Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

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23 The Sketchbook Intimate and colorful impressions of people and things, jotted down by an interviewer on her journeyings through Hollywood. By Dorothy Manners \T one of Mrs. Clarence Brown's famous Montmartre f\ luncheons, Theda Bara held every one enthralled with anecdotes of a perfume parlor in New York which you may or may not have heard about. I had not. This, according to Theda, is no ordinary parlor where you buy perfume just because you like the shape of a little fat bottle. No. It seems' you are interviewed by a lady specialist who analyzes your personality, reads your character, and then blends something exclusively for you. A funny thing about this lad)' — if she doesn't like you she won't blend anything for you' Money is immaterial. Another tiling — if she finds that 'you have mixed her perfume with some other, she is perfectly capable of making a scene in a public place. Theda told a dramatically amusing story of a society woman who had committed the unforgivable, and mixed a scent of sandalwood with a scent of rose. The perfumer sat two rows behind her at the opera, detected the treachery, and flatly refused ever again to blend for the ^ heartbroken woman. "It is really an art with her," Theda insisted, gesturing with her lorgnettes. "Her ideas are so amazingly clever. If a woman is nondescript, not particulafly interesting in herself, she blends a heavy Oriental perfume to attract immediate attention. But if the -personality is startling, she concocts something delicate and elusive, that the motif may not be too blatant Really, every one goes to her." Probably not every one goes to her, but I got Theda Bara tells enthralling tales of a specialist who blends your perfumes according to your personality. Jack Holt seems to Dorothy Manners more like a country gentleman than an actor. a very vivid mental picture of the women who would. Fat-cushioned limousines gliding under a canopy. . . . A satinlined elevator. . . . Some one in black to greet the client. . . . "Ah, madame !" (especially "Ah!" if the sables warrant it) . . . An hour devoted to soft-lighted consultation resulting in a little bottle of liquid personality at so much per ounce. Fancy that ! I thought to myself, that old wheeze about one half of the world not knowing how the other half lives is true, all right, all right. An Interview by Proxy. It's funny, isn't it, how people who have absolutely nothing to say insist on saying it all the time, while others whose experiences have been as colorful as a Parrish sunset sit back and let them say it. That reminds me of the story of the two characters who dined together recently. One was myself. The other was Jack Holt. I was supposed to be interviewing him, so I told him the story of my life — it's fun and its fun'. And he let me get awav with it. There aren't many actors who would, but Jack Holt is not typically the actor. At a party in Holly He was so very unlike an actor that night wood, Martha Sleeper that I forgot" I should be prying him introduced a bell an with leading questions about his career, klet that jingled when and ran wild about myself. she danced. The pitiful part of it is that when I