“You know I directed Laura.” said Mr. Mamoulian to me matter-of-factly.
See, here’s the thing. I had been under the impression, ever since I was a kid and actually read the listing in TV Guide, that the director of Laura was a guy named Otto Preminger. But here was The Old Man sitting knee to knee with me, announcing right out that he was—what’s the Variety word?—the helmer of that glamorous but nutsy picture with Gene Tierney.
So what did I do?
I was twenty-three. I was on a job. I nodded.