A minor logistics problem for Gordon Parks and his new third wife, Gene (for Genevieve) Young, is that they are involved in a multiplicity of king-sized projects while the place where they prefer to work is only queen-sized—and inevitably buried in important litter.

Parks, 61, is the famed, Kansas-raised still photographer whose subsequent success in other forms—directing films like Shaft, composing music and writing—make the equally protean ambitions of Andy Warhol seem pale. Gene Young, a 42-year-old Chinese, is a Manhattan book editor whose authors have ranged from Stephen Birmingham to Robert Kennedy and whose best-sellers include Love Story and Zelda.

They met in 1960, when Gene's editing encouragement enabled Gordon to finish his first book, the semiauto-biographical novel, The Learning Tree (which later became his first film). Her nonprofessional allure also caught Parks's practiced eye. "I found her extremely attractive and intelligent," he recalls, "and what more does a guy want? We became friends, and fell in love somewhere along the line."

With Gordon, that line has tended to be decorated with attractive women. Not notably monogamous, he was then about to marry his second wife, fashion model Liz Campbell, and over the years a regular rotation of Vanderbilts and Veroushkas have adorned his arm. Gene also was married at the time, to a China-born salesman, Cedric Sun. But last August, 13 years later, Parks and Young were finally wed in an al fresco ceremony in Pound Ridge, N.Y., attended by such friends from the publishing world as Nancy Mitford, Shana Alexander and Kurt Vonnegut Jr. "We had to get married," says Gene. "We were spending so much time at one another's houses, we couldn't get our work done."

Whenever the two ethnically disparate families get together, Parks says he is reminded of "the descent of the yellow hordes, with a few black spots mixed in." Parks was the son of a dirt farmer and worked variously as porter, busboy, basketball semipro and brothel piano player before he discovered the camera. Gene grew up in grander style. From an old Nationalist Chinese oligarchic family (her step-father was one of the founding fathers of the UN, Ambassador V.K. Wellington Koo), she was educated at Wellesley and liberated before it was fashionable. Thus, it is the strong-willed "Dragon Lady" (as Gene's friends call her) not "Shaft" who has become the stabilizing force in their relationship. "I'm somewhat rigid," she confesses. "I hate uncertainty and can't bear Gordon's lack of organization."

Their headquarters now is a luxurious co-op in Manhattan's United Nations Plaza where Gordon's four children by previous marriages occasionally visit them. (The eldest, Gordon Jr., 39, followed his father into movies and directed the hit Superfly.)

The Parkses' original working partnership continues informally today. Gene still edits Gordon's writings and kibitzes his film ideas, but the two spend considerable time apart. Gordon's movies take him to California for months on end—an arrangement that makes sense to both. "Being together constantly is what broke up my first marriage," says Parks. For her part, Gene notes that "Gordon doesn't hassle me to quit my job anymore. He knows I have worked too hard to get where I am. Like him, I need time alone too." She is now executive vice-president of J.B. Lippincott Publishing Co.

Gordon is concentrating primarily on directing these days. With The Super Cops ready for release he is beginning preproduction work on two film biographies—Leadbelly, about the late blues guitarist, and then Bessie Smith: the Empress of the Blues. These two will be more serious black pictures than Shaft, which Parks remembers fondly as "a great Saturday night movie a lot of people had fun with." Looking back, Parks says he has agonized over whether he has "capitalized on being black" but feels his work was more "universal" than black exploitation. The question of color and racism is unavoidable, however, as a recent incident in California reminded him. Parks was stopped by two policemen who ordered him out of his car and pushed guns in his face—"for no other reason" he says, "than that I was black." A complaint to the Los Angeles police department resulted in an investigation but no action.

In reunions between films the Parkses are trying to adapt to each other's favorite diversions. "I'm the only woman I know who has become a jock at 40," says Gene who is making a brave show of enjoying tennis and skiing. Parks is still restless at Gene's beloved ballet and once lammed at mid-performance to catch the Super Bowl on TV, but he is learning at least to share her enjoyment of longer vacations. And on a recent escape to Fort Lauderdale, Fla., he made a revealing discovery. "We were in this elegant tennis club, where not long ago they wouldn't even have let me in. Now they were trying to convince me to buy property there."