I Lost My Girlish Laughter

by Jane Allen

  “She’s nobody,” they say of Selma as she steps out.

  “Hell! They aren’t stars….”

  The mob melts magically, some to go into the theater, others to ooze on.

  The cutters porter the film to the projection booth and we take our seats in a roped-off section of the orchestra. This kind of thing is a source of never-failing wonder to me—how we picture people slip so naturally into the habits of royalty.

  We have arrived at the tail end of the regular feature picture which is a product of a particularly hated rival of Sidney’s.

  “It’s lousy,” Roy whispers to the boss. “How that guy gets away with it is a mystery to me.”

  “I hear he beats his wife,” says Selma.

  Sh…sh…sh…We are shssed.

  Following the film comes a newsreel.

  “I’ve seen it,” Jim whispers to me. “Let’s get a beer. There’ll be plenty of time.”

  We slip quietly out and into the lounge. There facing us is a familiar figure.

  “Hello, darlings,” says Frank Stacy.

  We are stopped cold.

  Jim starts forward in a threatening manner.

  Frank backs off. “No use trying your fists on me, you big bully you,” says Stacy. “I know you can lick me but I took care of that. A couple of the boys are inside.” He jerks his finger at the gentlemen’s rest room.

  The door opens and two gentlemen emerge and walk toward us.

  “Grinnell of the Examiner, Stokes of the Chronicle,” introduces Frank. “This is my good friend, Jim Palmer. And Maggie…she hasn’t got a last name.”

  “Have a heart, you guys,” pleads Jim. “We’ve come all this way to avoid newspapers. We want audience reaction, not reviews.”

  “You don’t say,” lisps Stacy in a high falsetto. “Anything Super Films does is of interest to our public and our public must be served.”

  “So you’re going to be like that?” says Jim. “All right, go ahead. Ruin my career—lose me my job.”

  “Nothing,” says Stacy, bowing from the hips, “would give me greater pleasure.”

  We watch them until they disappear into the theater.

  Then Jim seizes my arm.

  “Maggie, I want you to do just as I tell you to and ask no questions. First though, I’ve got to make a phone call.”

  Five minutes later Jim and I are waiting for the lights to go up in the theater announcing the interval before the preview picture. I am simply seething with excitement and suffering badly from stage-fright.

  The lights flash on.

  “Go on in and troop,” Jim cheers me.

  I fly down the aisle of the theater shrieking madly at the top of my lungs.

  “He’s going to kill you! Frank, he’s going to kill you!”

  Our ruse works. Stacy shoots up in his seat so I know where he and his friends are located. I rush headlong for them, yelling. “My brother! My brother has a gun!”

  A woman screams and topples over in her seat.

  Jim is close behind me.

  “Let me get at him!” he shouts. “Let me get the rat!”

  “Here he is,” I sob wildly, “but don’t hurt him.”

  “What did he do to you?” someone shouts.

  Then I hear Mr. Brand. “Jim! Maggie! Are you crazy?”

  We disregard him.

  Jim has lunged forward and yanked Frank out of the row. Frank’s friends plunge after them.

  “Help my brother!” I cry.

  “What did the guy do?”

  “He ruined me!” I wail.

  “The rat! Kill the dog!”

  Fortunately the cops arrive at this juncture.

  “Break it up! Break it up!” they yell.

  Above the din I can hear the boss shout, “You’re fired—the both of you!”

  Monk rushes toward us. I grab him. I pretend to collapse in his arms while I hiss to him that these men are newspaper critics and Jim is trying to get them out of the theater. I suggest he go and quiet the boss with an explanation and I will escape to the ladies’ room until the lights are doused.

  In the mêlée I manage to get away without trouble and nervously pace the rest room until it is safe for me to emerge. When I finally come into the darkened theater and slip into my seat, I inquire of Monk what happened.

  “They’re all in jail,” says Monk. “Jim, too?”

  “Jim, too.”

  “You and Jim are fine actors, Maggie,” compliments the boss. “All I hope is that it doesn’t cost too much.”

  After a false start or two, Sinners flashes on the screen, only it is now called Lady in a Cage.

  The fracas must have put the audience into a splendid temper for they applaud wildly. As the film unrolls, I sit, flashlight pencil poised over my notebook, for both S. B. and Monk make comments for revisions which I have to catalogue.

  Accordingly, my sensibilities are not as sharp as they might be ordinarily and it is some time before the dread silence of the audience reaches my consciousness. In the dark, it is strange how acutely aware you are of emotions around you. I suddenly realize that this silence is not approbation but is like the lull before a storm. I squirm uneasily in my seat. I wonder if our party feels as I do. Nothing untoward happens until the sequence where Sarya awakens Bruce on the beach. This is a close-up of Sarya when she looks into his eyes, her “whole woman’s soul aroused.” She stays aroused much too long, for a laugh shatters the audience followed by a general wave of mirth.

