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Ronald Colman boasts the title of Hollywood's most eligible bachelor. Perhaps his reasons for being so are revealed here. He's in "Lost Horizon."
Jean Harlow, one of the town's beauteous belles, is Bill Powell's best gal, but that doesn't change his opinion a bit about this pertinent problem.
Long a happily married man, Warner Baxter knows about women. He's also very familiar with Hollywood, which makes his almost a complete education.
billows, sailing their yachts in the race from Los Angeles to Honolulu. No women are allowed aboard the boats entered in the race.!
I caught up with Bill Powell, returning reluctantly to work. The effort had been strenuous and had left me slightly breathless. I panted, "Bill, exactly what is a woman's town? And is Hollywood one of them?"
IT'S .GETTING to be one," he opined, looking rueful. "Paris has been called that and New York has, too, sometimes." He sat down upon an upturned flower pot which was a prop on the set and he looked reflective and introspective. "A woman's town, I take it," he brought forth at last, "is a city in which women decide how men shall spend their leisure hours — and their money. Feminine whims are laws and men must struggle for women's favors. Life is effete, elaborate, be-ruffled. People who sell orchids and emeralds enjoy it. Some wag or other put it, 'You can identify it because even the garbage smells faintly of Chanel's Number Five !' "
He interrupted himself hastily. "Don't think that the men don't enjoy it. The danger is that this atmosphere makes them soft. And the irony of that is that when he does become soft, even the 'woman's town' wants no more of him. ^
"Take, for instance, your motion picture premiere. Do
you think that any mature man in his senses, would put on tails and a white tie^ buy fifteen dollars' worth of orchids, face crowds and photographers and microphones just to look at a motion picture — unless he did it to please some woman ? It's all right for the younger fry. They like getting into formal clothes and escorting some lush young creature through a foyer where cordons of police are fighting off throngs of admirers. But men outgrow the taste for that sort of thing — women never do. And the parties," he went on, musingly. "There is always that frantic effort to make each one different, to make it more fantastic than the last one. Don't think for a moment that men don't have fun at these elaborate frolics. Of course they do. But you never hear of a man planning one. We do pretty much as we are told in the matter of enjoying ourselves!"
It occurred to me that I hadn't heard of a real stag party in Hollywood in years. The sort of party at which men play poker and drink beer in their shirt sleeves until the dawn. Bob Montgomery told me that he gave one once — and they didn't even play poker.
"We just sat and talked!" Bob marveled, as if that were the most astonishing thing in the world. "We didn't play any games (Continued on page 112)
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