Screenland (Nov 1935-Apr 1936)

64 SCREENLAND I Was A Spoiled Brat/' Says Merle the proper poke to make those false teeth fall out. Her uncle stood up, furious. But before he had a chance to do anything, the brat had fled, and was leading him a merry chase around the house. What was the matter with her uncle, wondered Merle. Why did he take this thing so seriously? Didn't he realize how absurd the whole thing was ? Heavens, the things that people took seriously ! There was, for instance, the day that Merle noticed that there was only one rose left in her uncle's garden, and sallied forth to pluck that rose. How was she to know that the last rose of summer was her uncle's pride and joy? Coming back from the garden, she had crawled into mud that went up to her knees. Yelling for the gardner she stood there, with the rose that she had plucked up by the roots in her hand. And there her uncle found her. His eyes had snapped with fury. "Don't punish the child," her mother had pleaded. "She didn't realize how much you cared about the garden." "Someone must take a firm hand," her uncle had said sternly. "Otherwise the child will be running completely wild." So that night Merle was sent to bed without any supper, and furious was she at this perfect display of grown-up idiocy. All that fuss over a silly old rose ! How was she supposed to guess that her uncle would mind? Well, you never could predict what grown-ups would do or say. When she went to school it was worse. She had had a little respect, at least, for her uncle and aunt, but at school in Calcutta, India, she was miserable, and made up for it by becoming the most ornery student in the whole school. Right at the start she became involved in some mischief, and after that whenever anything happened in that school, they sent for Merle. Merle thought they were all a little mad, but at the same time she was afraid of all the school mistresses. The most innocent pranks were treated as though they were criminal offenses. What Merle probably resented, though she didn't analyze it at the time, was the fact that the school teachers were all deplorably lacking in a sense of humor. One day when lessons grew boring, Merle passed a note to a friend. The note said, "Look at Huffy's polypocker nose," Huffy, of course, being the nickname of the teacher. The friend looked and passed the note on to someone else. From hand to hand the note passed, until it was finally picked up by a teacher on duty. By that time "Huffy" had gone home for the day, but this other teacher was just as indignant as if it was her nose to which attention had been called. Her face grew purple. "I picked up a rude, impertinent note just now," she said. "Who wrote it?" The room was as still and quiet as death. Not a voice was raised. Merle thought quickly. What a scene this teacher was making, as though writing that note was a crime. Why, she hadn't meant any real harm, but if they were going to make such a fuss about the note, she'd be darned if she would confess. "I'll keep the whole school in," the teacher thundered. "I'll find out who dared to do this." She was as good as her word. She made all the children stay in. When the evening shadows began to crawl over the hills, she was still asking, "Who wrote this note?" From the handwriting, it was obvious Continued from page 21 that one of the younger students had written it, so finally she dismissed the seventh termers, then the sixth termers, and so on till she got down to the third term girls. That was Merle's class. Merle shivered. "I think I know who wrote this," said the teacher cruelly. "I believe I recognize the handwriting. Let me see your exercise books." Finally her search narrowed down to two girls, Merle and another girl. Still Merle wouldn't confess, so the teacher locked the two girls up in two dark rooms. And still no confession ! The teacher went to Merle and shook her till the teeth almost rattled out of her head. "Now will you tell me if you wrote that note?" she demanded. "I won't say anything" about it," Merle defied her. Finally she was dragged up to the head mistress, who took the note, handed it to Merle and said, "Did you write this?" "Why, yes," confessed Merle, "I did." "Why didn't you admit that hours ago?" demanded the other teacher, almost apoplectic with rage. "How could I ?" asked Merle innocently. "You never showed me the note. How was I supposed to know what you were talking about?" I think when Merle graduated from that school they sighed a little sigh of relief. Now it was up to her uncle to do what he could with her. He decided to take the little minx with him to France, Switzerland, Italy, and England, and complete her education with the help of private tutors. At the end of the tour he announced it was time for them to go back to India. But Merle had different plans. "India?" she said, her eyes widening. "But I want to stay right here in England and get work to do on the screen. A lot of friends have told me that I ought to try pictures." "You're crazy," her uncle said. "You ought to have more sense than to listen to people who don't know what they're talking about. Besides, I have to go back to India and I've got to go right now. And you, young lady, are going with me." One look, and you know why Eadie Adams, radio singer, was signed for films. That's Eadie, above. But Merle Oberon coaxed and pleaded, and finally her uncle gave in. Though he went back to India, she stayed on in England. Before he left, he actually paid in advance for a room at a swanky hotel, gave Merle enough money to live on for two weeks, and a ticket back to India. "There isn't a chance of your getting a job," he warned her, "and the sooner you find that out the better." To get work in films, thought Merle, you have to look chic, so she spent her two weeks' food money on a new coat. Her ticket she brought back to the ticket office, and asked for a refund. On that she lived for a few weeks. And in the meanwhile she began hunting" for a job on the screen. Producers took one look at her, sighed, and gave her a test. Then they sighed some more. For the tests were awful. "I guess I was the hardest person in the world to cast," admitted Merle. "I had the face of a vamp, and the manners of a naive child. That was some combination. Every test I took was a failure." But would Merle write home and admit that? Of course not. Instead she wrote home glowing letters about the important screen work she was doing. And went without food for a week. In the swanky hotel at which she was staying, but where no meals were served, they had no idea that one of their lodgers was quietly starving upstairs. Merle had only one or two friends in England, and she wouldn't confess her plight to them. Once or twice a friend invited her to lunch, and she accepted the invitations without admitting that those meals stood between her and starvation. Finally she was given an audition for a film at the Cafe de Paris in London. Again she was a flop in her attempt to become a screen actress, but the proprietors of the hotel, struck by something about the girl, offered her a chance as a dancer. "A dancer !" she said scornfully. "Why, I want to become a screen star." But after starving quietly for another day or two, she was only too glad to grab the opportunity. Three or four months later, she managed to get bits to do in pictures. While she was eating in a studio restaurant, Alexander Korda saw her, came up to her and said, "I'm starting a company of my own soon. Will you take a test?" By this time little Miss Oberon had taken so many tests that she thought they were strictly the malarkey. The name Korda didn't mean a thing to her, and she thought he was the malarkey too. But she took the test and then forgot all about it. When Korda actually called her and offered her a role in "Wedding Rehearsal," she could hardly believe her luck. By some miracle the test Korda had given her had actually come out well. So well, in fact, that Korda was willing to give her a contract on the strength of it. From then on Merle Oberon's career moved rather smoothly. She gave excellent performances in "The Private Life of Henry VIII," "The Battle" and "Broken Melody." Perhaps that was Fate. Perhaps it was luck. I don't know. But there was another part of her life that couldn't be left to chance or Fate. For in spite of her success she had known little real happiness in her life. Always her temper had wrecked everything. Her life had been a constant succession of scenes in which she said things that she afterwards regretted. Her temper had wrecked the glamor of