From under my hat (1952)

From under my Hat Our picture stars meant nothing to her. She didn't recognize their faces or their names. I introduced her to Hedy Lamarr. "You're beautiful," said Mother. "You should be in pictures." "Mother," I insisted, "this is Hedy Lamarr." "Well, she could change her name; you did, Elda." Then Hedy, whose mother had recently arrived from Germany, asked how Mother liked the train trip West. She replied proudly, "I came by plane. It's the only way to travel." Bless her heart, she'd never seen the inside of one until she stepped aboard for the trip to Hollywood. The night Paris fell, Ken Murray escorted Mother and me to the premiere of All This and Heaven Too. At that opening three mothers stood together. They made quite a picture. Bette Davis's mother from New England, Charles Boyer's mother, who had escaped from Paris ten days before, and mine from Pennsylvania. Without any boasting, I can truthfully say mine was the most beautiful. Her naturally wavy black hair had turned white, but her brown eyes still held their sparkle. She was dressed in black chiffon trimmed with white lace, and wore a spray of orchids on her shoulder. Gloves covered her toilworn hands. She'd had a manicure for the first time in her long life and was fascinated by the nail polish. "Why," she smiled as she looked at herself in a full-length mirror, "I'm just like a movie star! I wish Dad could see me tonight." As is our custom at premieres, there was an intermission. Mother rose and said, "Good. Now we can go home." "The picture's only half over," I said. "Long, isn't it?" she replied as she sat down again. Later we went to supper at Ciro's with Edgar Bergen and Ken Murray. Edgar ordered champagne; my mother ordered milk, and I followed suit. She loved looking at the pretty stars, as she might enjoy a rosebush in her own garden. But she heard not a word that was spoken. Next morning she asked if they were important people we'd had supper with. "That was Edgar Bergen, Mother." 308