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ever heard her take a position on anything was to drive this point home,
simply, but firmly and precisely.
It
happened when some assistant to
the assistant director of "The American Tragedy" tried to find an ex–
cuse for not letting her see some of the rushes that were being shown
the next day.
It
seems the press was excluded; and he was afraid if it
became known that she had been present, the other journalists would
resent this sort of favoritism. The girl from
The N ew Yorker,
listening
intently and politely as always, straightened herself up just a little; then,
looking directly at the man, she said quietly, yet almost curtly, like put–
ting a little boy in his place: "Well, you know, dear, I am
not
a jour–
nalist."
She was, of course, right-absolutely right. She was not a journal–
ist; and nobody treated her like a journalist. Hers was not a regular
journalistic assignment at all; it was rather like a mission redeeming
the better part of Hollywood for
The New Yorker.
And thus she came to be the center of social life in Hollywood,
the star performer in a grandiose show to redeem the better part of
Hollywood. She was invited for breakfast, for lunch (Romanoff's, of
course), for dinner, for afternoon parties and entertainment, at home,
at the Mocambo, or the Colony Club. She was out on location; she
went to every preview; she was flown to Las Vegas; she played bac–
carat and the slot machines; she was taken shopping on The Miracle
Mile. She was always "booked" solidly; and wherever she went, she
reigned supreme--although she didn't quite seem to belong anywhere.
She reigned supreme because Hollywood considered her the su–
preme test. Being weighed and found wanting by the
girl
from
The New
Yorker
would be supreme failure; being weighed and found worthy,
supreme achievement.
This is a hard test to be up against even with all the resources
of Hollywood at one's disposal. For dinner parties and entertainment
are one thing. But to prove oneself worthy of
The N ew Yorker
is still
another: One must also be brilliant. One must have experiences that
flash briIIiantly against the screen of popular mediocrity; one must
have ideas that are brilliant; and one must be able to express them
brilliantly in punchlines suitable for the end of each installment of
the portrait in
T he New Yorker.
Thus at every dinner party she was
surrounded by men who were trying, gallantly, at times, desperately
and frantically, for the most part, to outdo each other in manufacturing
brilliant experiences or in generating brilliant ideas.
This
is
a hard test to imPose on anybody. As time went on, a note
of anxiety crept into Hollywood'i worship of the
girl
from
The New
