that body-unattainable, but in no less-because she's used style to overcome the restrictions of the cla.s.s she was born into, Audrey's Holly showed that glamour was available to anyone, no matter what their age, s.e.x life, or social standing. Grace Kelly's look was safe, Doris Day's undesirable, and Elizabeth Taylor's-unless you had that body-unattainable, but in Breakfast at Tiffany's, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey's was democratic. Audrey's was democratic.

And to think that it almost didn't come off. To think that Audrey Hepburn didn't want the part, that the censors were railing against the script, that the studio wanted to cut "Moon River," that Blake Edwards didn't know how to end it (he actually shot two separate endings), and that Capote's novel was considered unadaptable seems almost funny today. But it's true.

Well before Audrey signed on to the part, everyone at Paramount involved with Breakfast at Tiffany's Breakfast at Tiffany's was deeply worried about the movie. In fact, from the moment Marty Jurow and Richard Shepherd, the film's producers, got the rights to Capote's novel, getting was deeply worried about the movie. In fact, from the moment Marty Jurow and Richard Shepherd, the film's producers, got the rights to Capote's novel, getting Tiffany's Tiffany's off the ground looked downright impossible. Not only did they have a highly flammable protagonist on their hands, but Jurow and Shepherd hadn't the faintest idea how the h.e.l.l they were going to take a novel with no second act, a nameless gay protagonist, a motiveless drama, and an unhappy ending, and turn it into a Hollywood movie. (Even when it was just a book, off the ground looked downright impossible. Not only did they have a highly flammable protagonist on their hands, but Jurow and Shepherd hadn't the faintest idea how the h.e.l.l they were going to take a novel with no second act, a nameless gay protagonist, a motiveless drama, and an unhappy ending, and turn it into a Hollywood movie. (Even when it was just a book, Breakfast at Tiffany's Breakfast at Tiffany's was causing a stir. Despite Capote's enormous celebrity, was causing a stir. Despite Capote's enormous celebrity, Harper's Bazaar Harper's Bazaar refused to publish the novel on account of certain distasteful four-letter words.) refused to publish the novel on account of certain distasteful four-letter words.) Morally, Paramount knew it was on shaky ground with Tiffany's; Tiffany's; so much so that they sent forth a platoon of carefully worded press releases designed to convince Americans that real-life Audrey wasn't anything like Holly Golightly. She wasn't a hooker, they said; she was a kook. There's a difference! But try as they might, Paramount couldn't hoodwink everyone. "The so much so that they sent forth a platoon of carefully worded press releases designed to convince Americans that real-life Audrey wasn't anything like Holly Golightly. She wasn't a hooker, they said; she was a kook. There's a difference! But try as they might, Paramount couldn't hoodwink everyone. "The Tiffany Tiffany picture is the worst of the year from a morality standpoint," one angry person would write in 1961. "Not only does it show a prost.i.tute throwing herself at a 'kept' man but it treats theft as a joke. I fear 'shoplifting' will rise among teen-agers after viewing this." Back then, while the s.e.xual revolution was still underground, picture is the worst of the year from a morality standpoint," one angry person would write in 1961. "Not only does it show a prost.i.tute throwing herself at a 'kept' man but it treats theft as a joke. I fear 'shoplifting' will rise among teen-agers after viewing this." Back then, while the s.e.xual revolution was still underground, Breakfast at Tiffany's Breakfast at Tiffany's remained a covert insurgence, like a love letter pa.s.sed around a cla.s.sroom. And if you were caught in those days, the teacher would have had you expelled. remained a covert insurgence, like a love letter pa.s.sed around a cla.s.sroom. And if you were caught in those days, the teacher would have had you expelled.

So with all that was against Breakfast at Tiffany's, Breakfast at Tiffany's, how did they manage to pull it off? How did Jurow and Shepherd convince Audrey to play what was, at that time, the riskiest part of her career? How did screenwriter George Axelrod dupe the censors? How did Hubert de Givenchy manage to make mainstream the little black dress that seemed so suggestive? Finally-and perhaps most significantly-how did how did they manage to pull it off? How did Jurow and Shepherd convince Audrey to play what was, at that time, the riskiest part of her career? How did screenwriter George Axelrod dupe the censors? How did Hubert de Givenchy manage to make mainstream the little black dress that seemed so suggestive? Finally-and perhaps most significantly-how did Breakfast at Tiffany's Breakfast at Tiffany's bring American audiences to see that the bad girl was really a good one? There was no way she could have known it then-in fact, if someone were to suggest it to her, she probably would have laughed them off-but Audrey Hepburn, backed by everyone else on bring American audiences to see that the bad girl was really a good one? There was no way she could have known it then-in fact, if someone were to suggest it to her, she probably would have laughed them off-but Audrey Hepburn, backed by everyone else on Breakfast at Tiffany's, Breakfast at Tiffany's, was about to shake up absolutely everything. This book is the story of those people, their hustle, and that shake. was about to shake up absolutely everything. This book is the story of those people, their hustle, and that shake.

