Silver Screen (Jun-Oct 1940)

84 Silver Screen for September 1940 keeping house and bearing his children. All of us Mormon women have heard like inferences. But we followed our beliefs and schooled our true feelings. Naturally, we were women, human and with hearts and emotions like any other women. But we had to acquire patience and understanding." "I really don't see how a woman could have had much pleasure or romance out of such a marriage," Linda sighed. "But if it had happened to me — if I'd been a lone girl in that pioneer band going out in the wilderness to found a new world — and knew there were no prospects of a husband, because there were no men in Utah except Indians and I wanted a husband and a family, I suppose I might have been grateful for a Brigham Young to have given me the protection of a home, rather than to have lived forever alone. I'd have sacrificed my own happiness, I know. But I'd have connived to become his favorite wife." When we were alone together, I asked Linda if she expected to marry an actor some day; if she'd continue in pictures after her marriage; if she would marry a wealthy or a poor man and above all would she share her career with a husband. ''It really wouldn't make much difference to me, whether I marry a professional or a boy not in pictures," she replied. "The important thing is that I want to be very much in love. And I don't care whether he's rich or poor. I'd just as soon marry a truck driver if I loved him, as I would a great actor like Tyrone Power. The important thing is that I want to be in love and whether I live in a vine-covered cottage or a 24-room house in Bel-Air won't be too important. "After I've made a success of my career, I'd not only share it with a husband, I'd probably give it up entirely for him. That is. if I really loved him enough. "I don't think I could stand sharing my husband if he were the man I really loved," admitted Linda. "Brigham Young's wives were remarkable. But it still doesn't seem fair to me. And this being 1940. that is something I'll never have to do — share my husband, that is, if and when I get one!" And looking at Linda that shouldn't be at all difficult. Small Town Boy [Continued from page 49] one of those born actors who manages to put something into a performance even though he'd never had one hour's instruction or seen a professional play in his life. And besides being an acting fool Bob had the looks to make Hollywood history. Not too handsome, as stars go, but so tall and straight and engagingly boyish that he was destined to set feminine hearts fluttering, be it in this small town in Wisconsin or in any of the world capitals to which a strip of celluloid would eventually carry his image. The talent scout hadn't made a mistake in wiring his studio. He knew that when he saw Bob's screen test. And every woman in Hollywood knew it, too. I'd heard so much about him I was more than ordinarily curious when I went to interview him that first time. When he came dashing into the living room of his suite at the hotel, dropping the bundles he was carrying helter skelter as he came, apologizing for his tardiness in keeping his appointment, though he was only ten minutes late and telling me with that thoroughly engaging boyish grin of his that he'd been buying up practically all the stores along Hollywood Boulevard out of his first pay check, I thought the whole thing had been worked out in the publicity office for my benefit. "Hmmmmm, Hollywood must have decided sophistication is going out and naivety coming in," I thought grimly and began making mental notes on what a monkey I'd make out of him in my story. A kidding story is so much easier to do than a serious, down-to-earth job. Taking an actor or actress over the jumps is so easy it always seems a shame to take the money. But we fan writers have an unwritten law never to do it unless the subject is absolutely poisonous. So, we protect the real people and save our stilettos for the phonies. And Bob Wood was a phony. I was convinced of that. "Look," he was saying. "What do you think of this?" And he tore the paper off a box and held up the most atrocious silk negligee I'd ever seen. "I got it for Mom. She always wanted one and will she get a kick out of it!" As I sat there, afraid to trust myself to speak, he began talking about the girl. Her name was Madge and he missed her terribly. "Not that we're in love or anything like that," he explained hastily. "That's the swell part of it. We're pals. You know, she's the only person back home who didn't laugh at me for being stage struck. She used to come over after dinner and we'd get books of plays out of the library and she'd coach me in different parts. And I could tell her about the things I wanted to do and it wasn't only that, she'd listen to me. She'd set me right about things. Like the time I drew a picture of a house I wanted some day and she pointed out how wrong it was. " 'Look Bob,' she said and she wasn't being superior or anything like that. Just sincere. 'You've got Spanish and Georgian and Colonial architecture all mixed up together and it wouldn't be good at all. You'd hate it. Now if you change this and this you'd have what you want, but it would be right and lovely, too.' "You know, the way she did it was so nice. Not as if she was telling me anything, only making suggestions. But the best part of it was the way she acted, as if she really believed I'd have that house and all the other things I wanted some day. She'd believe it even when I doubted myself. And that's an awful help to a guy, isn't it?" Suddenly, I knew he wasn't putting on an act. This incredibly naive boy was real. And with the realization came a liking for the boy, an affection I've always felt since. He was a nice kid. And just as quickly as my liking came, I was afraid for him. For I remembered Charlie Ray when he first came to Hollywood. He was just as naive, just as nice a kid as Bob. That was what ruined him in the end. I remembered the house he built with the solid gold plumbing fixtures that Hollywood laughs about even today, though now the laugh is tempered with sympathy for a boy who went down in the maelstrom of quick riches. "Why don't you send for Madge and marry her right away," I suggested, for the things he had told me about her showed a level-headed quality that would be good for him. "You need a girl like that." "Oh, but you've got it wrong," the boy protested. "Madge and I don't feel that way about each other. Why I've even told her about girls I've gotten crushes on and she's been just as helpful about that as she has about other things. We're friends, that's all." He showed me a snap shot of him and Madge then, taken at a Sunday school picnic. She was looking up at him and suddenly I felt sorry for her. Bob might not be in love with her, but there was no doubt that she was in love with him. It showed in her candid eyes that could never hide an emotion, in her mouth so wide and generous and tender. She was a pretty girl with her curly blonde hair blowing in the wind so it looked like a lopsided halo, with her pert, tilted nose and heart-shaped face. But her eyes and mouth were the eyes and mouth of a girl that love could hurt. They were so vulnerable. "I wish she were here though," he said. "Gosh, I need her. She's always so smart about things and I feel I need someone like that around right now. I'm all at sea about things." "Why don't you make her your secretary," I suggested. "You'll be needing one, you know." He looked at me as if I were all the great brains of the world rolled into one. "That's a great idea," he said. "I'm going to write her tonight." Then he grinned. "No, I'm not. I'm going to call her long distance. I can't get used to the idea I can do things like that now. You know, back home I had to think three times about spending a dime." Of course, Madge came. Bob asked me to come along to Pasadena with him the day he was meeting her. She was just as nice as I thought she would be and the minute she looked at Bob I knew I had been right about her. There wasn't a doubt she was head-over-heels in love with him. Sometimes I felt I could shake Bob for not seeing how she felt about him. Men can be so stupid about emotions and things like that. For there was Bob, unhappy when she was out of his sight and doing all the little thoughtful things for her that enslave a girl. He'd come bounding into the study where she worked, with an armful of poppies and lupines he'd picked for her in a meadow on the way from the studio and he was