Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1939)

MARRIED A I WENT into it with my eyes wide open, though I've often tried to find solace — and an alibi — in the thought that it wasn't a star I married at all, but just a beautiful, sweet, bewildered wisp of a girl. More than once I've almost wept in self-pity at the memory of how she looked the day the idea of marrying her hit me. And how noble and unselfish I felt. Huddled in the far corner of the testing set, the look of a scared rabbit in her big eyes, she seemed utterly lost as she watched the director, cameraman and hairdresser battle over her hairline and eyebrows. "She needs somebody to protect her against these wolves," I told myself. If I had paused to use the spoonful of brains God gave me, or to lend an ear to the cargo of experience Hollywood had dropped in my lap, I'd have peeked three years into the future and seen those "wolves" scampering to keep out of her way. But, instead of looking ahead, as I had done when other meek supplicants to stardom stood before me, I thought, "The poor kid's all alone here. She needs a friend." So I married the girl. Hollywood declared it a swell match. She was twenty and a promising youngster. I was twenty-seven and the junior partner of a sweet agency. As an artists' agent with good connections, I could really do things for Anne. Even then, the thought of her staying home like a regular wife never occurred to anyone. And I didn't suggest it, because Anne (that's as good as any other name that's not her own) was so eager to accomplish something herself, so, as she pointed out, people wouldn't think I had an empty-head for a wife.. That's a weak excuse, but I would have grabbed anything that made me think a career wasn't first in her heart. And I think Anne made herself believe it, too, she was so sweet and anxious to please. AFTER Anne's first picture, any producer or director in Hollywood would have offered two to one that she was headed for stardom. "Star"' was written all over her work, while I still had a chance to run. I knew my Hollywood odds: three to one she would be a star, and ten to one, as a star, any marriage she made would go on the rocks. I knew that the odds of ten to one that a woman movie star can't stay married are conservative. But I figured that somehow things would be different with us, so I married her, in spite of my friends' advice and warnings. And the same thing happened to me that happens to nine out of ten men who marry movie stars, or other celebrities. Not that living with a luscious lady hasn't a charm all its own. Even my cynical men friends admitted that they envied me my first six months — not forgetting to tell me it ¥was a great life, if I knew when to let go. I resented their lip-smacking attitude toward Anne. It was damned poor taste to let me see just what a choice morsel they regarded her. Whenever they spoke of her charm, her beauty or her naturalness, they managed to convey the impression that it was a shame I would soon have to kiss it all good -by. "Not that living with a luscious lady hasn't a charm all its own. Even my cynical men friends admitted that they envied me" Hollywood called it an ideal match. Yet, if I had used the spoonful of brains God gave me, I would never have done what I pitied so many others for doing — for I have learned the true and — perhaps — shocking reason why stars don't stay married So Anne and I planned a campaign to confound them. We loved each other, and we just couldn't believe we would ever feel differently. But if the time came when we did, we would carry on like real troupers. Anne was deadly earnest about this. Marriage had been good to us, and had brought her peace and security and a chance to work without worry. We would always respect and treasure it. tVEN now, after two years, sometimes I wake from a dream of the starry mist of her eyes, the full, red lips, and the glint of her hair. I'll just admit that I'm still in love with my Anne of those days, and that I've more than once futilely damned pictures for destroying her. Every vestige of her is gone. The gorgeous, glamorous star that has wiggled into her skin is less she than her image on the screen. That beautiful fake stirs no warmth or longing in me. They say divorce is born of misunderstanding. But not in Hollywood. Here understanding, beautiful, intelligent, civilized understanding is the embryo of separation, friendly parting, or what have you. In our village, 'twixt the mountains and the sea, to know is not to love. The first clouds appeared on the horizon of our second year, when Anne would come home at night completely exhausted, with nerves frayed by studio irritations.