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

you nor I want undignified publicity. If I smash a window and scream for help, we'll be held up to ridicule in every tabloid in America." No answer. "Please, Davey. Don't spoil the life we have." "You deny me your body and offer yourself to every man who buys a ticket at the box office." She hadn't meant to scream, but suddenly she heard herself screaming hysterically for help. There was a sound of voices haranguing David from the hallway. He told them to go to hell. She stood on a towel to warm her feet. She moved her knees up and down as if treading water, and rubbed her skin furiously with the little towel. Finally sirens came shrieking up the street. There was a clatter outside the window. A fireman called, "Stand back, Madam, against the wall," and crashed the glass window, while David ran into the room with a bath towel, screaming, "No one is going to see my wife." The place swarmed with people, firemen coming through the windows and hotel personnel in David's room. The engineer had had to remove the bathroom lock. David kept one arm about her neck and was waving everyone off. She was his wife! A policeman and a fireman pinned his arms back, and Mae was free. When she was ready, police took her to the theatre, where the manager was trying to placate the stomping, shouting mob. The manager arranged for her to sleep in an apartment in the theatre building that night, with her maids. The police had escorted her husband out of town. He'd been drinking pretty heavily, they said. He probably would wonder tomorrow what it had all been about. Maybe David wouldn't remember, but she did. She felt humiliated and debased; it would take time to wipe out the dreadful experience. There were still six more weeks left of the tour, she signed for six more, and for the first time proceeded in peace. During the outrage in Buffalo, dancing up and down in the cold bathroom trying to keep warm, it had occurred to 204