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Photoplay Magazine for August, 1931
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for New York and the stage (with no training) with an elderly aunt as a chaperon. Her father supported both for a time, although he was never really in sympathy with her stage career. In a year or so she was caught up in the aggressively unconventional post-war atmosphere of New York and the theater, and beginning to get fair roles in plays, Tallulah decided she didn't want or need a chaperon.
She began to be on her own in one way or another, and in a few years the change from the pleading, Southern girl to the independent woman was more or less complete.
BEING only partially financially independent in New York for the reason that she was only mildly successful in the theater, London did the rest. She was an instantaneous hit there, and she soon became the center of a vortex where loose and heterogeneous society, the literati and the theater met and mingled. All sorts of stories were printed about her, some true, most of them untrue.
Her American vitality was refreshing, her adventuresomeness in life and love caused more and more interest, and the press was either worshipful or insinuating.
She lived recklessly, threw her money away, and only since she has signed with Paramount at an enormous salary has she been able to pay back her English debts.
"You'll never have a cent, Miss Bankhead," her secretary told her just the other day in New York, where she has already become the center of another vortex of society and lesser worlds, and where she is still careless, irresponsible, and still an experimenter in life and love.
"Oh well," she replied, "life only lasts a little while."
Then she turned to Gary Cooper, whom she had only met that day, he being in New York on his way to Europe, and whom she had liked and had immediately annexed as a guest at a cocktail party in her apartments that afternoon.
"Isn't he sweet, my dears!" she said to her guests and to the somewhat bewildered young man of Montana. "Isn't he perfectly divine! He's so slow!"
She thrives on flattery; she adores it from either sex to the point of absolute weakness; and she must be the center of the stage, and to be that she will be amusing, shocking, or even turn handsprings — and this sport, incidentally, she indulges in at parties more often than you would think — or let loose a volley of gay Rabelaisian language.
There are times, too, when her show-off complex so rises that she will suddenly announce to a party of friends — only intimate friends, of course — that inasmuch as she is so beautiful in her bath they must be accorded the privilege of watching her in it.
She is, though, a first rate comedienne in real life, no matter what act she is giving at the moment.
Her vitality is tremendous and she talks all the time.
SO eager is she to collect crowds around her for a good time that she is frequently known to gather up an entire group at a night club, a restaurant or a speakeasy, ask them to join her party, usually a large one, and proceed with them to her apartments where they may eat, drink and be merry. Meanwhile if she becomes bored, for she drinks comparatively little when she is working, she simply shuts herself in her rooms and goes to sleep — leaving her party to exhaust itself under the watchful eyes of her two secretaries, staunch English girls whom she has brought over.
It is small wonder, then, that she is in demand by all classes of New York society, just as she was the darling of London from the aristocracy on down.
"What is your ambition?" she was asked.
"To have none," she replied.
"Why did you want to go in the talkies?"
"To be near Greta Garbo and Robert Montgomery," she answered.
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