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HOLLYWOOD IS WHERE YOU FIND IT
A woman with a silver sprayer came over to Miss Gardner and began to spray.
"Eau de Cologne?" I asked.
"No."
"Chanel No. 5?"
"Sweat," said Miss Gardner. "Glycerine. Only stuff that shows up like sweat on the screen. Terrible stuff."
"A little more blood on Miss Gardner, please," called an assistant director.
"Oh dear," said Miss Gardner.
A man with a bottle of "blood", correctly pigmented for Eastmancolor, came over and reverently splashed some over Miss Gardner's already mud-stained white sari.
I said I was not in the film and did not require splashing with blood, correctly pigmented for Eastmancolor.
A loose strand of hair fell over Miss Gardner's face. A very dirty face.
I said, "You look terrible." Everybody seemed enormously pleased.
"Why do you do all this," I asked her, "since you don't like acting and hate fame?"
" For the money, of course," she said. " It's tough, but it is better than being a shorthand-typist. Don't tell me you like your job."
I said I was afraid I did rather. You met such interesting people.
"Such as who?"
"Such as the fabulous Miss Gardner," I said gallantly.
"You think I'm interesting? Well! Perhaps we're not so interesting to ourselves."
I said, "Now come, that's just inverted egotism."
"No," she said; "I'm a simple girl. A farmer's daughter. I can't think where I got the bad blood — the bad blood that got me into this business. Anyway, it was just a fluke that got me into pictures. I'm no
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