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Anyone as outspoken as I am is bound to make enemies. Having only friends would be dull anyway. Like eating eggs without salt. They may be better for you, but where is the tickle to your palate?
Dale Carnegie can bleat about making friends and influencing people. He can have it! I love my enemies, their cracks at me, their rages, and the publicity it gives me. Then, too, it keeps their juices from stagnating.
I've had fun walking into a room and seeing guests scatter as though I were Typhoid Annie. "Good heavens, I didn't think she'd be invited," they buzz.
My only trouble is a tendency to forget I'm feuding with a star and go right up and speak to her. I've never known it to fail; the next day I get candy or flowers.
I had some words with Marlene Dietrich. What about, I can't for the life of me remember. When she quit Paramount and was making an independent picture, she invited me on her set to pose for some photographs with her.
I was an hour late. I kept trying to recall what we'd argued about, but couldn't remember.
Marlene had tripped on the set and, trying to save a baby from injury, had broken her ankle. I've known plenty of stars who would have let the baby go boom and saved themselves. I told her how I admired her for the risk she'd taken. We were photographed in an affectionate pose; and never got around to what it was we had fought over. I suppose she'd forgotten too.
As far as I'm concerned, Dietrich can do no wrong. She proved herself more than a glamour girl in World War II. When Hitler was on the march, Dietrich was whispered about in certain circles as the new Mata Hari. She never pretended she was born anywhere except Germany; but that didn't make her a spy. She hated Hitler and all he stood for.
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