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THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS OF HOLLYWOOD
But there was no fire that you could notice in Miss Hayworth when I talked to her. She was wearing a severe black two-piece suit. Her face was devoid of make-up — nothing but a touch of lipstick between her and the cameras. Around her neck: a pearl necklace.
Her fingernails were unvarnished, and she was nervously squeezing a handkerchief in the palms of her hands.
Her hair was a neutral shade of auburn — not remotely reminiscent of the flaming red tresses that swirled her to fame. I commented on the apparent transformation.
She blinked nervously, attempted a small smile. "You are confusing me with some of the roles I've played," she said.
"Are you then so unlike the characters you play?"
She showed consternation. "Oh, I should hope so, considering some of the characters I have played."
She added somewhat unnecessarily. "I'm an actress, I play a role."
"And how about your real-life role? Are you marrying anyone these days?"
"No, I'm not."
"What about Raymond Hakim?"
"I'm not going to marry him. Yes, that's definite."
"You're still married to Aly Khan, aren't you?"
"Only in France. It's a technicality. I'm going to have to straighten out that technicality. No, there's no truth in the suggestion that I'm going to marry him again."
She refused a drink that was offered her; refused a cigarette; continued to press the small feminine handkerchief into her palms.
"Are you going to marry anyone, Miss Hayworth?"
"Not at the moment."
That seemed to establish Miss Hayworth's current matrimonial and romantic status.
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