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for 7s(o v e mh e r 19 2 9
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Laura and Bill are working folks. They work from ten to twelve and fourteen hours at their studios when they're making pictures, and as they are highly popular in their respective professions of star and director, they are always working. Yet they cheerfully drive approximately seventy-five miles six days out of every seven to enjoy the absolute seclusion of the night or day at their beach home because they love it with a love that is easily understood, once one has seen this exquisite retreat and thrilled with the peace and comfort of it all.
"Isn't it great to be so far away from the hurlyburly of Hollywood — and yet so near?" asked mine
host, Bill Seiter, as he settled down in an immense easy chair. Laura hied herself upstairs for a siesta, before making preparations for the influx of guests on the morrow, Sunday.
"I drive down here from the First National studio in an hour and Laura can make it in the same time from Universal. Of course," and he grinned, adding a knowing wink, "it takes much longer going back. For pure enjoyment we wouldn't trade this little home for all Beverly Hills. We have to spend one night in town at our apartment in the Country Club Manor, and darned if we don't feel all cooped up. Tell you a funny one about Laura. She used to have a dickens of a time getting
This spacious living room is modern and comfy, yet in keeping with the true Norman simplicity which is the keynote of the house.
Of Norman French architecture is this quaint farm house on the blue Pacific, home of Laura La Plante and her husband, William Seiter.
Arched doorways are popular in the neighborhood of Hollywood. This one is framed colorfully with antique maps.
from our city apartment to the studio on time when she had an early morning call, and now she almost gets there in time to help the janitor open up in the morning. This is the life, buddy — nothing but vim and vigor, and believe me, you need gobs of that in these hectic days of making movies that talk, sing, dance, or what have you!"
Suiting actions to words, Bill donned his tennis togs which consisted of the necessary part of a bathing suit, whaled the daylights out of the writer two out of three sets, and then led a dash, in which Laura joined, into the booming surf. We swam out to a (Continued on page 111)