  “Give it to him, sister,” some wit yells.

  “Atta girl!”

  Mr. Brand leans toward me. “Make a note to cut that close-up.”

  However the damage is done. The mob has tasted blood. During the rest of the film whenever Sarya heaves her divine form into view, loud yells of raucous appreciation greet her.

  Sidney is beside himself with rage; yet he is honestly perplexed. He simply cannot fathom this ruinous reaction to our glamour girl.

  In the end when Sarya is deciding to kill herself in order, so she thinks, to save her lover’s life from ruin, the audience goes completely out of hand.

  “Take veronal!” yells the gallery.

  “Cyanide is quicker!” someone else thunders.

  We do not wait for Sarya to make up her mind. We slip quietly out of our seats and in the lobby separate to take up various posts around the theater so we can gather a number of individual comments on the picture as the audience files out.

  I take my stand in the ladies’ room to get the “female angle.”

  “My, wasn’t she terrible!” says a snippet in front of the mirror. “She’s old enough to be my mother.”

  “She reminds me of Theda Bara,” giggles an old woman. “You remember how she used to lie all over tiger skins.”

  “I like him though,” I hear someone elsewhere. “He’s grand….I could certainly use him.”

  I have heard enough. I join the others in the lobby. They are all hopelessly depressed and shaken. Mr. Brand is engaged in deep conversation with the theater manager and when he joins us there is a thoughtful gleam in his eyes.

  Our journey back to the hotel is accomplished in a dead silence. Sidney seems utterly withdrawn and immersed in his own thoughts.

  I myself am not particularly interested in the outcome. I am worried about Jim and look for a chance to get to a telephone to find out if there is anything we can do.

  We all collect in the Brand suite where S. B. orders supper. It might as well be a wake.

  “What about Jim Palmer?” I ask desperately.

  “Well, what about him?” asks the boss testily.

  “He’s in jail. We
’ve got to get him out.”

  “You telephone, Madge, and find out how much his bail is.”

  It is, I learn, five hundred dollars for each of them.

  “For five hundred dollars,” says S. B., “he can stay in jail.”

  “It would be cheap at ten thousand,” says Monk Faye quietly. “I hate to think of what would have happened if those boys had seen the picture.”

  “You’re right, Monk,” says Sidney unexpectedly. “Roy, arrange with the desk to get the money and you go after Jim.”

  Supper arrives and we fall to, grateful all of us, I think, to have something definite to do. We talk around and about the picture, carefully avoiding any direct reference to Miss Tarn. The photography, says the head cutter, is great. The jungle scenes are especially authentic, says the second cutter. It drags a little in the middle, contributes Selma.

  “All right…all right,” says Sidney, “but we might as well face it. Tarn is terrible!”

  Now the dread fact is out everyone talks at once. I quote what I heard in the ladies’ room; Selma, Monk and the cutters contribute their pieces. The consensus is pretty much the same.

  “But,” I say, “the girls simply adored Mr. Anders.”

  “You’re prejudiced, Maggie,” cracks the boss.

  “She’s right, Sidney,” Selma backs me up. “Bruce is wonderful. He’s got a Gable quality; only it’s softer, more romantic.”

  “The boy gave a swell performance,” says Mr. Faye. “Too bad we didn’t use more of him.”

  “You’ve hit it, Monk. You’re all right. I was just waiting to hear you say it. The manager said the same thing. Bruce is a find. He’s great!”

  Sidney gets up and paces the floor. We watch him.

  “Well?” bursts out Selma. “What are you going to do? You can’t let the picture go out this way?”

  Sidney stops and stares at us blankly.

  “What am I going to do? It’s simple. All it means is the picture goes back on the stages. We rewrite the major scenes and throw all the important spots to the male lead, Anders. He’s great, I tell you. It’s going to be his picture. It’s going to be Bruce Anders in That Gentleman from the South.”

  It is too bad Roy isn’t here to say, “Boss, what a title!”

  “And what about Sarya?” puts in Monk Faye slyly.

  “If she gets tough, I’ll take care of her. She’s here on a six months’ permit and if I don’t want to be nice, they’ll send her back where she came from.”

  My boss has all the answers.

  The door flies open and Jim stands there grinning out of a black eye, his clothes disheveled, his collar gone, his shirt torn.

  “Well, I hear I didn’t miss much,” he says cheerily.

  “You didn’t miss much? You only missed the greatest scoop of your career,” says Sidney. “You missed the debut of the man who is going to be first in the hearts of American womanhood—the most sensational screen hero since Valentino—my discovery, Bruce Anders!”

  12

  Retakes

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: All Department Heads Subject: Sinners

  From: Sidney Brand Date: April 28

  This is to advise you that Sinners in Asylum goes back for retakes. The new title is to be That Gentleman from the South. An unforeseen crisis developed at the sneak preview making these revisions imperative. These things sometimes happen.

