Modern Screen (Dec 1934 - Nov 1935)

T ■i MODERN SCREEN (Continued f rom page 43) and that I must not let my nerves get the better of me. When we entered our host's drawingroom, he cried, "Here is Gloria Gay, our newest and one of our brightest stars !" Gloria smiled and remarked, "And this is my husband, Mr. Blank." I realized presently that while _ there were genuine and amiable people in the room, who appeared really to like me, I didn't mean anything to anyone present. Unless you mean something, stand for something in Hollywood, there is no reason for your being at a party at all. No one invites you merely because he likes you. As we accepted or regretted invitations for subsequent gatherings, I told myself again and again that I shouldn't be invited if it weren't for Gloria. I also told myself that I was being morbid and ridiculous and determined that I should mean something soon. Later at home Gloria said, "Darling, I could have killed that man when he failed to introduce you to his other guests. We shall never, never go there again." She cried and I kissed her and was comforted a little. But in the aching hours of that sleepless night I kept hearing Gloria's remark, "Every woman wants to be proud of her man." She was so dear, so terribly dear. THE days went on in that empty, useless, shiny office. Once or twice I fell so low as to dictate fictitious letters to the red-haired secretary, letters _ to mythical New York brokers. I was invited to attend conferences upon Gloria's next picture. These took place around a long table in a large and impressive office. But when I offered a suggestion, they listened to me with impatient politeness and then proceeded with their own plans and arguments. I went only once. I wrote, painstakingly, the synopsis of an original story which I offered to Armheimer. He received it with thanks and enthusiasm, but I never heard any more about it. I spent more and more time at the polo field. I enjoyed the exercise, liked the chaps who played, enjoyed the gatherings at the clubhouse afterward. I swam in our pool every morning and I took up tennis again. Some days I did not go to the office at all. One of the papers mentioned me as, "Gloria Gay's husband, capitalist and sportsman." My smile at that was pretty bitter. I had no money of my own except the small salary which went with the office. And that wouldn't begin to pay our butler. Gloria was insistent that I buy new clothes and opened accounts for me with expensive tailors. Well, I couldn't disgrace the girl in public by my clothes. Gloria made another picture and then another, with growing acclaim. Even the hard-boiled New York critics liked her, and in "the sticks," those middle western sections which are the back-bone of the box office, she was just what the doctor had ordered. Armheimer tore up her contract and gave her another with a large increase in salary. I lapsed into a curious lethargy. There was plenty of money, I told myself, and even if no one else realized it, both Gloria and I knew that I had helped to earn it. Why shouldn't I be comfortable and luxurious? I knew that there was gossip in the colony about Gloria and Armheimer, but it never occurred to me to doubt her for an instant. She had long since ceased to ask my advice about matters pertaining to her career. But I couldn't blame her. I had no faith in my own judgment. At last we had — she had — a vacation. Six weeks in the summer, between pictures. We would, she decided, go abroad. I demurred. Armheimer had condescended to say that he wanted me to "help" him on a certain production. Some of my energy came back to me. I thought that perhaps this was my opportunity to make her proud of me — to do something. Gloria did more than pout now. "It's a small thing to do for me," she cried. "I can't go without you because the gossip writers will ruin me. I should think you'd be glad to go to Europe with all your expenses paid. Your job, indeed ! Your silly old job. What have you ever done ?" I LEFT her, tearful and sulky, and went to the office. As I sat at my wide, empty desk, a visitor to the lot passed my window, escorted by an office boy. "What," she was inquiring, "does Gloria Gay's husband do?" The boy hesitated. "Well, they call him a supervisor," he admitted, "but I guess that's just to please Miss Gay." I reached for the telephone and called Gloria. "Darling," I said, "I have changed my mind. The job doesn't matter a bean in comparison with your pleasure. Certainly we shall go abroad and I shall strive to give the best performance, as a movie star's husband, that the capitals of Europe have ever seen." I typed my resignation and sent it to Armheimer. Then I left that shiny office forever. The trip to New York and Europe was a triumphant and ecstatic experience for Gloria. I began to drink pretty heavily on that trip and, although I did not disgrace us — or Mr. Armheimer — at any point, my memory of the journey is mostly concerned with wine and food and a conglomeration of celebrities, all cooing at and admiring my wife. We returned and re-entered the whirl. We met, at small and select gatherings, Irving Thalberg and Norma Shearer. How would it feel, I wondered, to be an important executive on the lot upon which your wife was a star? Once I had had dreams. We met Mary Pickford. She was always so shy at parties, until she had found a group of intimates, after which she would sparkle and glow and make a bright and shiny little note in the gathering. How could her romance with Doug have struck a shoal, I wondered, when they were both so successful? The non-professional wives of Clark Gable and Bob Montgomery seemed contented. But non-movie husbands of successful women — Irene Dunne's husband, Colleen Moore's, Aline McMahon's, Elissa Landi's — all these gentlemen appeared to be engaged in profitable pursuits elsewhere. I saw less and less of Gloria. Diet had become important to her. And massage. She was constantly trying new food fads and new aids to beauty. We had always had such fun, bounding off on mad excursions. A picnic. A trip to the beach to ride on roller coasters and win silly Out HOLLYWOOD cmrm a rwm X AIL POLISH u GLORIFY ^ YOUR HANDS <^ oon giouj Sto-NAIL POLISH— Here is the nail polish you've been hearing so much about — made popular by stageand screen stars in Hollywood. Moon Glow Nail Polish is a new blend — applies more smoothly, sets more lustrously. In six splendid shades from the delicate to the daring. Scientifically perfected so as not to chip, peel, crack, fade or streak. And economical — larger bottle, lower price. 2 5 cents at the better toilet goods counters. 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