Motion Picture (Aug 1939-Jan 1940)

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Ends daily make-up bother, y Never runs, smarts, smudges or harms 1 1 ashes. Indelible. Try it ! $1 at dept. and drugstores. _ INDELIBLE DARKENER ' "Dark-Eyes," 2110 W. Madison St., Dept. 30-K9, Chicago, I. .. I enclose 25c (coin or stamps} for generous* trial package of "Dark-Eyes" and directions. Kame Tmcn . A ddress State. getting back some of the things I've missed so . . . there is, in this boy I go out with quite a bit now, much of Jack's freshness, ideal ism, which are the qualities I must find in a man if he is to appeal to me. . . ." SO, KNOWING what this pastyear or two has meant to Andrea, has done to Andrea, it is not surprising that she finds it a little more than insipid to be called merely "a sweet girl . . ." After she had told me about Jack she picked up her knitting again, picked up the dropped stitches like she has picked up the dropped stitches of her life, laughed and said, "I'm not satisfied with myself as others see me. I'm not satisfied with what I see when I look at myself in the mirror, either. It's a face that's kind of soft," she complained, "eyes too soft, mouth not voluptuous, just a mouth ... I don't like my teeth. "And my coloring is all the same, eyes brown, hair brown, skin that blends in ... I haven't the black, black hair, the white, white skin of Hedy Lamarr nor that red hair and those green eyes of Greer Garson ! Why, when I see myself on the screen I think I'm doing a black-face ... all I can see are those eyes and them teeth. . . . "I can't even wear startling clothes, so I'm told. I have to wear plain, simple things" . . . Andrea positively shuddered ... "I go to a shop and try on something that would throw the Hayes Office into hysteria and just as I'm about to say 'I'll takeit,' the sales-lady, just passing up commission because she is letting her conscience get the better of her, says, 'Oh, Miss Leeds, this gown belongs on Hedy Lamarr, not on you !' And I leave the place with a little gingham number under my arm ! "I can't wear jewelry, not the big, blobby kind I'd like to wear. But," said Andrea, quite fiercely, "I have two gowns coming up, sort of suggested by the native costumes in The Real Glory, one black and white and very sensational, the other black with swatches of insolent red, and I'm going to wear them and hope that I'll hear the last of the 'sweet girl' sweetness and light. A 'sweet girl' is next door to the unfortunate damsel who gets the epitaphic, 'she's a Nice Girl!' iC\\T HY, every man I have gone out with VV says, 'Andrea, I like you because you're so sweet !' I have frequently had it on the tip of my tongue to say, 'Don't tell me I'm going to be a sister to you !' "They tell stories on the sets and the minute I pu't in an appearance they stop, begin discussing the weather or how babies are stealing pictures ... it gets very boring. It's worse than being merely boring, it's injurious to my work. For they won't give me good, biting dramatic parts to do. Because of this cloying conviction that I'm too 'sweet' to do things etched in acid, painted red. "Even when I did Stage Door and felt that my part in that indicated, at least, that I didn't have to be forever blowing pasteltinted bubbles, they said, 'It was just an 'accident' — must have been !' I like my part in The Real Glory . . . she's a warm-blooded, living creature . . . and I adore working with Gary Cooper, I don't mind telling you . . . But for the most part I have not even been considered for the parts I'd like to play — parts like Bette Davis' in Dark Victory . . . things like that. . . . "Of course," said Andrea, "it's partly my own fault, I suppose. I never get mad. I never lose my temper. When people say 'Leeds will do it,' whether it's posing for stills when I'm so tired I feel like a stilllife or meeting visiting firemen or doing a scene in a way I don't believe in doing it . . . I just DO IT. Maybe I believe my own 'publicity,' laughed Andrea, "but if people would just stop calling me 'sweet' I could really have some rip-roaring times. "I'm NOT the 'sweet' type," insisted Andrea, her knitting-needles beginning to point and ply like lethal weapons, "I may write poetry but it's NOT about hearts and flowers and meadow-larks and dew. I don't think that Making Fudge is a Big Evening. I did faint at the fights recently, I must regretfully confess. (That's going to set me back a peg or two in my anti-sweetness-andlight campaign!) But many a pre-medic faints when he first goes into the operatingroom and that doesn't mean that he won't turn out a surgeon with nerves of steel. "I don't swoon and turn pale at the sight of a mouse or the sound of a ringing oath. I do know How Babies Are Born. I have Faced Up to the Facts of Life like a brave little man. My literary fare is NOT the Five Little Peppers nor yet the Elsie Dinsmore books. I do read books written for adults with mature minds and intestinal fortitude. tcT HAVE no fear. No fear at all of death. A Any fear I might have had Jack took with him when he went. "I read the most moiderous moidcr mysteries I can get. I drive my car around town, alone and unarmed, at all hours of the night. And this is not because I haven't 'a nerve in my body,' either. People think I have no nerves. Well, I can only say that if I could scream I wouldn't be sick to my stomach, which I am, and often. "I'm not superstitious. Birds can fly in windows, mirrors break. I can drop combs, walk under ladders, trip over black cats crossing my path without the quiver of a single antennae. "I have my pet hates — and surely there shouldn't be a single, not even an eentsyteentsy hate, in a carload of Sweetness and Light ! — I loathe people who, when trying to hurry me, jerk my arm, pull at me. I detest affectation in people. Particularly and especially an affected laugh. There is something about an affected laugh which leaves me much as the skin of a new-born baby would be left if rubbed with sand-paper. "I'm not a mousy little Miss in my tastes, either. I'm extravagant. I love frivolous, frightfully expensive shoes and slippers ; cob-webby hose, the kind you throw away after one wearing. "I believe in Reincarnation. I am a Fatalist — or was. Until Jack died I believed that things were pre-destined, that we 'go' when our time comes, that things happen because they are part of the Plan and, in the scheme of things, entirely for the best. I don't believe that now. I can't. I don't want to believe in a Plan which could include anything so cruelly senseless, so cruelly unnecessary as Jack's going. "I do not droop and pine and weep my life away. Jack thought better of me than that. I go out with boys, dine, dance. I am, as I told you, interested in the boy I see so often . . . the boy who has so many of Jack's qualities. I am keenly interested in my work. I hope and believe that Mr. Goldwyn is going to give me more of the kind of parts I want. I certainly hope and intend to marry. My desire to have my own home, my own family, children, is still my First Desire . . . my work, I should say, is my Second Love. . . . "So," said Andrea, dropping her knitting, "don't call me a 'sweet girl' in this story, will you ? If you do . . ." and she looked at me as threateningly as the beautiful, warm ivory contours' of her face would permit, "if you do. . .!" "I won't," I promised. I haven't, either. How could I ? 84