1.

THINKING IT.

1951-1953.

THE FIRST HOLLY.

Traveling was forced upon little Truman Capote from the beginning. By the late 1920s, his mother, Lillie Mae, had made a habit of abandoning her son with relatives for months at a time while she went round and round from man to high-falutin' man. Gradually the handoffs began to hurt Truman less-either that, or he grew more accustomed to the pain-and in time, his knack for adaptation turned into something like genius. He was able to fit in anywhere.

After his parents' divorce, five-year-old Truman was sent to his aunt's house in Monroeville, Alabama. Now was Lillie Mae's chance to quit that jerkwater town and hightail it to a big city. Only there could she become the rich and adored society woman she knew she was destined to be, and probably would have been, if it weren't for Truman, the son she never wanted to begin with. When she was pregnant, Lillie Mae-Nina, as she introduced herself in New York-had tried to abort him.

Perhaps if she had gone away and stayed away, young Truman would have suffered less. But Nina never stayed away from Monroeville for long. In a whirl of fancy fabrics, she would turn up unannounced, tickle Truman's chin, offer up an a.s.sortment of apologies, and disappear. And then, as if it had never happened before, it would happen all over again. Inevitably, Nina's latest beau would reject her for being the peasant girl she tried so hard not to be, and down the service elevator she would go, running all the way back to Truman with enormous tears ballooning from her eyes. A day or so would pa.s.s; Nina would take stock of her Alabama surroundings and once again, vanish to Manhattan's highest penthouses.

Had he been older, Truman might have stolen his heart back from his mother the way he would learn to shield it from others, but in those days he was still too young to be anything but in love with her. She said she loved him, too, and at times, like when she brought him with her to a hotel, promising that now they'd really be together, it looked to him as though she finally meant it. Imagine his surprise then when Nina locked him in the room and went next door to make money-minded love with some ritzy someone deep into the night. Truman, of course, heard everything. On one such occasion, he found a rogue vial of her perfume and with the desperation of a junkie, drank it all the way to the bottom. It didn't bring her back, but for a few pungent swallows, it brought her closer.

For the better part of Capote's career as a novelist, that bottle-what was left of his mother-would be the wellspring of most of his creations. The idea of her, like the idea of love and the idea of home, proved a very hard thing to pin down. He tried, though. But no number of perfume bottles or whiskey bottles, no matter how deep or beautiful, could alter the fact of her absence. Nor could most of the women or men to whom Truman attached himself. They could never pour enough warmth into the void.

In consequence, Capote was equal parts yearning and vengeance, clutching at his intimates with fingers of knives that he would turn back on himself when left alone. However sharp, those fingers pulled his mother from the past and put her on the page where, in the form of language, he could remake her perfume into a bottomless fragrance called Holly Golightly. That's how Truman finally learned the meaning of permanence.

Once the reading world got a whiff of it, eau d'Holly made everyone fall in love with Truman, which, since his mother had left him that first time, was the only thing he ever wanted. That and a home-a feeling of something familiar-like an old smell, a favorite scarf, or the white rose paperweight that sat on Truman's desk as he wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's Breakfast at Tiffany's.

THE WHITE ROSE PAPERWEIGHT.

When he was in Paris in 1948, soaking in accolades for his lurid first novel, Other Voices Other Voices, Other Rooms, Other Rooms, Truman was delivered by Jean Cocteau to Colette's apartment in the Palais Royal. She was nearing eighty, but the author of Truman was delivered by Jean Cocteau to Colette's apartment in the Palais Royal. She was nearing eighty, but the author of Gigi, Gigi, the the Claudine Claudine novels, and countless others, was still France's grandest grande dame of literature. novels, and countless others, was still France's grandest grande dame of literature.

