Silver Screen (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

"Honey, honey!" Irv pleaded— "Come on back! I personally guarantee to keep that ape in his place and no more knee-patting will occur, honest! Give us one more chance!" "I ought to know better," Mary said. Joe had not risen. He had a bloodsplotched napkin against his nose but the rest of his face wore an enchanted smile. "My goodness, you are quick," he complained. "Since it is marriage you insist upon, sweetheart, how would Saturday suit you?" Irv gulped. "This whips me down!" he observed. "This completely stops me! Am I hearing right, old pal, or did you just now actually proposition this doll, which you never saw before, with a real made-in-heaven wedding ring, payable this coming Saturday?" "Why should a guy go through a lot of red tape when a guy has made up his mind?" Joe said reasonably— "How about it, toots?" Mary finally caught her breath. "No. No! No!" she said. "Certainly not!" "Good!" Irv said. "Now we can get down to business. What have we got here, Joe, and what are we gonna do with it?" Joe sighed. The enchanting doll was mad at him. That meant he must wear her down. He brought the napkin down, discovered that his nose although numb had stopped bleeding, rubbed a hand across his forehead, and went artistic. "We got— freshness," he said. . . "Dewiness!" He liked that. "She's dewy! What we got here, Irv, we got a typical American girl! We got another Jean Parker, another Jean Muir, maybe another Gaynor or Pickford! What we will do, we pull at the old American heart-strings! That gets 'em! We will make this blonde baby America's Sweetheart Number One account of the old heart-strings always yank 'em one hundred percent past the box office!" "Please, Joe," Irv said with withering patience, lifting one uncalloused palm, "Heart-strings. Nuts!" He half rose from his cushion, bent across the table, and tapped Joe impressively on the chest. "Think, Joe! And look! What do you see first? The eyes! Droopy— long— exotic— glammerous. And think! What has Garbo got? What have Crawford and Dietrich got?" "What has Shirley Temple got?" Joe retorted with caustic venom— "Sex appeal, I suppose!" Irv, carried away, paid no attention: "Glammer! That's what most of the big money-makers have got! And glammer's what we want, because we do not wish to put our dough on a long shot but on a favorite! " "You," said Joe, "are completely screwy, Irv, if you will pardon my saying so!" Mary said, "And if I may say a word—" "Please!" Joe said— "You can't! He glared at Irv and Irv glared back. At last Irv said, "We need a umpire." "That's it!" Joe slapped the table. He summoned a waiter and the waiter brought three more old-fashioneds and a telephone. Joe called the million-dollar Isaac Smith Cosmetic Corporation and after mentioning his own name, heard the quick thaw of a supercilious secretary and soon the voice of Isaac Smith himself. "Come right over to Levy's," Joe said. "I and Irv Seal need you quick!" "I cannot do it!" Isaac protested. "Mae West will be here any minute for personal attention to the hair." "Now listen!" Joe cracked— "Are you a cheap appointment slave or are you an artist? I hear you are the greatest make-up artist in the world but at present I begin to believe certain contrary , rumors I also hear; you are really nothing but a cheap hair-dresser and no artist whatever! You're not big!" ANNOUNCEMENT In this issue Silver Screen introduces to you a new feature — a love story with a Hollywood background. Clever fiction stories furnish an opportunity to describe the intimate atmosphere of the studios and convey to the reader the champagne quality of Hollywood love. Next month there will be another of these interesting fiction stories, rich in glamorous detail and untrammeled by facts. The stars lead lives whirling with excitement, touched with the shining moments of fame and the complacence that comes with burgeoning bank accounts. That is, the successful ones. But there are other aspirants for fame who offer their talents with little hope of success. Leon Surmelian, in the April issue, writes a dramatic and colorful story teeming with episodes right out of the side streets of Hollywood. There is an unselfish streak which runs through the famous stars. Did you know that they give thousands of dollars to their associates when the shooting is over and the picture is finished? Read all about these lavish gifts in the next issue of Silver Screen. Many other fascinating articles of the screen world will appear in our April issue, on sale March 11th. Not big! A sound of crunching teeth came through the wire at those most fighting words of Hollywood, and then Isaac said, dripping outraged dignity, "I am coming! Wait!" Ten minutes later he arrived, quivering. He was fat, enormous, pop-eyed, and sensitive as a Stradivarius violin. Irv pointed. "Her! What can you do? We want glammer!" "We do like ents in the pents!" Joe snarled. "We want heart-strings!" The impresario' replied only to the waiter, ordering a double Scotch. He took two long refreshing gulps, sank backwards and down, shuddered, closed his eyes, relaxed, and went into a sort of trance from which he emerged only once to stare intently at Miss Mary Johanssen. Every day hundreds of beautiful girls storm the casting offices and cocktail parties of the film capital. But they seldom rise to any important place, because somehow they all look alike— perfect in loveliness, different in coloring, but somehow all alike. Isaac, a showman to his finger-tips, also was an authentic genius. If he saw a girl might be beautiful but had a high forehead, he did not bring bangs over that forehead to make her look like all the other girls; he emphasized the forehead instead, and in one case actually had given a French actress a forehead like a pealed pear: she had been an overnight sensation. Lovely wide mouths he made even wider, and to hawk noses he imparted a go-to-hell lovely emphasized arrogance. From the silence he murmured: "As a starter, it will cost one grand." "Shoot the piece," Joe said. They waited. Mary was quivering, too. Stardom in motion pictures, out of a clear sunny sky, was indeed something. But a proposal of marriage, even if promptly rejected, was something else again to any girl. A girl couldn't help sort of palpitating and thinking about What If I Had Said Yes? Isaac's eyes popped hopefully open. "Can you speak any languige except American?" "Also German," Mary astonishingly said. "Also Swedish, Russian, Spanish, Italian, and Japanese. I'm foreign correspondence expert for a great big old bank." "Twice in one afternoon I am stopped!" Irv delightedly gasped. "This puts me away! A blonde with brains! I—" "Please!" Isaac snarled. "I am thinking!" After perhaps three more silent minutes, abruptly his face lighted and he sat bolt upright. Producing an old envelope and a pencil, with a few strokes he drew an outline of Mary's face, which he separated into six sections with one vertical line down the middle of the nose and two horizontal lines through eyes and mouth. He studied the balances, the proportions, and sagely nodded to himself. Mary nervously peeked, and her blood boiled indignantly, for she saw that Isaac's method was that of the caricaturist rather than the glorifier. "Glammer it is!" he finally announced dramatically. Irv spread his arms wide. "Poppy!" he said— "Poppy Bonita!" "This is Wednesday," Isaac said. "Friday night to you I will present glammer! Ten o'clock! The Trocadero! The party," he added, "will be on you guys, as also the necessary additional expenses for wardrobe. Baby," he instructed Mary, rising, "come with me!" "Nuts!" Mary said demurely— "I have heard no mention of money for myself and I am very fond of regular meals." "You will get a contract, gorgeous," Irv promised largely— "later. Contracts take time to draw up, unnerstand. Don't you trust us?" yContinued on page 59] 54