On Sunday Charlie took me to his house. It was on Coldwater Canyon, which is still Beverly Hills but not the flats. The house couldn’t be seen from the street. He brought me out to the poolside, where his wife, Jean, was sitting. She was beautiful – blond hair, dressed in gold gabardine slacks, a white silk shirt, and three strands of pearls. She was very friendly and open. How could Charlie not have dinner with her every night? The house was marvelous. Spanish, all on one floor, beautifully and comfortably furnished. Outside up some steps was the pool and poolhouse. Did people really live like this?
We had lunch outside. What total luxury! To have your meals out of doors in the sunshine. It was God’s country.
Jean had been a Ziegfeld girl when she was very young and, I was later to learn, had had many men at her feet. Understandable. Of course I told her all my hopes and dreams – that I prayed the test would take place soon because patience was not my strong point. She was reassuring, knew how hard it was to be in California and not know anyone – I was to feel always welcome there, call on her anytime.
The next ten days were endless. On the phone at least once a day to Charlie, so frustrated – postponement after postponement. One letter to my mother dated April 15:
Now you won’t hear from me until Saturday or Sunday of next week for the simple reason that the test has been postponed to Wednesday. But don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll call you just as soon as I know the results.
And on April 21:
Mommy darling, I know how hard it must be for you to wait for word from me. But they do things so slowly here. Always taking their time. And if you’re nervous, just imagine how I feel. I have no insides left. But if it flops I won’t be the first actress who couldn’t crash Hollywood on her first try…. The only assurance I can give you, baby, is that I’ll do my best. All I ask of you is patience and if nothing happens to bear with me.
I had seen Howard a couple of times more. I read scenes for him. He took me to lunch and told me about his directing experiences with various actresses. It was always what he said to them, or to Howard Hughes, to Jack Warner – he always came out on top, he always won. He was mesmerizing and I believed every story he told me. Once he made some remark about a Jew and I turned cold. I’m sure I paled visibly, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Oh, no, don’t let him be anti-Semitic. God, don’t let me come all this way and have it blow up in my face. It just couldn’t happen now.’
I told Charlie about it. ‘What will I do when he finds out? What will he do?’ Charlie laughed and said, ‘Howard just talks. Don’t worry about it, he and I are friends, have been for years.’ They didn’t move in the same social circle, however. I was panic-stricken.
The day before my test I was driven out to the Warner Bros. studio to see Howard and Perc Westmore, head of the make-up department. After all this waiting, something was going to happen at last. Driving to Warner Bros., new territory for me – Sunset Boulevard, the Strip, with its famous nightclubs, restaurants, Schwab’s drugstore, where Lana Turner was supposed to have been discovered, along Highland Avenue to Burbank down a curved road to WARNER BROS. printed in large black letters on buildings (which turned out to be sound stages) on enormous billboards, to the main gate. Here was the home of Bette Davis, Muni, Flynn, Sheridan, Cagney, Bogart, Greenstreet, Lorre – the list was long. There were many separate buildings looking like houses which turned out to be executive offices, dressing rooms, makeup department, music cutting rooms, wardrobe. The car stopped at a small house with the name HOWARD HAWKS hanging over the door like a doctor’s shingle. Opposite him was another bungalow with the name HAL B. WALLIS on it. I was led into Hawks’ outer office and announced by a secretary. The inner door opened and out Howard came with a smile. He put his arm around me and said, ‘You’re going to make your test with a young man named Charles Drake. You’ll meet him after lunch and we can go over the scene.’ Howard had decided that Claudia was right for me, so we were doing a scene from it. He walked me over to make-up so that Perc Westmore could have a look at me and said, ‘You know, Perc, the test is tomorrow morning, see what color Betty will need, and that’s all.’ Westmore took me into his room, sat me before his make-up mirror, and examined my face. He said, ‘Ummhumm’ and pushed my hair back. ‘We can pluck your eyebrows and shave your hairline, straighten your teeth.’ I was terrified and very upset. I said I’d like to call Howard, which I did practically in tears and repeated it all. I said, ‘You don’t want that, do you?’ He said absolutely not and spoke to Westmore, saying, ‘I want her exactly as she is, nothing changed, a light natural make-up for tomorrow.’ Perc understood, he only thought some of those touches would be an improvement. But no, Howard had chosen me for my thick eyebrows and crooked teeth and that’s the way they would stay.
