Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1921 - Feb 1922)

The Revelations of a Star's Wife 69 exactly secluded there; people were crowded into the doorways. But assured her. I'd rather have gone to the studio with Hugh, heaps; his picture was nearly finished — only the titling remained— and I hated to be away for an instant. Not that I ever dared offer any suggestions ; I'd learned that a star's wife, if she hasn't any official capacity, isn't supposed to have brains. But sometimes, when the author and the director and the man who was titling the picture got to arguing about something, I'd have an inspiration, and take Hugh aside and pass it along to him. The projection room to which we went the next morning was hot and stuffy, despite the brilliant coolness of the early-autumn air. It was owned by a company that rented its rooms to people who wanted to run off a picture and hadn't a room of their own, and that morning the outer office was crowded with people who were perfectly certain that their own stuff was more important than anybody else's, and that the affairs of the industry would come to an end if they couldn't show it. "But we've got only four rooms. They're all booked till ten o'clock to-night; I can give yoii one then," protested the man who was in charge. "What — only two reels? Well, let's see. I've got some advertising films coming in in fifteen minutes; if you can get out by then " "Oh, sure, sure !" The fat little man who had been pleading with him gathered up his flat, round metal containers of film and bustled off down the corridor, while the rest of us smiled; we knew all too well that, once he got into that projection room with his prospective buyer, a man who dealt in States' rights stuff, he'd stay till he was dragged out. We were a bit early, and had to wait for the room which had been reserved for us to be vacated. And while we waited Clarice Clark came in'. Gyp and I frankly stared ; even the dark charms of her Warren could not hold Gyp's attention when that colorful vision swept in. For, like every one else, we had heard of Clarice, of "Uncle Daddy," the tremendously wealthy man who was backing her productions, and could keep them going and somehow manage to get a good company to release them, bad as they were. She was pretty enough, with her yellow hair and blue eyes and nice-featured little face, but she was no beauty, and she certainly could not act. But Uncle Daddy's money paid for the most beautiful sets that had ever been made for the screen, for the best-known and most popular leading men to support "Baby," as he called Clarice, for everything that would make her pictures draw crowds, even though Clarice was no good. They had several exhibitors from the West in tow that morning, and they wanted a projection room, at once, in which to show Clarice's last picture. The announcement that there wasn't one vacant made not the slightest impression; Clarice they weren't looking at me, anyway. Clark wanted a projection room ; she must have it. She stood there in the middle of the stuffy little waiting room, her sable scarf trailing on the floor, the hand that held it weighed down by diamonds and rubies that made me catch my breath, and waited, with a complacent smile, while Uncle Daddy raved and protested that he was going to have the best projection room in the place or know the reason why. He learned that it was being reserved for Gyp, glanced at her, and then came over and tried to get her to give it up. He offered to pay her "handsomely, my dear — oh, handsomely," if she would relinquish it. She refused, and turned her back on him ; really, his manners and smirking smile deserved such treatment. Besides, Gyp had been in pictures for years, working for everything she got, and it rather hurt her professional pride to see a girl who had no ability or real beauty or anything else but money that she wasn't getting decently walk in and demand the recognition that wasn't due her. Obviously stunned. Uncle Daddy went back and reported to Clarice. And she, slipping back her tinkling bracelets, sauntered over to Gyp. "My dear, I wouldn't insist on this, but I have an engagement for luncheon, and it's most important that this picture of mine be shown for these gentlemen," she announced in a drawling voice that would have kindled any one's wrath. Gyp's was already blazing, however. She whirled around, her eyes narrowed, her pretty chin set. "Well, / have an engagement to be married," she began, with emphasis that brought a guilty flush to the cheek of the resplendent Clarice. And then, quite forgetting herself, she lavmched into a comment on Clarice, her ways of doing things, the reason for her undeserved stardom, the real worth and drawing power of her pictures, and various other little matters. Many a person had yearned to do just what Gyp was doing, but as I caught her by the arm and hustled her into the projection room, while Uncle Daddy tried to quiet the outraged and vehemently protesting Clarice, I couldn't help being the least bit glad that Gyp had cut loose. Of course there aren't so many of these girls like