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Read the Tale of the Fierce, Vain Love of Little Yellow Gim-Gam
Illustrated by
Everett Shinn
"Buster, my mother and father!" said Gim-Gam
quietly. If only that yellow specter of a man would
speak, thought Buster. If only the old woman
would tear her eyes away!
past and future favors, I'll take pay-dirt right now. Am I laboring because I love my art? Besides, don't I vocalize my Chinese vowels and scream with a weird 'native' accent now that the movies mutter? One thousand per — a one with three naughts, and every week — "
"Gimmy-girl! Have a heart. You're taking advantage, to hold us up. You know how we need you for this slave role. You're the only Chinese girl who can act. You've a big fan following — "
"Sweet of you to be my press agent, Rocky." Her brows raised into a narrow black arc. "Dust off your line. I crave criginality. The man," to Buster, "has no finesse." Then, sharply, "Play ball, Rocky. You know I'm nobody's little
folly. Do I get my thousand per? . . . O. K. . . . hmmm, for two cents I would. I do love your cow-lick, Rocky. "
While he murmured incoherently, the papers were signed.
"You're not such a pill, Rocky. You can be sweet to little girls!"
Her voice, through its fluff of gaiety a petulant quiver, drew Buster. Her diminutive, picturesque charm eased vulgarity into racy allure.
BENEATH her appraisal, a challenge mocked him from oblique eyes. While he watched, amused, his fancy caught by something about her that he couldn't define, she bargained shrewdly with Rocky, over guarantee of pay during rehearsals, costumes, billing, publicity.
In no place but the melting pot of Hollywood could there be a Gim-Gam. Hollywood is community-sufficient, wrapped in her own childish pride and [please turn to page 119]
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