In full recline, Colette, racked with arthritis, no doubt smiled at Truman's author photograph on the dust jacket of Other Voices Other Voices. Staring out at her with his languid eyes and slick lips, the boy's salacious look was one the old woman knew well; in her day, she had rocked Paris with a few succes de scandales succes de scandales of her own, both on the page and off. Now here was this rascal with his angel's face-a hungry angel's face. How delicious. She felt for sure there existed a kind of artery between them, and even before he entered her bedroom, Truman sensed it too. " of her own, both on the page and off. Now here was this rascal with his angel's face-a hungry angel's face. How delicious. She felt for sure there existed a kind of artery between them, and even before he entered her bedroom, Truman sensed it too. "Bonjour, Madame Madame." "Bonjour." They hardly spoke each other's language, but as he approached her bedside, their bond grew from a.s.sured to obvious. The artery was in the heart.

After the tea was served, the room got warmer, and Colette opened Truman's twenty-three-year-old hand. In it she placed a crystal paperweight with a white rose at its center. "What does it remind you of?" she asked. "What images occur to you?"

Truman turned it around in his hand. "Young girls in their communion dresses," he said.

The remark pleased Colette. "Very charming," she said. "Very apt. Now I can see what Jean told me is true. He said, 'Don't be fooled, my dear. He looks like a ten-year-old angel. But he's ageless, and has a very wicked mind.'" She gave it to him, a souvenir.

Capote would collect paperweights for the rest of his life, but years later the white rose was still his favorite. Truman took it with him almost everywhere.

AUDREY AWOKEN.

It all began for Audrey Hepburn in spring of 1951 on a gorgeous day like any other. She rose at dawn, had a cup of coffee in bed, and took her breakfast-two boiled eggs and a slice of whole wheat toast-to the window, where she could watch the morning people of Monte Carlo sail their yachts into the sea. Such a leisurely breakfast was a rare pleasure for her; back in England, where she had been working regularly, they started shooting at sunup. But the French liked to do things differently. They didn't really get going until apres dejeuner, apres dejeuner, and they worked late into the night, which gave Audrey mornings to explore the beaches and casinos, and time to place a call to James, her fiance, who was off in Canada on business-again. and they worked late into the night, which gave Audrey mornings to explore the beaches and casinos, and time to place a call to James, her fiance, who was off in Canada on business-again.

He really was a very sweet boy, and attractive, and from the Hansons, a good and wealthy family. He loved her of course, and she loved him, and from the way it looked in the press, they had everything. But everything is nothing when there's no time to enjoy it. With her schedule taking her from film to film, and his seemingly endless tour of the world's ritziest boardrooms, it was beginning to look like they were betrothed in name only. Perhaps, Audrey thought, she was foolish to think she could be an actress and a wife. If she wanted to settle down-and she did, very badly-she would have to put films aside. At least, that's what James said. Only then could they really truly be together.

Somewhere in her mind they were. They had a house, two or three children, and a limitless expanse of days broken only by sleep. Thankfully, her role in Monte Carlo Baby Monte Carlo Baby was only going to last a month. That was no small consolation. was only going to last a month. That was no small consolation.

COLETTE AWOKEN.

The Hotel de Paris was unquestionably the most stunning hotel in all of Monaco. Judging from its facade, a Belle Epoque confection of arches and spires, only the absolute cream of society could make a habit of staying there. For Audrey, who had never been to the Riviera, being at the Hotel de Paris was a thrill tempered only by her longing for James and the inanity of the film (the script was drivel; some semimusical fluff about a missing baby). But for Colette, it was nothing unusual, just another drop in the great gold bucket of luxury; she had been a regular since 1908. Now, as a guest of Prince Rainier, Colette was the palace queen, and as her wheelchair was turned down the hotel's stately corridors, that's exactly how the footmen greeted her. No doubt they saw in the old woman all the arterial fire of her novels, which seemed to throb through her from toe to tete, tete, culminating in an explosion of red-broccoli hair. culminating in an explosion of red-broccoli hair.

The doctors sent her there to rest, but resting, for Colette, required more effort than working. Since her New York agent's a.s.sistant had taken it upon himself to single-handedly produce a play of her novel Gigi, Gigi, Colette couldn't get the idea out of her mind. She'd even gone a little delirious trying to cast the t.i.tle part and began to see Gigis everywhere-on the street, in the sea, and popping up in photographs. But none quite satisfied Colette, and time wore expensively on. Those who had invested in the project grew restless, and-as tends to be the case in most casting legends-they were about to force the play upon a proven star, when, at the last minute, Colette was disturbed on her way to dinner. Colette couldn't get the idea out of her mind. She'd even gone a little delirious trying to cast the t.i.tle part and began to see Gigis everywhere-on the street, in the sea, and popping up in photographs. But none quite satisfied Colette, and time wore expensively on. Those who had invested in the project grew restless, and-as tends to be the case in most casting legends-they were about to force the play upon a proven star, when, at the last minute, Colette was disturbed on her way to dinner.

