The self-enchanted : Mae Murray : image of an era (1959)

there was talk of an engagement at the Winter Garden. "Someday, I would like to dance at the Lido, in Paris. I can see it," he said, "Rudy and Mae . . ." "We will be famous stars then. We will meet in Paris. You will always be my friend, Rudy." They walked along, arm in arm through the crowd on Fifth Avenue. Everyone was hurrying somewhere. She'd read that this was a hard pleasure-loving generation. It made her laugh. Everyone in New York seemed eager to her, running out to meet life on wings — like Rudy, whose supple stride paced hers. "Don't you feel free, Rudy? Don't you love to feel free?" "Free, yes. Lonely, no." "I'm never lonely. I used to run away, even as a little girl. My grandmother 'd leave me in convents and I'd run away. Do you know I came to New York first when I was twelve? I wasn't lonely, I was only hungry and I told a policeman." She giggled, remembering. "That was a mistake. He called everywhere until he found my grandmother." He listened, intently, his face serious. He was always serious, seldom smiled. What he wanted, he confessed, more than anything in the world was a family. To be married, to have a wife and children and a home. He had a feeling that this was what most people wanted. Most people were lonely. The dowagers with frizzled hair who danced in his arms, they were lonely too. Life wasn't forever. He had a premonition that he would not live long. While he lived, he wanted to belong. They stopped in front of Maxim's. "It would be better to have a home than to be a prince in a palace," he said, sweeping off his hat, bowing his splendid head. "I will not see you tonight? You'll be at Mr. Ziegfeld's party?" "Rudy, go out tonight. There are dozens of girls dying to dance with you. Find yourself a girl." "I have found a girl." He gave her his gallant little bow and vanished into his "palace." 48