Screenland (Nov 1935-Apr 1936)

for January 1936 me out to the Kay Francis set? Yes, the entire publicity department, down to the last man, would only be too happy to escort me to the Kay Francis set. Mercy, I was nearly bowled over by such attention, such eagerness, but I soon understood the reason for it all — alas, it was not my first lesson in charm taking effect, it was merely that Kay Francis was taking a bath on the set that morning, and breathes there a man with soul so dead, and so forth and so forth. The word certainly must have gotten around for when I arrived on the "Stranded" set with a body of publicity men interested in their art there were layers and layers of men ; I do believe every prop boy had six assistants. Baths, I gather, are bright spots in a studio routine. Did you ever wonder how movie stars take those baths that look so startling, so daring, on the screen? Now, I bet you did, Aunt Hattie. Well, I'll tell you. When we arrived on the stage the property boy was making doubly sure that the supply of warm water in the tanks was sufficient to provide eight or nine "takes." Kay Francis, all wrapped up in a yellow bath robe, her hair tucked securely in a white rubber cap, was pacing back and forth across the set, completely oblivious of the greatly augmented company which waited expectantly, and silently, for her to take her bath. The bath, it developed, was to be a shower. (Pshaw, said the publicity department. They like tubs better.) The shower stall was an enclosed rectangle the walls of which were opaque glass except for oval openings on each side five feet above the floor. It was through one of these "windows" that the bath was to be photographed. When all was ready Director Frank Borzage waved his hand, water spurted from the tank, and Kay loosened her robe and moved toward the glass door. "Are you sure," she demanded, "that there is plenty of warm water? I don't want it to suddenly turn cold on me the way it did once before." The property boy assured her that everything was okay, so Kay swung the concealing glass door open until it stood between herself and everybody else, dropped her robe to the floor and stepped inside. A few seconds later her head and wet shoulders were framed in the oval window on which the cameras focussed. Kay lathered her neck and shoulders in the most approved manner and started speaking her lines, (remember in "Stranded" where she talked to Patricia Ellis while taking a shower ? ) , but she didn't get far when she let out a terrific shriek. The director jumped, dozens of men got ready to spring to her assistance, and the mixer popped out of the monitor booth like a frightened rabbit. "Soap," wailed Kay, "I've got soap in my eyes." There was great commotion while her maid, Ida, the wardrobe woman, the script girl and the hairdresser made a circle about Kay while she regained her composure and got the suds out of her eyes. Then she, very unenthusiastically, resumed her bath, the men resumed their fascinated silence, the director resumed his chair, and the mixer resumed his duties of mixing shower noises and voices. But it was not long before there was another shriek of anguish from the improvised shower room. It seems that someone must have double-crossed Kay, for the water from the tank was running as cold as a mountain stream. I don't blame Kay for being annoyed for there is nothing so dis I Found Kay Francis Continued from page 51 heartening as a cold shower when you are not expecting a cold shower. I decided that this was neither the time nor the place to interview Miss Francis about romance and Delmar Daves. A wet movie star can be just as cross as a wet hen. So I checked out. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you, Aunt Hattie. Kay had on a bathing suit with the yellow robe. And now you know how movie stars bathe for the cinema. Well, much water passed under the bridge, and out of Mr. Warner Brothers' tank, before I had occasion to interview Kay Francis again. Shortly after "Stranded" she packed up and went to Kay Francis, little Sybil Jayson and Jessie Ralph before the cameras. Mervyn LeRoy directs. Europe on an extended leave of absence, and there was much talk about her getting herself engaged to Maurice Chevalier who was in Paris at the time and to the Italian nobleman who had spent so much on trans-Atlantic telephone calls. London, Paris, Rome and waltz-mad Vienna all got ready to do things up gay for the delightfully intoxicating Miss Francis, whom, the Europeans declared far more Continental than the Parisiennes themselves. The princes started polishing up their titles and the dukes aired out their moldy castles and the Best Families invited Kay for a weekend at Tumbling Downs, or for a little cruise on the Mediterranean. Now Kay likes bridge and backgammon and tennis, and she likes to sun herself on the deck of a luxurious yacht ; she likes long, leisurely European dinners with smart scintillatingconversation ; she likes gold braid and uniforms and the fuss they make over royalty in England ; she likes dressing up like a million dollars and going to the opera in Paris — in fact, Kay is quite a sophisticate at heart. But what did she do last summer in Europe? Why, she hardly got there before she turned around and came right back to Hollywood, with still several months to go on her vacation. Was Hollywood surprised ! Ever since she has been in pictures Kay has spent her vacations in New York and Europe and has never shown her face in Hollywood until the cameras started turning on her next picture. 73 Well, according to Kay, she didn't have any fun in Europe this last time because she was sick, and she hurried home to Hollywood because she was sick. And Kay is probably telling the truth. But, old romanticist that I am, I prefer to believe that Delmar Daves had something to do with her spending her real vacation in Hollywood and the mountains nearby. He certainly met her at the train, as the photographers well noted (there's some talk that he met her at the boat in New York), and every place that Kay has made a public appearance since there has always been Delmar Daves. He was one of the exclusive few invited to her housewarming in October, and he was with her just the other night at the Hollywood preview of "I found Stella Parish." It is an old Hollywood custom that a star always takes the person she likes best to her previews, and the person whose opinion of her picture she values above all others. Well, draw your own conclusions, I'm drawing mine all right. The second and last time I met Kay was a couple of weeks ago, and it was at her home and I wasn't invited to see her take a bath this time, but sat downstairs and waited and admired her living room — her entire house has just been done over by Tommy Douglas, who is not only a good actor but a good decorator. When she joined me she wore brown tailored pajamas and her hair had just been shampooed and set and was quite wet. Water, it seems, would always enter into my contacts with Miss Francis. And so for that matter would Delmar Daves. For just as you suspected, your Auntie Maggie was there to pry into Miss Francis' romance. I didn't do so well. Kay was gracious, indeed quite charming. But she didn't give. May it be said to her glory that she did not hand me any hooey about "We are just good friends" or "I hardly know the person." No, what she said was, "I never discuss my personal affairs," and that was that, terse, dignified, and to the point. And after all, you do have to admire her for taking that stand. I never have any respect for movie stars, male or female, who give out those interviews about "the women (or men) in my life." Cheap, I calls it. But Kay was perfectly willing to talk about anything else, and proceeded so to do. She flitted, with me puffing along behind, from recipes, to diets, to figures, to charm, to superstitions, to Europe, to Stella Parish, to men in general, to clothes, to operations, to old sherry — and there I stopped and had a glass and went home. "I never diet," Kay told me. "Maybe I will have to some day, but thank heavens I don't have to now. I suppose the reason I don't get fat is because I never over-eat, for I certainly eat anything and everything. In fact the things I like best would never be found on a reducing diet, but I go in for them just the same. I adore little thin hot cakes with maple syrup, and onion soup filled with cheese, and hot fudge sundaes, and corn on the cob, and popcorn and limburger cheese. Oh, any kind of cheese, the smellier the better. No diet-harassed hostess ever has any trouble with me. I eat everything except white bread and potatoes. I don't drink coffee. Oh, I'm a cinch for any hostess. But perhaps she would not be so flattered if she could see me when I come home, for I usually raid the frigidaire for bits of chicken and cheese and anchovy knickknacks." (Oh, oh, she was driving me mad with envy —