What was about to happen would change Audrey's life forever.

To her annoyance, Colette discovered that the main dining room had been closed for the shooting of Monte Carlo Baby Monte Carlo Baby. Would she, the maitre d' asked her, take her dinner in the breakfast room instead? Absoluement non! Absoluement non! Insulted, Colette pushed her way right into the dining room and right into the middle of a take. Insulted, Colette pushed her way right into the dining room and right into the middle of a take.

The scene stopped dead in its tracks. The crew looked up. No one breathed, except Colette. Catching sight of a strangely compelling young woman, Colette squinted through the beaming lights and raised her eyegla.s.ses for a closer look.

Audrey, of course, had no inkling of being watched. Nor had Colette any inkling of who she was. What she did know, however, was that she seemed to have stepped into her own novel: in face, body, and poise, she was staring at Gigi come to life.

Perhaps Colette stared for full minutes, or perhaps just moments, but most likely she spoke out instantly, for as Audrey has proven millions of times since, that is all it takes for her to overcome whoever lays eyes on her. In an instant-a scientific measurement when speaking of stars-she conveyed to Colette what it took the author an entire novel to describe. That is, the story of a Parisian girl, who at sixteen, was set to undergo the education of a courtesan.

"Voila," Colette said to herself, "c'est Gigi."

And like that, Audrey's transformation had begun.

"Voila..." Like that.

It all sounds so magical, and indeed in a way it was, but like all perfect acts of casting, Colette's epiphany was born of more than just gut feeling-it was born from fact. Although Audrey's innate sensuality, her Gigi-ness, was written all over her, no one until Colette had seen it. Perhaps it was because of Audrey's strangeness. Her legs were too long, her waist was too small, her feet were too big, and so were her eyes, nose, and the two gaping nostrils in it. When she smiled (and she did often), she revealed a mouth that swallowed up her face and a row of jagged teeth that wouldn't look too good in close-ups. She was undoubtedly not what you would call attractive. Cute maybe, charming, for sure, but with only the slightest hint of makeup and a bust no bigger than two fists, she was hardly desirable. The poor girl was even a bit round-faced.

And yet Colette couldn't stop staring. She was fascinated.

WHAT SHE SAW PART I: THE FACE.

Audrey's might not have been the face of a G.o.ddess, but like most teenagers, Gigi did not begin as a G.o.ddess. She was simply a girl on the precipice of young adulthood, full of potential, but without experience. And her eyes said that, didn't they? They were certainly on the big side, but they were also wide, and wide-eyed people have a look of perpetual curiosity. Colette's Gigi had that. So do all those who don't yet know the world. But that nose would be a problem, wouldn't it? It was not sleek or pretty in the manner of high society ladies, and neither were her hair, teeth, or thickset eyebrows. So how would such a Gigi, looking not unlike a stray puppy, gain access to the haut monde?

There was little that was womanly about her in the s.e.xual sense, nothing that said she was capable of pleasing a man, and certainly nothing that looked ahead to the naughty insinuations of Holly Golightly.

Or was there? Was there a drop of s.e.x someplace beneath?

Smiling now, Colette lowered her eyegla.s.ses and leaned forward for a closer look.

WHAT SHE SAW PART II: THE BODY.

The girl carried herself like a suppressed ballerina. Despite what were then considered physical imperfections, Audrey had a remarkable discipline in movement, one that told of self-possession impossibly beyond her years, and so much so that to watch her, Colette had to wonder at how a thing so young could have understood poise so completely. In her simplest gesture Audrey communicated a complete knowledge of propriety, and by extension, an inner grace that belied whatever made her look that unusual in the first place. She wasn't dancing, but she might as well have been.

EVERYTHING THAT IS IMPORTANT IN A FEMALE.

"Madame?"

A flock of admirers had approached Colette. She swatted them off. (Colette would enchant them later. If she was in the mood.) The old woman reached up and pulled down an unsuspecting member of the crew.

"Who is that?" she croaked, nodding in Audrey's direction.

