Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1938)

LOVES OF HOLLYWOOD BY ADELA ROGERS ST. JOHNS The haunting romance of two famous stars who made a business of the art of loving — o girl who didn *t believe in marriage, a manwho played her game too well. Fourth in a noted series DRAWING BY CARL MUELLER I WAS there at the beginning and saw it all happen right up to what I thought was its gay and glittering finale. That "always leave them laughing when you say good-by" which was her well-known creed. I came upon the real end of the story only long afterwards, and then by accident. And it is that unsuspected ending which makes the story important. I do not think anyone in Hollywood knows it, except the two who played at their delightful romance, and it is an amazing thing that neither of them realizes even to this day that the end was the same for both of them. I cannot help but wonder what might happen if they ever found out. The beginning, I suppose, was midnight sailing time on a velvet spring night some years ago. The great luxury liner lay at its New York dock ablaze with lights. A sailing is always exciting, it has always some aroma of adventure, but I remember that particular one as the gayest I ever saw. So many pretty ladies in evening gowns, orchids against soft fur, music floating upon the surface of spangled waters, champagne and laughter, and ever-mounting gaiety and excitement. Small boys in bright uniforms running along the gleaming corridors and through the packed salons. Elegant luggage being carried hither and yon. Long white cardboard boxes filled with flowers. Last minute wires being delivered. Decks and staircases jammed with those going away and those who had come to say good-by and the dock a mass of people and cameramen. Perhaps it was the spring night which promised delicious days at sea in that floating palace. Perhaps it was because everybody knew that they were sailing. Curious, eager eyes were alert to catch a glimpse of her sleek and I came around a wind-swept corner and saw them — her lovely face lifted to his, lost in his glance. They had forgotten the storm, the wind — everything but each other shining head, her tall exquisite figure, her enchanting smile. Glamour girl hadn't become so common a term then, and she was No. 1 Glamour Girl, all right. Or they peered to see his famous, slightly graying head and distinguished profile and what the screen's best dressed man might be wearing for a midnight sailing. At midnight the "All Ashore" call sounded and I said my own farewells and went down to my cabin to sort out the books kind friends had sent me. (I remember I was a little annoyed to find seven copies of a popular "high-brow" best seller.) Then I went peacefully to bed and awoke the next morning to a new world, without land, but with great expanses of shining sapphire water and clear blue sky and radiant sunshine. I never remember so beautiful a day at sea. I didn't know then that they had never met. It seemed strange, in a way. But such things can very well happen in Hollywood. OHE spent very little time in the film capital when she wasn't actually working. It was her theory that you needed to get away between pictures, to see what the rest of the world was doing and saying and thinking. So, as you know, you always heard of her on the Riviera, at Palm Beach in the season, or in New York to see the latest plays. Sometimes she took a house in Honolulu for a month or two or went cruising on some friend's yacht. She was enormously popular with the Society crowd and her name appeared as often in Cholly Knickerbocker as it did in Louella Parsons or Winchell. And, of course, when she was in Hollywood working she went out very little — on the set early, home to bed at nine, following a Spartan routine of diet and exercise and rest to keep fit for the camera. As for him — well, sports were always his hobby. He was a man's man in spite of his great popularity with women. Shot golf in the low seventies, owned a couple of race horses, and sailed his own boat up and down the California coast. His wife — that gentle and lovely lady— understood him perfectly. She made a business of being a screen star's wife. She did it with a gentle humor, her sweet mouth curved, her eyebrows lifted as though he were a small, bad boy she had to take care of. Even when rumor and gossip connected his name with that of some other woman, she always seemed to be amused and a little worried for his sake, never angry or jealous on her own. So they had never met until I introduced them that day on the upper deck. I had come up just before lunch, rested and relaxed, glorying in the fact that there wasn't a telephone aboard, taking this little span of uninterrupted days as a heaven-sent gift between the hard work I had just finished in New York and the job I had to do in England. I could let down with a clear conscience and enjoy the bright days and the deck chairs. I met her on deck as I was doing my first mile. Even in that first moment I realized why she wanted to get away from Hollywood. I don't think anyone, seeing her then, would have taken her for a movie star. She had on a short blue skirt, flat shoes, a woolly white sweater and her hair was blowing in a lot of rippling, natural curls. No make-up. It changed the shape of her eyes so that they were no longer slanted and cozening, no longer shadowed with unbelievable lashes, but delicately round and gay and friendly. It made her look younger and prettier, even if she wasn't so glamorous. WE fell into step together and went around two or three times in silence. There was a splendid breeze that whipped the wind into your cheeks and the sun was hot and the sea like glass. Finally, we went up on the top deck and there he was, playing deck tennis with a young Hollywood writer and a couple of college boys, around twenty, who almost fell overboard at sight of her. When they stood looking at each other — he was hot and sweating and very pleased with the day and himself and the game — I introduced them and said, "But it isn't possible you don't know each other." But so it was. They laughed about it a good deal. He went back to his game and we sat down and watched them. She said, "He's not at all like I expected. One usually expects men with his reputation to be — well, rather dreadful. He's — nice." As for that, I thought, you've a reputation of your own, my girl. You've had three or four headline romances, what with one thing and another. If you come right down to it, you're a pair. I HAT night they danced together. We had dined, four or five of us, in the smart upper deck restaurant. The music was enticing. She wore something made of wine-red velvet, very simple, and a ruby bracelet around her left wrist and a ruby clip between her breasts. When they danced, I wondered why they had never been cast opposite each other in a picture. They were so perfectly matched in tempo, in character, in poise. Like two fencers, equally matched, laughing a little at each other, well aware of each other, her head sleek and shining against his shoulder. Oh, I thought, these are grown-up intelligent people, who are too well-bred to be openly cynical, but who understand the art of living, of enjoying, of having a good time. Love is a game to them, and they know all the moves, all the gambits, and they are champions at it. It must be great fun to play at love like that, for it is a game that has so many angles. We were six days crossing. Two days out we unexpectedly ran into a storm that delayed our elegant and serene passage. I remember running into them during that storm. I like storms myself and had gone outside to see it. I came around a wind-swept corner and saw them — her lovely face lifted to his, lost in his glance. I knew that he was going to kiss her. I knew that they had forgotten the storm, the wind, everything but each other. Of course, everyone on the boat knew. You couldn't help but know, seeing those two (Continued on page 80) 21