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eviction notice. “You can’t imagine how desperate I was the day they told me we’d have to give up our room,’’ recalls Marie, leading you back inside. “I guess it showed on my face because walking down Hollywood Boulevard, just aimlessly, I passed a girl who stopped me. It turned out that I’d been introduced to her some weeks before, and she recognized that I was in trouble. ‘They’re selling a little house across the street from my home,’ she told me. ‘Why don’t you take a look at it?’ ” The house, darkly furnished, seemed rather small for the large sum the owner was asking. Moreover, newcomer Lund wasn’t ready to buy.
“Too much responsibility,” he told his wife. “This is no time to tie ourselves down. In this business, you never can tell what will happen.”
ALTHOUGH this last remark will never establish John as a prophet, it was not entirely unfounded. In New York he had enjoyed the highly successful role in “The Hasty Heart” which brought him to Paramount’s notice, and before that, a year’s run in the lavish musical, “Early to Bed.” Before these clicks, however, he had at various times exercised his bent for ditchdigging, soda-jerking, carpentering, timekeeping, advertising agency work, and as a minor thespian in a World’s Fair pageant— none of which classified as stationary occupations. So, “Let’s keep looking,” he told her.
“We took a cab and went up and down street after street,” says Marie. “Of course, John insisted I picked the streets I already knew had no vacancies. We looked at other places to buy, too — big barns for $50,000 — and one place, s’help me, which the lady was willing to sell for a neat sum, immediate occupancy, if I’d throw in nursing services during her imminent child-birth. All in all, I knew this place to be my own dear little haven when we finally got back to it.
“After that, there was the escrow we had to coax people to waive, so we could move right in. And the termites we had to coax to move out. And a leak in the kitchen drain pipe. And then there was the day they delivered my stove and because John had forgotten to leave a check to pay for it, they took it back again—” “Hey,” calls the check-forgetter at this point, “I have just realized that is the longest and saddest story I have ever listened to. If it gets into print, you have just set the home-owning business back a good twenty years. Besides, what happens to all that food I bought — doesn’t a man ever eat around here?”
A man eats very well around there, as Marie eventually demonstrates. There’s a lamb curry, a lettuce and tomato salad with a secret-recipe dressing, and hot garlic bread. No potatoes, and fruit for dessert if you want to keep your figure, which you do. And salting the entire meal, there are Barrymore anecdotes by John, complete with snorts and other characteristic gestures.
The Lunds are not party or cafe people. To a fellow who has to hit the soundstage early every morning, Saturday seems like a nice time to stay home and indulge. “My favorite bad habit — laziness. We like to read — sometimes we play cards — but usually we just sit around and try to raise tedium to a new level.” This particular Saturday night, however, there is a new foreign importation at a favorite cinema. John, who is a serious actor for all his funning, would like to see the Noel Coward picture so you’re off for a “Brief Encounter” with the Britisher. Afterwards there is a slight controversy over the merits of a chicken sandwich at Dave’s Blue Room, as opposed to the lure of a chocolate soda at a drive-in. Home — and
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