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When picture parts became scarce, I left the Hollywood Hotel and went to live in a three-room basement in a private house. All I needed was a place to sleep, change my clothes, and make my own breakfast. I thought nothing of it; in fact, I rather enjoyed it until one morning the iceman came through my bedroom to fill the box in the furnace room, looked down at me, and said, "You're in pictures, ain't you?"
dry «
bure.
"Well, what's an actress doing in a hole like this? Haven't you got any man to take care of you?"
"I don't need a man; I take care of myself," I said.
"Gee whiz, lady! I don't know how anybody could live this way; I couldn't."
That was too much. Holding my head up to my friends was one thing, but having my iceman pity me was something else again.
A friend of mine in the real-estate business told me about a new subdivision near the property where the Fox Studio was being built and said I could double my money in a couple of months by investing in a lot. I decided to have a look at it.
We rode all around the property. Houses were going up so fast you would have thought they didn't cost any more than the one we used to have back home for our dog. I listened with a very attentive ear to the prices and was thinking seriously of buying a lot and maybe building a little shack on it.
Fact is, my friend was pretty sure that he had made a sale. On the way home he said, "Now I'll take you over and show you some choicer places. Of course they cost more." What he showed me was Wilshire Boulevard property. Even I had wit enough to know that Wilshire would be the main highway from Los Angeles to the sea.
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