The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

Photo-Play Journal ANN MAY— A HARD WORKING RICH GIRL By H. RILEY INCENSE was burning and Farrar was Victrola-ing "Chanson Boheme" from "Carmen." I expected to find a vampire wriggling in cloth of gold and swaying to the movement of a peacock fan. Instead, there was an American edition of a Parisian coquette wearing a frivolous frock of rainbow hues, which was met just below the knees by orchid hose extending to orchid satin slippers encrusted with rhinestones. The slippers, I suspect, had been dancing to the tra-la-lala-la-la of Farrar's gypsy song. The short, black curly hair seemed pirouetting about the head and into the eyes of a petite mademoiselle. I caught myself about to say, "So this is Paris." "So this is Ann May," I substituted. Miss May extended a small hand on which a ring of diamonds and platinum sparkled almost as brilliantly as her black, witching eyes. She whirled about and submerged in a pillow of cushions on a chaise longue. "£tes-vous une Parisienne?" I stammered in French as fluent as Charles Ray's in "Paris Green." I had observed Mile. May as the Parisienne who commits arson with Ray's heart in that picture. No, she is not Parisian, she informed me by shaking her head so that the black curls hid her face. "Nope," she said in pure American. "Everyone seems to think me French since 'Paris Green.' Do I look wicked? I hope so." She glanced up with a smile which, I "admit, was wicked. "Well, those eyes, the shrugs, the incense, 'Chanson Boheme,' " I countered with circumstantial evidence. "Oh, I always burn incense when I feel blue. And the gypsy song — that suits me. I'm gypsy. Oh, yes, I am. I'm positive my ancestors traveled in covered wagons and burglarized hen roosts." They must have been high financiers of roost brokerage, for it is known that Ann May comes from a family of wealth. She informs me, however, that such is not to be told, that it is damaging to one's reputation in motion pictures to be considered wealthy. "You know the tradition about successful stars. They all start by starving." Just then a maid wheeled in a tea-cart crowded with cups, urn and cakes. "Evidently you are not starting — or you are starting in a different way." Indeed, Miss May has swept aside all traditions in the matter of commencing a career in pictures. She stepped from the ballroom into leading-ladyship with Charles Ray in "Paris Green." Jerome Storm met her at the fashionable Beverly Hills Hotel in Los Angeles while she was spending a winter there with her aunt. Being a directorial genius, he recognizes the stuff that stars are made of. Consequently he engaged Miss May. "I thought I was terrible in 'Paris Green,' " she emphasized. "When I saw it in the Ince projection room, I said 'Not for me! I am through with pictures.' I went back to New York. But I couldn't stand the social life. Don't you think that leisure is deadly?" I couldn't say, so she continued. "I had packed my trunk and told the maid I was leaving in the morning for some place. I didn't know where. I didn't even tell my aunt. I just knew I was going away somewhere and go to work. I rather thought I would be a writer. At seven o'clock in the morning the maid called me and delivered a telegram. It was from Mr. Ray, offering me the lead with him in the first of his own pictures, 'Peaceful Valley.' / nearly dropped dead! I thought someone was playing a joke on me. My uncle said I was foolish, and he dictated a wire in reply. So here I am, spoiling another good picture." Jerome Storm, who is directing "Peaceful Valley," informed me that the only chance the young lady had of spoiling the picture was by stealing the scenes from everyone else. "If she concentrates as she has been doing, she will be a star tomorrow and worth fifteen hundred a week at the least," said he. I repeated the observation to Miss May. "Well, maybe I could. Some men came to me with a proposition to form a company for me. I wouldn't consider it unless I could have the right organization behind me. You know, in union there is strength," she made a moue and lifted her eyebrows in pride of her astuteness. "I'd have to get Jerry to direct and Chet Lyons to photograph me. Jerry is the most wonderful director, and you should hear Mr. Chet. He's the funniest— Thereupon ensued a long description of "Jerry" and "Mr. Chet." They are most extraordinary persons, I gathered, capable of performing the miracle that makes the stars. It is impossible to do an accurate word portraiture