Filmdom's favorite Jungle Princess hardly progresses in this syrupy memoir from her famous early line, ""Kees. . . what ees keess?"" Raymond Massey, is a ""charming pussycat,"" Betty Grable is ""the sweetest woman in the world"" and Carole Lombard is just one of many ""darling idols."" Only when Bing Crosby and Bob Hope finally try to bounce Dottle off the Road to. . . shows does she wax cautiously caustic. We get an occasional peek at the perils of al fresco stardom--in Hurricane, she and Jon Hall were battered by twelve airplane engines, dry leaves, sulphur, and two thousand gallons of water. And after a hairdresser doused her with liquid dry cleaner (to expedite the next ""take""), Ray Milland whisked her under a waterfall--an unceremonious dunk that probably saved her eyesight. On the domestic scene, Lamour is unfailingly loyal toward her mother--who shared her band-singing-to-Hollywood-stardom years--and appreciative of second husband William Ross Howard III, a Baltimore socialite and father of her two sons. But mostly one wades through lists--the cast of each movie, private party, or night on the town--and accompanies Lamour on an endless round of personal appearances. Anyone looking for titillation is out of luck: the siren is a workhorse and a publicity-man's dream.