Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1928-Jan 1929)

Has Anybody Here Seen Connie ? (Continued from page 49) Being cautious, which comes of being a New Yorker, we launched a speculative query — "Are you the young lady we, ah, ahem, we're, now — that is, talking to Jim about — at least to " "Well, I don't know what you had in your mind, if anything, or what you think you ordered. But, I'm Connie, and prob.ably we're going out to the Ambassador," she shot at me in a soft even tone of voice that put me to shame to think that I had for one moment doubted that she was Connie— the real genuine Connie. A box-seat in Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador — and on a crowded night at that — a renewing of acquaintance with Colonel Denham, who polices the countless miles of spacious corridor and keeps an ever watchful eye to prevent the wicked machinations of designing guests. A. few words then to Jimmie, the darkhaired head waiter whose suave smile brings much largess to his larder. Why, a friend of mine has been supplying Jimmie with twenty-dollar hats that are the most careful picking from among the best his big factory turns out. Another friend — well — Jimmie is important all right — but let's talk about Connie. Of course, Connie is a good dancer — she would have to be good' to dance with me. Paraphrasing, as I am, the remark of the pretty girl who worked a few weeks in Philadelphia, "you'd have to be good to get three thousand dollars in Philadelphia." Among Those Present Dut Connie is good — good to look upon — as restful as ' the warm effulgent glow of a crimson tinted California sunset sky with patents pending. And good to talk to — about or simply at. She knows her Hollywood values far better than a Los Angeles realtor knows the historic background of Hacienda Los Cerritos, which is right at his front door. "That girl at the very next table to us —the pretty girl with the light of titian red in her hair — is Jacqueline Logan. And there's Camilla Horn. And John Barrymore. The two knockout Irish girls are Molly O'Day and Sally O'Neil. There's Myrna Kennedy and Jimmy Hall. I don't know who the other well-dressed and successful looking older people are, but, judging from the pride that those two grayhaired men take in dancing with her and gathering from the smiles with which the mature women, who are evidently the wives, greet the happy husbands after the alternate dances — why I would assume," reasoned Connie, "that they simply must be relatives." That does sound reasonable at that, doesn't it? You know Connie is only about five feet four inches or so tall, and if one were to confine one's guess to Connie's dancing weight, as she looks demurely up at you from chestnut eyes set deep in black outlines of rounded eyelashes — well — her soft, demure and prettily rounded little body, would weigh no more heavily on your arms than would a care-free memory rest upon your mind. But, of course, Connie must weigh something, and as Death Valley Scotty of fond memory, with his fivegallon hat and his brilliant red knitted necktie, appraised things in the hotel lobby, "One hundred and ten on the hoof" but certainly never an ounce on my hoof. Connie's Blighted Life Ronnie spoke from a sensitive mouth that foretold her immediate attitude even before words left her lips. Sort of like clouds over a sunkist valley when her lips twitched downward, and bright fulsome sunshiny words when they turned ever so slightly upward. Most everyone danced on that floor that night, and just a record of the names that the little dancing partner poured into my ears would read as ponderously and as imposingly as a list of the arrival of buyers on any August day in the "New York Times" — and sorry I am to say it — it would mean just about as much. Oh, there are just too many important people in the movies for words. Yes, like so many of us, Connie has been married. It all turned out too badly — sort of a disillusion — he was much older — and it was hard to share him with other women. She had in her own words acquired "horse sense" in the process and marriage ' was to mean something wholly different the next time. "Llorse sense" was certainly no legitimate lead upon which to hang further conversation, but we did drift into talking about cowboys and Western stuff. Of course, and I don't say this in any cruel or sarcastic way, I believed everything that Connie told me. I wanted to ■ — she looks like a square shooter. But, she did murmur something about ^doing something important in a Western 'picture or two — maybe she was with Universal, if my hazy memory focuses clearly on the event. She did speak of the younger Laemmle in pleasing manner, and the Fox Studios were close to her affections. She flatly accused me of having a stock expression of using a long drawn out and rather ridiculously attenuated O-h-y-e-a-h, which calls for an ever rising inflection as yqu run the scale. Of course, that's quite New Yorkish, and while it sounds the way you would expect Jimmie Walker to say it from out the corner of his mouth, it nevertheless gives you the desired bigcity manner. She Sighs for Footlights YY/ell, if I have a stock expression, Connie at least has had some stock experience. Yes, indeed, the legitimate stage is her ambition, and she repeated a dozen or more familiar names of movie nobs who were finding complete expression across the footlights to their dear, dear audiences. Somewhere, not too far from the Ambassador, stands a yellow apartment house at the top of a slight hill — slippery tile steps, wet with a spring fog, led up stairs to the cavernous doorway. Connie's lips smiled and 1 knew pleasant words were to be mine. "Good-night, and please, please, don't forget Connie." And then as though she would rid herself of all deception, she added as generous measure, "my real name is Consuello, and I believe," she hesitatingly added, "that it means consolation." A warm strong clasp from a well tapered hand, a pair of starry eyes, and like one of Houdini's masterpieces, she was gone. My lips almost kissed my own crude hand instead of the vanished one. Like a shock it dawned on me. What was Connie's last name — how stupid of me — not even a phone number, and worst of all, when I called Jim in the morning, he had apology in his every word and haltingly explained that he just couldn't find a single solitary extra girl for our last night's party. But we had an extra girl — an extraordinary little girl. And doesn't somebody know Connie — please think — who is she anyway ? They Used to Say Look at Me NOW The Story of a woman who found the way out "T WEIGHED 167 pounds less than four A months ago. 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