"That is Mademoiselle Hepburn, madame."

"Tell her I want to speak with her." She released him and added a touch of pink powder to her nose. "Tell them to bring her to me."

Colette's conviction grew as she watched Mademoiselle Hepburn approach. This girl was even more startling up close than she was from afar.

"Bonjour, madame," she said.

"Bonjour."

Colette took her hand, and together, they moved into the hotel foyer. There she told Audrey that she intended to cable her producer and writer in New York and tell them that they should call off their search, that she had found her Gigi, and though they wouldn't have heard of her, they were to fly to London and meet her at once.

Audrey listened to it all, but was not quick to respond.

Finally, she spoke. "I can't" is what she famously said. "The truth is, I'm not equipped to play a leading role. I've never spoken onstage." Then she added, "I'm a dancer."

"Yes, yes, you are that," Colette returned. "You are a dancer because you have worked hard at it, and you will now work hard at acting, too."

Months later, Audrey was at the Savoy Hotel in London to meet with the play's writer, Anita Loos, and Gilbert Miller, its producer. She told them what she had told Colette, that she was not an actress, and that playing Gigi would be impossible for her. Miller nearly buckled under the weight of her protestations, but Loos wouldn't leave it at that. Though Audrey stood before her a wholly inexperienced girl, wearing, somewhat gawkily, an oversized shirtwaist and flat shoes, the author of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes Gentlemen Prefer Blondes knew she had spotted something special. With Audrey's gender-redefining interpretation of Holly Golightly still ten years off, Loos had the keen sense-a sense so many flappers like her once had-to note the tides changing a generation in advance. Audrey Hepburn, she said sometime later, had "everything that is important in a female." She would be proven right in the years to come. knew she had spotted something special. With Audrey's gender-redefining interpretation of Holly Golightly still ten years off, Loos had the keen sense-a sense so many flappers like her once had-to note the tides changing a generation in advance. Audrey Hepburn, she said sometime later, had "everything that is important in a female." She would be proven right in the years to come.

But it would take Audrey a long time to get there. Since she was a little girl, what Audrey had really wanted to be was a ballerina. But her body was wrong, and she was left with no choice but to join a music hall chorus where she was spotted and rushed into films. From there, it was bigger parts in bigger films, and she soon saw that her dream of getting married to James Hanson, like her dream of dancing, had to be put on ice. Now if she took Gigi, Gigi, it would have to be put off again. But Audrey's star was stronger than she was. At the urging of all who were close to her, she reluctantly accepted the part of Gigi. Colette, Audrey maintained, was wrong. it would have to be put off again. But Audrey's star was stronger than she was. At the urging of all who were close to her, she reluctantly accepted the part of Gigi. Colette, Audrey maintained, was wrong.

THE CIGARETTE GIRL.

Sitting at his desk, fretting over the dreary state of Roman Holiday, Roman Holiday, the impossible-to-cast production they were trying to cobble together at Paramount, Richard Mealand, the studio's man in London, recalled a brief scene in a film called the impossible-to-cast production they were trying to cobble together at Paramount, Richard Mealand, the studio's man in London, recalled a brief scene in a film called Laughter in Paradise Laughter in Paradise. It was the summer of 1951.

Of the picture's regrettable ninety minutes, a certain twenty-two seconds stood out. In it, a distinguished-looking sort of gentleman, sitting alone at a bar, is interrupted by a soft and knowing "h.e.l.lo!" He looks up. The cigarette girl, a twenty-one-year-old waif called Audrey something, is standing over him.

"Want a ciggie?" she asks with an open smile.

"h.e.l.lo, sweetie," he chuckles. "No, I'll be smoking cigars from now on. But what about a date later on this evening? I feel like celebrating."

She smiles again, but guilelessly, as if the word date date were never mentioned. were never mentioned.

The man gets up. "Well," he says, putting his hand on her shoulder, "I don't want that old goat in the telephone box to see us talking."

"Why?" she asks.

"Well, don't think me mad," he says, sitting again, "but just for the moment I'm not allowed to talk to women."

The smile fades. She looks down. "Don't I count as a woman?"

She was adorable. It was worth a shot, Mealand thought, but would the studio go for it? They had Gregory Peck, and they wanted a name, a name just as big, for the part of Princess Ann, one like Elizabeth Taylor or Jean Simmons. But their schedules had not aligned. Both were unavailable.

