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"I'll bring one hundred dollars a week."
He studied her quizzically, knowing it would take almost her entire salary. That was spunk. He liked spunk and he liked beauty. Every Sunday in his Journal there was a full page in color of a Ziegfeld beauty. One Sunday in October it was Mae.
The photographer wanted to come to her apartment but she wouldn't allow that. No one was allowed in that apartment except herself and Jenny. Did birds permit intruders in their nests? Instead, she brought Blue and Tiger, Silver Sam, Mauve Kitten and Shimmer to the theatre. The pictures were taken in her dressing room. With each picture there was a flash of light and a small explosion that smelled of singed powder. She didn't enjoy that and neither did the Persians, but the pictures came out young and dreamy; she looked well in profile, surrounded by kittens. After that she went to a photographer of her own and had many pictures made in all sorts of poses and different moods: pensive, pert, alluring, sleeping, even with her eyes closed. "She looks very well asleep," Mae thought, seeing herself as audiences saw her, as Mr. Hearst saw her when he studied her quizzically, as Mr. Ziegfeld saw her. She was always inside the girl but outside her, too.
It tickled her one night when she received a curt message from Mr. Ziegfeld. "Come as you are. Immediately, please."
She still had on make-up, her hair was hanging in loose curls, she had just slipped into a big warm bathrobe. Imagine having to run down the iron steps to confront the meticulous Mr. Z. in an unsightly robe.
He smiled his wry little smile. The bland gentleman beside him smiled too.
"This is Mr. Adolph Zukor, the most influential man in motion pictures. He has written you a number of letters and received no answer. This isn't very polite, my dear."
"I didn't think I needed to answer. There was nothing to say."
"I want my girls to get ahead. And this is a step ahead. Let's just make an appointment with Mr. Zukor."
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