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Much has been written about how legendary actors Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck first met. What is known is that they were married for over eleven years, considered one of Hollywood's most stable relationships of the time, and first came together at the Trocadero night club, in the company of Barbara's best friends her agent, Zeppo Marx (of Marx Brothers fame), and his wife, Marion. The exact "how" of it has been lost to history, though there are bits and pieces that have been pieced together. Here's a factionalized scenario:

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Bob made a face in the mirror, sucking in on his right cheek and squinting his right eye. What the heck, he thought, maybe I should make this face tonight as the lightbulbs flash! What has Don gotten me into?

He shook his head. Bob didn't want to go out tonight. It was yet another prearranged publicity affair, designed for him to be seen to allow photographers to take his picture from every angle, and plaster his face all over newspapers, fan magazines, and wire services. He was already tiring of the process.

But it was the process. It was what he'd signed up to do when he put his signature on the dotted line of the MGM contract and, with that, he was required to go along for the ride. He was, after all, a star, wasn't he?!

Yep, he was a star. Or so he was told. So all those screaming, fawning, sometimes-fainting women seemed to indicate. How in the world did he bring about such attention?

His reflection smirked back at him. Don't believe it, Arly, it told him. There were still times he could think of himself as only Arlington. That was his name. Don't believe a word of it, Arly. You're still a doctor's son from Nebraska. And you're better off always remembering that you're a doctor's son from Nebraska, not the "Man With The Perfect Profile."

Bob picked up his tortoise-shell comb from the carefully-laid-out toilette in front of him. As he swept his painstakingly cut hair away from each side of his widow's peak, seeing the sheen in his dark strands, he knew the truth. He was a created man. He was no longer his own person, and he'd accepted the role. It was now his job, day by day, to uphold this extravagant, unreal image.

The image, as it looked back at him, finally seemed all in one just-right piece for the evening, so he and it shrugged, and he stepped away from the mirror. His butler had put out his hat and overcoat on the bed, and Bob grabbed both before leaving the bedroom.

"How long have I been waiting, Bob?" his agent asked him as he

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