Memories Are Made of This by Deana Martin

Author:Deana Martin [Martin, Deana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-53826-0
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2010-05-11T23:00:00+00:00

Twelve

DATING WAS SCARY ENOUGH WITHOUT HAVING TO INTRODUCE my boyfriends to my father. He was very cool about it, although I think sometimes it was just as scary for him.

“Don’t drink and you won’t get yourself into any awkward situations,” he warned me. He hated to see a lady drunk, I think out of his old-fashioned sense of morality. To his mind, a lady should always behave like a lady.

“Okay, Dad,” I’d say, smiling. “I’ll drink apple juice just like you.”

“Wear turtleneck sweaters and long sleeves,” he added.

“Why?” I asked, thinking how impractical that would be in California.

“It’s very sexy,” he replied. “Never let them see what they can’t have. Trust me, it’s better that way.”

My first boyfriend was Tony Thomas, Danny Thomas’s son, who took me to the Beverly Hills Movie Theatre to see Billy Budd. I loved that film almost as much as The Nun’s Story, which was my childhood favorite. I saw Billy Budd eleven times, and drooled over Terence Stamp, who looked so gorgeous. Tony Thomas tried to put his arm around me halfway through the movie, and I burst out laughing. Lesson number one: Never laugh at your boyfriend during an awkward moment. Tony grew up to be a prominent movie and television producer. He had hit television programs like The Golden Girls, Soap, and Benson and his most recent movie, Insomnia, starring Al Pacino and Robin Williams. We’re still friends, so he must have forgiven me.

In high school I was crazy about someone else, a guy named Michael Nader. He was the heartthrob of Beverly Hills High, and one day he asked me out. Knowing Dad’s penchant for practical jokes, I cornered him and begged him not to embarrass me.

“Dad,” I said, “a boy’s coming to take me out tonight, so please be nice, okay?”

My father looked at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and said, “Why, Deana, baby, I don’t know what you mean!”

Dad had just returned home from filming Texas Across the River, a western comedy. His co-stars were Rosemary Forsyth, Joey Bishop, and the French actor Alain Delon, whom Dad used to greet by saying, “’Allo Alain Delon,” in his best French accent. He was about to start his second Matt Helm movie, Murderers’ Row, with the lovely Ann-Margret. As Matt Helm, Dad was America’s answer to James Bond, with all those neat gadgets and cool one-liners, working for ICE, Intelligence Counter Espionage. Bond was never so funny, nor did he earn so much. That year alone, Dad’s income was estimated at $5 million.

I was nervous as my date arrived, but I welcomed him and led him down the stairs from the hallway to the curved sunken bar, where I offered him a Coke. Michael was eager to meet Dad. He loved the first Matt Helm movie, which Dad had just finished.

“Is it true you really went to the set of The Silencers?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “It was great fun. Dad did this scene while we were there when his big round bed swiveled around, tipped up, and slid him into a giant bubble bath.

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