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Madame Manhattan
NITA NALDI
New York's Hollywood representative
ty ^JVlary Winship
NITA NALDI is a jealous wife's pet nightmare. Anytime wine sits at the window listening for the rattle of a taxicab and hearing instead the rattle of the milkcans, she visualizes hubby as enmeshed in the silken foils of a lady exactly like Nita.
No woman could possibly be comfortable in the same room with the man she loved, and Nita Naldi.
She suggests that she was born under the cross currents of Saturn and Venus and that she certainly should die with a stiletto between her exquisite shoulder blades.
If she ever gazes into a mirror she must realize that she is more like an orchid distilled from the seven deadly sins than an Easter lily.
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She came to California to play the Spanish vamp in "Blood and Sand." They're calling her the feminine Valentino. Above: the shadows of a toreador's past: Valentino and Naldi in a scene from their picture
As a matter of fact, this is apparently another time when looks are somewhat deceiving. She seems to be a perfectly regular, full of fun, worldly-wise New York show girl.
Do you remember that line in Kipling's "Mandalay" about "And the dawn comes up like thunder out of China 'cross the bay"?
That is the way Nita Naldi burst upon me the first day, on a scarlet and gold Spanish set, erected for "Blood and Sand" at the Lasky studio in Hollywood.
For weeks, there had been turmoil and unrest concerning the casting of the lady who vamps Ruddy Valentino in his first starring vehicle. Several actresses had made tests for it. Names had been announced and withdrawn. The picture had been held up. . Hollywood's picture colony had been scoured.
Then, Nita Naldi arrived from New York, donned the
sequins and shoulder straps necessary for action — and
it was all over. It was Naldi's first appearance in Hollywood,
and she has had exactly the same effect that throwing a brick
into a peaceful pond usually has.
The combination of the thrilling sense-lure of all nations and ages — an exciting, almost ugly, almost beautiful face. Unlike anyone or anything else.
Eyes that are utterly, absurdly Chinese — black and baffling and violently aslant. A wicked, provocative Spanish mouth. High, ugly, cheek bones like those of a Russian noblewoman, that throw her whole face oddly out of focus. A strong nose with a suggestion of a Roman hook to it. Hair as black and straight and glistening as an Italian lake at midnight. Tiny, arched French feet and slim ankles. The body of a young Greek goddess.
She wore that day — she was not working — a gown of black
crepe that fell back from her arms and throat in flashes of
insolent, lipstick red. A black hat that made her olive skin
almost swarthy. Foreign, strange, hectically fascinating.
But when she spoke — you felt (Concluded on page 112)