  You all know that Sinners has been sold to the exhibitors as our leading prestige picture and I am counting on every one of you to give me your utmost cooperation in this emergency.

  Miss Lawrence will arrange a conference at which I would like you all to be present in order to acquaint you with my thoughts regarding these changes.

  SB

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: Fred Cook Subject: Sinners Anders

  From: Sidney Brand Date: April 28

  Line up list of all topnotch writers in Hollywood whom I can borrow temporarily to do rewrite on Sinners. We are making drastic story changes throwing the entire emphasis to Bruce Anders and retitling picture That Gentleman from the South. As we are pressed for time, I want only the very best writers who can deliver and deliver quickly.

  Also have your department scour the files for follow-up vehicles for Anders. He will, I am certain, after the release of this film be one of the ranking stars of the industry and we must be prepared for follow-ups.

  SB

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: James Palmer Subject: Bruce Anders

  From: Madge Lawrence Date: April 28

  You are hereby ordered to spare no expense or cunning in persuading the newspaper fraternity that the only important news personality of the day is Bruce Anders. This should be a simple matter since Stanley Baldwin and the Archbishop of Canterbury tossed the late King of England into obscurity.

  If anyone asks you embarrassing questions about Sarya, you don’t know who she is. Especially advise Carsons about the new state of affairs; also the New York publicity department.

  There is no time to lose.

  Yours,

  Maggie

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: Madge Lawrence Subject: Writers

  From: Fred Cook Date: May 3

  Ben Hecht contracted by Sam Goldwyn for one hundred thousand a picture. Mr. Goldwyn is taking writers seriously.

  Gene Fowler wires, quote, I leave the dunghills to you. I’m looking higher than thighs these days, unquote.

  Charles MacArthur is now a producer.

  Frances Marion—ditto.

  Bob Riskin is in London.

  Kaufmann and Moss Hart somewhere on the high seas working on a musical.

  Donald Ogden Stewart says why not try Benchley?

  Benchley says why not try Dorothy Parker?

  Parker says why not try God?

  (Some fun, eh, kid? But you explain it in your own language to S. B. He wouldn’t relish their particular brand of humor.)

  The following I think are available and if Mr. Brand decides on any one of them I will check on salary.

  Frank Mallard—he did Warner’s picture on the South and they cleaned up.

  Grace Riddell—she’s very hot at Columbia though rumor has it she got the credit for three other guys’ work.

  Pat Van Ruyn—remind the boss he is a Southern gentleman himself and knows all the angles. I have proof of this from several sadder but wiser girls.

  Mark Craig—whom we lost because Brand wouldn’t up his salary $25. Craig now making two thousand weekly. This ought to impress Brand that Craig knows what he is doing.

  Am also trying to locate Fred Switzer who is just the man to do this but his whereabouts unknown. Also checking on John King.

  FC

  STELLA CARSONS’S COLUMN

  May 3

  If Robert Taylor wasn’t such a generous and really human person at heart he would be plenty worried over the threat presented in the person of Bruce Anders, for it looks as if Sidney Brand has another winner in the star of That Gentleman from the South. Bruce is not only the handsomest thing we’ve seen in years but the real news is that he can act, too, which is all the more amazing when you consider that Gentleman from the South is his first picture. The nearest thing to previous experience he had was playing in the original Broadway play Sinners in Asylum. Sarya Tarn is the lucky leading lady who is featured in Anders’s first picture.

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: Sidney Brand Subject: That Gentleman />
  From: Monk Faye Date: May 3

  Dear Sidney:

  Now that you’ve got everybody steamed up about the new angle on That Gentleman from the South, it would be reassuring to know just what you plan to do. All department heads mobbing me for instructions in lieu of appointment with you which has not transpired. Let’s get down to business and have that conference and those conferences you’ve been writing about.

  MF

  THE GOSSIPEL TRUTH

  Sidney Skolsky

  May 4

  What greatly touted foreign gal has flopped so badly that by the time her picture is revamped she will be practically atmosphere? It seems nobody has bothered to tell her about this but don’t get me wrong—I love Hollywood!

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: Madge Lawrence Subject: Bruce Anders

  From: James Palmer Date: May 10

  Dear Maggie:

  You might advise S. B. that I am taking advantage of the highly publicized arrival of the Maharajah and Maharanee of Indore to toss a modest little soirée at the studio with Bruce Anders as host. All the hungry press, the glamour girls, and the potent tycoons of moviedom will thereby have an opportunity to lamp both Bruce and the Hindus in one take. I will personally see to it that you get at least a cavair canapé and a spot of champagne if I have to snatch these from the jaws of the Maharajah himself.

  JP

  SUPER FILMS

  INTER-OFFICE COMMUNICATION

  To: Monk Faye Subject: That Gentleman