I went back to Howard’s bungalow and he took me down the street to the green room for lunch. The green room was for the actors – round tables, walls adorned with large photographs of the stars. It was full. Next to the green room was a large commissary for crew, extras, etc. There was also a large dining room at the end of the lot where the brothers Warner and their producers ate. Wherever I went around the studio my head was on a swivel. This was where movies were made. There was so much to absorb. It looked almost like a private home in parts – trees, lawns. It was so much more complicated than I had thought, so much grander.
Howard told me that make-up people were used to doing someone over, that Perc was very good at his job but just had to be told. ‘He probably thought I wanted you to look like Dietrich. If they try anything tomorrow – to change your hair or anything – don’t let them. Tell them I want you to look just the way you do now.’ I was relieved. Of course Howard knew how frightened I had been. What would they have done if I hadn’t called him?
We went back to Howard’s office, where tall, blond, handsome Charles Drake was waiting. He was a young hopeful at Warners – Howard had used him in Air Force. We went into Howard’s office and read the script – I knew it, actually. Of course I was nervous. It was strange to play a scene with a complete stranger. I was trying to impress him, to impress Howard. Howard gave me a little direction along the way, we didn’t make any physical moves, but he talked about interpretation. Finally he said, ‘Okay, you’d better go home, study and get a good night’s sleep. You’ll have a long day tomorrow.’
I thanked him and thanked Charles Drake and was driven back to Charlie’s office, a complete and utter wreck. I was to stay the night at Jean and Charlie’s and be picked up the next morning at 7:30, so I went back to my hotel, got my toothbrush and pajamas (I always wore pajamas), and was taken back to the office, where I studied my scene until Charlie had to go home. It was hard to keep my mind off the importance of the following morning. Would I be good enough, would Howard like me? ‘Think of the scene, remember what Howard told you when you rehearsed it in his office.’ I could only do my best. But what if my best wasn’t good enough? Like all things in my life, it became crucial, a matter of life or death. I’ve never understood less than an extreme. I somehow got through dinner with Charlie and Jean, though I couldn’t eat. They both kept telling me, ‘You’re in the best possible hands with Howard. He wants it to be good, he will take enormous care. Don’t worry! It’s going to be all right.’ God, how I must have bored them.
Jean took me to the spare room where I was to spend my last hours. The next day the long, slow march would begin – the switch would be pulled. I kept repeating the scene over and over to the mirror, the wall; my stomach was jumping so, I felt so sick, I had to crawl to the bathroom to throw up. Did everyone go through this, or was it just me?
Back to bed, mind racing – it would not stop. Howard’s face flashing before me – what did he really think? And the Jewish business? If I was asked I’d have to tell the truth. Coward! It’s awful to be so frightened. I finally went to sleep. A knock on the door – 7:15 already. I jumped up, threw cold water on my face, quickly dressed, grabbed my script and was ready. I wanted to get to the studio
, start to work. I loved to act – it was just that this was a whole new thing to me – I’d learn the methods – ‘Don’t panic – don’t panic.’ Jean had slipped a good-luck note from her and Charlie under my door. I walked out the front door into the sleeping world. It was so peaceful – morning dew, sunshine, birds – a beautiful day. Would it be a lucky one?
The studio car was waiting – I was on my way – over Mulholland Drive down to the San Fernando Valley to Warner Bros. I was taken back to that make-up department. My hair was washed and set and I was put under the dryer. Someone brought me a cup of coffee. There was a lot of activity in the make-up department between seven and nine. All actors working in the movies being shot were there. All the leading actors. A shooting day begins at 9:00 a.m. and ends at 6:00 p.m. I was introduced to Dennis Morgan, Gary Cooper, Ann Sheridan. It was exciting to see those stars getting ready for work – exciting just to see them.
