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in the kitchen and washed dishes. And it cheers our heart, by the way, to feel this couple is growing happier by the minute. Now let's all keep our fingers crossed for Lana and Steve.
It is not true that at the annual visit of the circus to Hollywood Joan Blondell's young son tried to feed peanuts all through the performance to Laird Cregar in the delusion the actor was an elephant. Laird says the little boy only thought so at first until he discovered the actor had no trunk.
Girls, if you like plenty of trimmings and gee-gaws with your frocks* don't think you stand alone. They tell us over at RKO that shooting always begins an hour late on the dress-up scenes in a Ginger Rogers picture
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while the director, designer and wardrobe woman very, very tactfully striptease Ginger of the adornments she insists on wearing.
"See, it's beautiful, Ginger," they'll say, "but I really believe you'd photograph better without the artificial flowers and the clip. And won't the jewel and the bow in your hair overshadow your lovely, smooth coiffure just a shade?"
By the time they've denuded Ginger of her overabundant accessories a lot of time has gone by. So you see, others may like a lot of gingerbread as well as you.
Hollywood's Mystery Child: Hollywood is beginning to ask questions
•W*5£.
about Joan Leslie, Warner's star who will be eighteen years old in January. They're asking why Joan is kept so secluded, made so much of a mysterious recluse by her studio. Requests that Joan appear at officers' organizations with such stars as Jane Withers and Bonita Granville, are met with such howls of horrified disapproval by her studio Cal is growing more and more puzzled.
What's the idea, the town asks. Whom or what are they afraid of? At fourteen, Joan was tramping the streets of New York alone looking for work, according to her biographical publicity and fourteen is pretty young to be going about alone in the big city. Now here she is, a young lady of eighteen, with so much denied her.
A friend was telling Cal of a Sunday afternoon party at the home of a certain young star where Joan was one of the guests. Her father drove her there — late — then sat out in the car in full view of the festivities and waited. The kids were in the midst of a vaudeville show when Joan arrived, each putting on a single routine of his own. Joan asked to perform right off, then, not satisfied with one skit, begged to do another and still another. There was such a repressed eagerness about her for this hour of fun that even the younger set caught the meaning of it and cheered hei on.
If anyone can offer a solution to this mystery, we'd certainly like to know about it. Good, free, happy times seem such a normal thing for young ladies of eighteen, old Cal thinks. {Continued on page 93)
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