Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1938)

I assumed an air of sang froid. "Good evening, Mr. March," I said in a pleasant but not gushy voice i I Bio., so I write her letters too, being more literary. It takes a lot of time and my school work sometimes interferes. When we lived in Dorchester I had to conduct all my affairs by correspondence, but since we moved to New York I have become a fan in person. If I could only get Pops to give up his law practice and move to Hollywood for his health, life would simplify itself. At any rate, it is thrilling to live in N. Y. and adventures are always happening to me that I never would have dreamed of in Dorchester, like the time I walked down Fifth Avenue from 52nd to 49th with Greta Garbo, only a step behind her. Sometimes I say to myself, "Is this really me?" And it is. Last Sat. was my birthday. It was a significant day, on acc't of I left adolescence behind. Wangled this typewriter from Pops as a surprise. Also got charm for bracelet from Henry, bath salts from Nancy (so she can use them herself, we sharing one bathroom which I hope won't be for long), three boxes of chocolates and some practically invisible stockings; also "Gone with the Wind" and a new autograph album from Barb because mine will be used up in a few weeks if my luck holds out. I hinted like anything for rhinestone hair clips, but it didn't take. The pater has been asking questions about Sat. night. I don't impose my morals on him, although he could stand a few. I told him that Barb's older cousin is chaperoning us with her fiance. It wasn't a he because Marjorie is going on eighteen and practically engaged to a man who actually is eighteen. Marjorie is a frosh at Barnard and studying to be a dramatic critic. She has met Frances Farmer and Peggy Wood and spoken to Leslie Howard, although he didn't answer. She goes in for the Drama and turns up her nose at the Cinema, but Barb and I think that art is in a transitional stage and who knows whither we are drifting? Marj. has a wonderful collection, including forty photos of Leslie Howard, a button from Nelson Eddy's vest, and one of Ilka Chase's facial tissues with her very lipstick on it, which she got out of the ash can in the alley next to the theater. She promised to let me view her collection. She belongs to all the important clubs like the Twentieth Century and the Stage Door and she knows the doormen at Sardi's and the Algonquin in person and they give her a break whenever she shows up. All Barb has to do is express a wish and her parents anticipate it. She has her own radio, her father understanding that a person can concentrate better on her lessons with one ear on whacky. She also has her own phone in her room. Mother has been monopolizing the phone for an hour and heaven knows who has been trying to get me. Also it is very humiliating for a young lady in her middle teens to have to punch a time clock when conversing. My parents are Problem Parents. They need handling. Hope to heaven it doesn't rain Saturday. I'm going to have my nails done red no matter who says what. I smell chocolate. IT is 2 a. m. but I simply have to write down everything at once because it was terrific and I'm too excited to sleep. I can see myself in the mirror as I write and I remind myself of Carole Lombard in "True Confession" except that I have kicked off my slippers because they hurt. Well, to begin at the beginning: While I was in the tub Nancy kept annoying (Continued on page 72) 29