The studio was desperate when Mealand wrote Hollywood about the young actress he saw in Laughter in Paradise Laughter in Paradise.

THE TEST.

On September 18, 1951, just before she was to begin rehearsals for Gigi Gigi in New York, Audrey was led into a soundstage at England's Pinewood Studios for a screen test. in New York, Audrey was led into a soundstage at England's Pinewood Studios for a screen test.

To see if Audrey Hepburn the person was like Audrey Hepburn the actress, and genuinely had that combination of naivete and worldliness he wanted, William Wyler, director of Roman Holiday, Roman Holiday, secretly instructed his cameraman to keep the camera rolling after her scene had ended. secretly instructed his cameraman to keep the camera rolling after her scene had ended.

"Cut!"

Audrey bolted up in bed. "How was it?" she asked. "Was I any good?"

There was no response, only silence, and she heard the clicking whir of the camera. Oh, she realized, I've been tricked. They're still shooting They're still shooting. Her embarra.s.sment turned to laughter and her heart burst open. She shone then a forthright humility so pure and a joy so pervasive, the crew could see in her a certain royalty of spirit, if not real royalty itself. And yet, when she spoke, it was without the stiffness or pretentious solemnity that afflicts those too accustomed to the spotlight. Her voice had a natural-sounding richness, and as it reached the end of her sentences, it expanded like an afternoon getting warmer, or a heart beating faster.

She got the part.

However, schedules would have to be rearranged. Because Audrey was obliged to begin rehearsing Gigi Gigi for Broadway, Paramount was forced to put for Broadway, Paramount was forced to put Roman Holiday Roman Holiday on hold until the show's run was complete. on hold until the show's run was complete.

MRS. JAMES HANSON, DEFERRED.

To Audrey's utter astonishment-not to mention the astonishment of the entire company of Gigi Gigi-she opened on Broadway to good reviews. Times Times critic Brooks Atkinson praised her "charm, honesty and talent," and Walter Kerr, her "candid innocence and tomboy intelligence." But it was from Gilbert Miller himself that Audrey received her best publicity. He ordered the Fulton Theater marquee be changed from " critic Brooks Atkinson praised her "charm, honesty and talent," and Walter Kerr, her "candid innocence and tomboy intelligence." But it was from Gilbert Miller himself that Audrey received her best publicity. He ordered the Fulton Theater marquee be changed from "Gigi" to "Audrey Hepburn in Gigi. Gigi."

Audrey sighed when she saw it. "Oh dear," she said, "and I've still got to learn how to act."

Audrey's run of Gigi Gigi ended in June of 1952, and without a moment to lose she flew to Rome to begin ended in June of 1952, and without a moment to lose she flew to Rome to begin Roman Holiday Roman Holiday. Once again, she told James they would have to postpone their plans to marry. There was too much work. Now they would do it in September, after shooting was complete.

THE ELECTRIC LIGHT.

James could only wait. He would appear during the production to steal a walk with his fiancee between setups-that is, if she could spare the time-but on the whole, he was relegated to the sidelines and pa.s.sed the hours trying not to think about what was becoming more and more obvious to him and everyone else (though they said nothing). Audrey was disappearing from him. Not that James wasn't prepared-this was just the kind of thing he had heard film people talk about-but he had never understood it until he got to Rome. It wasn't coldness, it was necessity; show business folk were just a different animal. Perhaps the species shouldn't intermingle.

James had time. He played cards with Gregory Peck and strolled from cafe to cafe and chatted with those who recognized him as Audrey's fiance. Later, he'd wait for her at their apartment on the Via Boncompagni. She'd be delayed and he'd wait. Making films, he saw, was so much about waiting. Waiting for the light. Waiting for the location. Waiting for the stars. It seems they did more waiting than anything else. How could they stand it?

He would sometimes stroll to the set to watch a few takes, or conduct a bit of business, or meet Audrey for lunch. But when he did, she was clearly someplace else. Her mind was on work, the stunning sensation of starring in a big movie, and though she was careful how to frame it, the surprising generosity of Gregory Peck. He knew Audrey was scared to be in front of the camera. Take after tiring take, her emotions would harden and break away from her. She'd get stiff. When the lines came out naturally, it seemed like an accident, like Audrey wasn't the one doing it, and she'd look up to Wyler's face for rea.s.surance, for anything, and he would offer a word of support. But then, a few minutes later, they'd be doing the scene again, and then again. By midday, Audrey's reserve would be nearing depletion.