Hollywood (1942)

■ The old saw about there being no real friendships among Hollywood actresses is sternly given the rout by Linda Darnell and Ann Miller. Theirs is what can honestly be called a model friendship — in more ways than one. The Darnell-Miller coalition began in May, 1941. The careers of each of the girls was being handled by the William Morris agency. Each had seen the other coming or going from the business office and each had liked the looks of the other. Reasonable, isn't it? So one day they smiled in passing, the next time they said hello, and the third time they stopped for a chat. Thus began one of the film colony's really true feminine friendships — one that has increased and ripened into a perfect companionship. "One of my hobbies," Linda happened to menlion to Ann one day, "is geology." "M i n e, too," chortled Ann. "And I'm crazy about painting," further confessed Linda. Ann's eyes lighted up. "What kind of painting do you do?" she demanded. Linda explained about the oils, the water colors, but mostly the pastels. Linda, incidentally has never had an art lesson in her life. She simply has an acute vision, a rare sense of color, and a natural flair for line, perspective, and balance. Ann has never studied art either, but she's been daubing things ever since she painted the horses on the bathroom wall with her mother's rouge and got paddy-whacked. The friendship grew during the following weeks when the girls spent every available afternoon scavenging art stores. Any stray color neither had previously owned was promptly purchased. Ann bought several books on the theory of art and the emotional value of color. Shortly thereafter, Linda moved away from her family home and took an apartment of her own. Ann helped Linda look for an apartment, and they adventured from one end of town to the other. Ann scrutinized all apartments on the basis of bed comfort, whereas Linda held out for a fine view. They finally found a four-room flat with privileges to use a small private swimming pool in an enclosed garden. "Now we can go swimming," Linda announced happily. Ann rushed to the window and studied the miniature lake. "No waves," she said. "No floating boxes, no splashing juveniles, no seaweed, no undertow, no salt. Life gets better all the time." This sums up Miss Miller's list of complaints against the ocean as a romping companion. She admits to being downright afraid of it, too. Linda considers ocean bathing a messy sport, but she isn't afraid. And there you have a clue to one of the chief reasons for the girls' close friendship: each complements the other. Ann is afraid of practically everything. She Friendship Neither Ann Miller nor Linda Darnell ever had an art lesson, but they're getting a big kick out of painting each other. Ann's in Priorities of 1942; Linda's in 20th's The Loves of Edgar Allan Poe By TOM CASEY nearly drowned at one time, and she has been afraid of water ever since. She was thrown while horseback riding as a child, and nowadays she has dithers in a saddle. She grew up amid unrelenting plans for a career, and she is in constant dread of doing, saying or omitting something that might jeopardize that career. The Darnell lady? Well, she's noted for her relaxed conduct. A horse, to her, is as much fun as the wild swaying of a topped tree is to a lumberjack. As for her career — it sort of fell into her apron with the juicy squish of a ripe apple. She regards cinema favor as a gift of the gods, not to be polished too carefully. When Ann has finished a day's shooting at the studio, she comes home to re-live every scene, every word of coaching, every bit of business. Sometimes she is so wrought up that she can't eat dinner. If she does attempt to annex some calories, she becomes nauseated. As for Linda, when the day's shooting is over, it's over. Period. Miss Placid forgets it. Acting is a day job, as far as she is concerned, not to be hung-over into the evening. The girls discovered this remarkable difference in each other after a few weeks of friendship, and each marveled at the other. Ann says, "Imagine being able to relax like that!" And Linda says, "Imagine being so emotional and responsive to your work that you can't let down!" Both of the girls are originally from Texas — Ann from Houston, and Linda from Dallas. In May, 1942, they and their mothers started across the country to visit their old home towns. Ann doesn't know how to drive because her mother has always been afraid that she might injure herself in an accident, so Linda drove during the entire trip. She loves it and is an excellent driver. Mrs. Darnell and Mrs. Miller sat in the back of the car— partitioned from the front seat by a sliding glass arrangement. "So we couldn't hear their conversation and they couldn't hear our s," Linda grinned. Several weeks before, Linda had stayed all night with Ann. In pulling open a dresser drawer by mistake, she had discovered one of those shoot'em-up-boys paperbacked novels. "Don't tell me," she had stage-whispered to Ann, "that you read this Wild West horror stuff?" "Sure I do," Ann had answered stoutly. "Some of the stories are very well-written, and they take your mind off your own problems better than any other kind of writing. Go on — stop laughing. I'll bet you have a secret sin, too." "I have," admitted Linda. "I buy these same books by the dozen. If my mother ever found that out . . ." Denouement: All the way across the country, while Linda drove, Ann read selected short subjects aloud from these blood-and-thunder publications while the mothers in the back seat were doubtless exchanging recipes for watermelon pickles. 68