by Lauren Bacall
"The nice Jewish girl" from New York grew up to be a Harper's Bazaar model and movie star, to marry Humphrey Bogart, triumph on Broadway and now write her autobiography. It's easy to believe Bacall herself did the writing—the hugely sentimental prose gushes between dozens of dashes per page. Bacall's best moment on screen extended into real life: "The gift was a beautiful gold cigarette case with a ruby clasp and the inscription 'For Mrs. Me who never need whistle for Bogie.' Out of the corner of his eye, he watched me open it, and when we looked at each other, trumpets sounded, rockets went off." After Bogie's death she had a turbulent romance with Sinatra and a failed marriage to Jason Robards Jr. Yet she concludes: "I remain as vulnerable, romantic and idealistic as I was at 15, sitting in a movie theater, watching, being, Bette Davis." Nonsense. Bacall never was Davis. Bacall—ultimately unliberated and naive—was and still is Bogie's tough-surfaced but adoring Baby. (Knopf, $10.95)
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