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Nightmares Of a Peanut
At Eight Every Night, Marjorie White Has A Guilty Feeling
By DOROTHY MANNERS
WHEN Marjorie White is nor busy being a wow in such Fox revues as "Happy Days," "Sunny Side Up," and the new "Follies," she is equally occupied having nightmares about returning to Inter-State Vaudeville, from whence she came. Even the glowing assurances of critics, and a two-year contract even more glowing, hasn't quite sold her on the idea that she is wholly set.
"Every time I see a new girl on the lot from New York, I jus' know she's slated to take my place. 'What have I got I ask myself, 'What have I got.?' Seems like each one that comes out is just a little more beautiful than the other. An ' as long as they stay beautiful, it's a little consoling. I figure it's harder to get shrimps like me for pictures than it is to get the real beauties. I guess I 'm fairly safe," she gasped in childish breathlessness, "until another peanut shows up."
In all justice to Marjorie, she is not so "shrimpy" as just plain juvenile chubby. Even out of the reach of the mike she continues to talk like a fifth-grade contender for the elocution medal. Without ever quite achieving a lisp, she is always on the verge of it. The rest of her is made up of an enormous pair of China-blue eyes, that stare out on the world in utter bewilderment that it could be so grown up. On this occasion the expression of bafflement was further enhanced by a woolly white tam, set so far back on her blonde head that it fairly clutched at her bob for place and position.
Not Yet Convinced
IT would be a mean trick if I should get un-renewed just as r
m beginning to be so crazy about it out here, wouldn't it.?" she inquired plaintively, on the outskirts of a pout. And it wasn't until I agreed that it would, that she brightened perceptibly.
"I've got a regular Hollywood house up on top of a hill . . . that is, it dangles there, all surrounded by flowers and plants and things An' I've even bought myself a Ford which { drive very well, though no one thinks ( d except myself. Gee, sometimes I wake I in the middle of the night and just gr^ j/t hold of my bed, because it's permanent on the floor and won't fold up on me. After you've lived a disappearing life in four-a-day and slept in beds tha i fold up on you, as long as I have, yo^*V.ii begin to appreciate those Httlt , , • details.
"I haven't got myself fully convinced yet that when I come home to dinner at night I'can {Continued on page q6)
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