At about nine o’clock I was taken out from under the dryer and sent to Perc Westmore’s room to be made up. He was doing Ann Sheridan, so I had to wait awhile – tests came second to actual filming. Finally Perc was ready. I sat in that chair again and he started on me. He was very friendly, but I don’t think overly pleased with not being allowed to redesign my face. He said, ‘Wouldn’t you like your eyebrows a little thinner and rounded? I think they’d look much better, no one on screen has eyebrows as thick and angular as yours.’ I said, ‘No – Howard wants it this way. Perhaps he’ll want to make some changes later.’ (But I didn’t believe that – the way I was was the way I was and nothing would really change that.) He did put false eyelashes on me, which I hated. I asked him to cut them – I wanted them shorter than my own so they’d never be seen – but he left them a little longer. He said they would help.
Then my hair had to be combed out. Everything took much longer than it was meant to, particularly the first day. I was afraid my hair would be too curly. No one had ever set it before – I always did it myself, I was used to it. And I wanted the wave in the right place on the right side – starting to curve at the corner of my eyebrow and ending, sloping downward, at my cheekbone. Of course it was too curly, my hair always acted up when I didn’t want it to. I was getting more and more nervous.
Finally they were finished. The sound stage, Stage 12 (they were all numbered), was enormous. Going through a door that says DO NOT ENTER WHEN RED LIGHT IS ON, which means that filming is in progress. I entered this dimly lit stage and saw Howard. He kissed me on the cheek, said, ‘You look good, how do you feel?’ ‘Terrified,’ said I, ‘nervous.’ There was a camera, but not like the Rolleiflexes I had known, rather, a large apparatus with a seat behind it which moved. And a cameraman and quite a few other men in the area – the ‘crew.’ They had been lighting another girl – ‘Have I been replaced already? Don’t panic’ – who turned out to be a stand-in for me. So many strange people – so many new faces – so much equipment for this one scene between two people. Finally Howard said, ‘Okay, let’s try a take.’ Please, God, don’t let me be sick. Howard was marvelous – spoke softly, trying to soothe me and get the best out of me. I felt as secure with him as was possible for me to feel, given the circumstances. A letter dated May 3 to my mother:
My test was more fun, Mommy. I got to the studio at 8 for hair and make-up. Flirted with Dennis Morgan (the wolf), said hello to Cooper, had a chat with Sheridan and got on the set at 11:30. Went over the scene a few times with Howard. Then the first ‘take.’ ‘Shot’ until 1:30 – broke for lunch – saw Errol Flynn in the commissary and dove under the table. Got back on the set at 2:00 – ‘shot’ until 4:00. And I loved every minute of it. I had a dressing room and a stand-in, a hairdresser and a make-up man, the best photographer at Warners, an 11 page scene and Howard as a director. I had what every star has. A scene for a test is never more than 2 or 3 pages – stand-ins, dressing rooms, etc. are unheard of. So I was really a very lucky girl. Everyone told me that what I had only one out of 10,000 girls gets. So – there you have it.
Saw the test on Wednesday. It’s the weirdest feeling to see yourself move around and talk. I didn’t think it was exceptionally good. I didn’t look beautiful. But Howard and Charlie said it was excellent. Anyway, I’m the first girl Howard has ever signed personally and Charlie says I’m his protégée.
After the test was over I was full of bravado, name-dropping like crazy and very blasé. Actually Howard’s decision to sign me was made very quickly when one thinks how slowly things were usually done out there. And how quickly I accepted Charlie and Howard as my mentors – how quickly I shifted gears from East Coast to West.
I wrote endless instructions to my mother, and a letter asking for an honorable discharge from Equity as I would not be doing stage work for a while. I had sent Uncle Jack a copy of my contract with Howard – seven years starting at $100 a week, moving to $1,250 in the seventh year. I would have to send Mother money to buy me the things I asked for – and her ticket. I thought it was costing me a fortune to live – $17.50 a week just for rent and about $20 for food. So I’d have to get a salary advance. I was very happy, though. But I didn’t analyze it at all, it almost seemed the normal course of events. I had left New York one month before, filled with anticipation but uncertain of what the result would be – and here I was, after four weeks, accepting a life in California as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Four days later, on May 7, another letter to my mother.
