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C How a lonely girl spends Christmas in Hollywood
Ojbous
The Diary of
an Extra Girl
OLD
ately calls forth your best New York accent. I arranged to go right over to a certain number in Hollywood, not far from the club.
My room-mates were skeptical. Sounded fishy to them, they said, to be going to a private home to see about a job. Why didn't I meet him under the pine tree in the garden, so they could keep an eye on the proceedings. But I scoffed at them. Wasn't I an old hand at the whole movie game? Nothing in Hollywood I wasn't wise to. Besides, both the man and the voice over the phone seemed bluelabelled and genuine. And of course I needed money so badly, I'd have followed up any scent at all that smelled of a job.
South American Films
TJuly 1, 1923. hough I am almost an old Hollywoodian, and know most of the cues in the comedy-drama of this "Land of Make-Believe," yet— they pulled a new line on me this week — one I'd never heard before.
I had worked two nights at Fox's, in one of Tom Mix's pictures, just doing extra work, of course. The set was a Texas dance hall, Tom Mix is lovely to work for. He treats the extras and all his company as if they were honestto-God human beings like himself. He has a real cow-boy chef and, at midnight, the entire company is invited to file up to the most delectable lunch wagon and partake of the most luscious "chow." Real Spanish dishes and the best of everything. There is a very different atmosphere around his little band than about any other star or company I've ever worked for. Funny how the rotten and the sweet gets mixed up in this game.
The new line was pulled by a man not in the company at all. He was a sort of glorified Extra, doing just a bit. This man watched me closely all evening. For once in my "celluloid life" I was not half naked. I was fully clothed in a little blue and gray sports outfit borrowed from Babs.
Offered $150 a Week
'uring our delicious supper, this actor came up to me, introducing himself to me as Mr. South. "Did I know of him?" "No," I said.
"Well," he replied, "I am ^ust doing this bit to fill in a gap between pictures, but I am a director myself, and I want to know if you would be interested in earning $150 a week for at least two weeks, possibly it might be for three or four."
"Ask a drowning man if he'd be interested in a life preserver," was my pert reply, for I thought he was only kidding.
"Well, then, dear child, call up my wife (handing me his card with his telephone number) to-morrow morning. She will arrange for you to call, and we'll talk things over. I've a great little wife. She helps me direct, and I want her to meet you before I decide definitely."
Could anything, I ask you, sound more recklessly respectable ?
The next morning I called the number. A woman's voice answered. What a speaking voice she had — one of the refined, cultured, interested-in-you-at-once voices that immedi
JL he attractive little Spanish bungalow I went to, was on a quiet, Accacia bordered street. The woman who met me at the door was charming. She told me of her husband's interest in a South American picture company. She spoke of his delight in finding me, just the type he had been searching for. She said he had been called to the studio and would expect me there in about an hour. She bid me good-bye with words to this effect ! :
"My husband and I work together always. He is a fine man. One of the few you can trust. Anything he asks you to do, you can bank on it, is all right."
I left her with great faith in the part her husband was about to offer me. It was only a matter of waiting, this movie game. Sooner or later, if you didn't starve in the meantime, there was sure to come forth a director who would say, "My dear, where have you hidden yourself? I've been searching all Hollywood just for you !" Yes, I'd always known it, and now it had come.
I drew a deep breath, I skipped down the street for sheer joy. Over and over the woman had impressed upon me that her husband had said that I was a splendid Latin type, and that he had watched my work very carefully the night before, and so knew just what I could do.
My in-born desire to act is so strong I find one can easily stir up vanity in me by the slightest praise of my acting. And the praise I had just heard was anything but slight. So, cheerily, merrily, did I fly to the studio.
Ramshackle Studio
The address given me, I found to be one of those ramshackle, tumbled down affairs on Santa Monica Boulevard. On approaching its dilapidated doorway, my faith slipped out of high gear. Still, I entered smilingly.
For once, the door-man let me in without words. Yes, Mr. South expected me. I was to go into his private office.
His line was so good, and so originally worded — I should have taken it down in short hand — (if I'd only known short hand). It went something like this:
"Now, little lady, I want a short, straight talk with you. I'm an old man, and I feel as though you were my own daughter, so I want to protect, and help you get along at the same time."
It sounded like music to my ears.
"Now our pictures are released only in South America. You are a magnificent Latin type. You are not only Spanish looking, but you have a good, well rounded figure. We take pictures in two, three, or {Continued on page 77)
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