Well, here it is honey – the news you have been waiting for so long.
Lv. New York Sunday May 16 – Commodore Vanderbilt – 4:20 p.m. Car 177 – Roomette #5.
Arr. Chicago – Monday, May 17 – 9:20 a.m.
Lv. Chicago, Monday – 12 o’clock – Bedroom A Car 198 – Santa Fe – Chief. Arr. Pasadena 11:15 a.m. Wednesday. May 19 – L.A. 11:50 a.m. Is that clear, sweetie? As for taking Droopy out, you can do that at the various stops. I will meet you at the station, so look for me …
At the end of the letter –
And I’m not going to have you working – at least for a few months and then if you want to you can. But not immediately. You’re going to rest while you have the opportunity. And don’t forget that.
For a minute there our roles were reversed. I was going to take care of my mother for a change. I was taking over – giving the orders, making the decisions. I found an apartment in Beverly Hills – 275 South Reeves Drive, just two and a half blocks from Charlie’s office. Four rooms furnished with a private entrance, for $65 a month. That set-up would never have existed in New York for twice the price. Until I got a car, which I could not exist without, I could easily walk to the office and around Beverly Hills. It was ideal. More space than Mother and I had ever had.
Howard had told me that he intended to wait for just the right part for my introduction to movies. He expected me to work on my voice. And he unfolded more stories about what his approach was with actresses – with Carole Lombard in Twentieth Century. She didn’t know how to react to John Barrymore in one scene: Howard asked her how she herself would behave, she told him very differently from the script – she’d kick him, scream at him. Howard said, ‘Okay, do that.’ She did and it worked. Howard always knew how to handle women in movies. That’s how he told it, and I suppose it was largely true – the results proved it. As time went on I realized he too had quite a fantasy life. Either consciously or unconsciously, he wanted to be a Svengali, and he was that to me at the beginning.
I hung on his every word. I was afraid of him – he seemed to have no highs or lows, but I would not have wanted to see him lose his temper. And he was so sure of himself. He had decided there would be no interviews. No press at all for a while, and I shouldn’t be seen too much by people in the business. He thought my first name should be changed and he’d work on that.
I ran to Charlie constantly, telling him things Howard had told me, and if I had any questions, I asked him. I thought he was the nicest, most generous man I had ever met. He arranged for me to
have driving lessons, said he’d help get me a car when I was ready. He sent the railroad tickets to Mother. He would take no commission from me until I made a lot of money, so I never signed an agent’s contract with him. But he did own half my contract with Howard.
I moved into Reeves Drive a few days before Mother was to arrive. I wanted to have everything in perfect order for her – food in, clothes in closets and drawers. I was so excited with the apartment – it was so clean, everything was so clean – the food was so fresh and so beautiful to look at – oranges, lemons, and grapefruit hanging from trees. So that’s how they grew. Fantastic! The markets were so big and beautiful. Mother would never believe that people lived all year around in a place like this. It was like being on a lifetime holiday.
At the station when I saw her I screamed out, ‘Mommy!’ – rushed to her and hugged her, kissed her, squeezed her. How much I had missed her – life was so much better when she was with me. Droopy remembered me – jumped up and licked me. I had so much to tell Mother. ‘Wait till you see what it’s like – it’s all so beautiful – and sunny and blue sky. You’ll love it.’ I rattled on and on. She was happy, of course, but much less hysterical than I, much less given to extremes. We headed for our new home, with me pointing out places of interest as we went, stopping at last on that lovely tree-lined street with the white stucco buildings and red tiled roofs. She breathed in – made a sound of ‘Oh, it’s lovely’ – and I led her up the stairs to our little nest. We had a lot to catch up on. Did life change so quickly and completely in five weeks? Yes, my dear – it changed so quickly and completely in five minutes.
Mother and Droopy and I settled in very nicely, happy in our apartment. We became instant Californians, except for the waiting around – I never could get used to that. I finally completed my driving lessons, took a slightly nervous test, but passed and applied for a license. All I needed now was a car.
By Myself and Then Some Page 12