In Theda Bara's Tent (as Reviewed by Publisher's Weekly)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Mr. Foxs art collection came up for auction the same week that Anita moved back to New York. She had a contract with Lux soap, and soon we could see her face on billboards—“Lux Toilet Soap is HardMilled! It LASTS!” We could see her face in Ladies Home Journal—“My Lux Soap Facials Are a Wonderful Beauty Aid!” And on posters in the trolley—“To Pass the Close-up Test, 98% of the Lovely Screen Actresses Use Lux Toilet Soap.”
Anita and I took a cab to the former Fifth Avenue mansion of Jay Gould, a robber baron whose home had been leased by Gimbel Brothers for art auctions. These stories about so many of us being broke, Anita said to me in the cab on the way to the auction, makes us girls of the silents look so dumb. Her eyes were glued to the cab window; she couldn’t get enough of the city. We havent been here since repeal, she said. I never saw such a change. The dirty old speaks have become sidewalk cafés. Its the cats meow!
Youre a sight for sore eyes, I said, stroking the sleeve of her sable coat as if it might purr.
The Talmadges aint broke, she said. The Gishes aint broke.
Quite the opposite.

Look at Mary so-called Pickford and Fairbanks. They’re rolling in dough.” She was more beautiful than ever because the strain was gone from her face, and she had new confidence. She was thirty-eight and knew she had sufficient intelligence to meet whatever came her way. Ma bought one of them little cameras for making movies you can show at home. Can you beat that? Little projectors for peoples front parlors! I said, ‘Ma, aint I in front of the cameras enough without you following me around the house with that thing?’
Nick Meadows had one of those.
You should see his house in Beverly Hills, Harry. Its swell. They wanted me to do a picture with Nick, but I am done with that. Never going to do another picture. Did you see him in Canada Song?
He looked good in that Mountie get up.
But the camera dont love him. It should—hes handsome enough. But it dont.  Aint it funny how that is? You have someone looks like him, or Toby for that matter, and you have someone looks like Norma Shearer—with bitty little eyes the size of rabbit poop, one of them crossed—and the camera loves her, and it dont love them. Ma says I got that certain something.
You do.
Nick dont have to worry. With that voice, hell make dough till he drops.

We entered a four-story mansion and walked into a parade of viewers pausing before each painting during the preview. There were fifty-two paintings, including some by Gainsborough, Van Dyck, Tintoretto, Murillo, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Peter Paul Rubens. We read the artists name and the estimated sales price. I wondered if Mrs. Fox would be there to see what the pieces brought, to see if she had been correct about their investment value when she bought them to decorate the lobbies of various Fox theaters. She and her daughters now lived close by on Park Avenue in a thirty-five-room apartment. But Mrs. Fox was not there.
Anita and I gave each painting a respectful examination as we saw others doing. Sometimes we heard, Isnt that Anita Stewart? and Doesnt that woman look like Anita Stewart? She was the most glamorous woman in the room in her full-length sable coat and high-heel leather boots and that shine that movie stars have. We took seats in the front row, both of us trying to act the part of art connoisseurs by maintaining grave faces though neither of us had ever been to an art auction before. I dont like having pictures on my walls, Anita whispered, unless they go with the furniture.
You mean like the colors match?

Yeah.
Do any of these go?
Thats why Im disappointed. Ma told me to bid on the Gainsborough and the Sir Joshua Reynolds. But neither of them go, and we just did the apartment, so I aint returning that couch. Its sort of lemon-colored. Looks good. You saw it, right?
No. Hadnt come yet.
Its sort of a green yellow. Anyway, Im going to bid. Why should Louies daughter be the only one who collects art? Im as rich as her anyday. She opened a package of peppermint Life Savers, offered me one, and we sat there enjoying the blast on our tongues. All she does is brag about her Gainsborough. I didnt even know what she was talking about. I thought it was a street someplace.
Excuse me, a blue-haired matron said shyly. But could you sign an autograph for my daughter, Miss Stewart? She just loves you.
Anita tongued the peppermint into her cheek and took the auction catalog from the woman. Sure, darling.
Make it to Susie.
Anita opened her alligator purse and hunted for a pen. I handed her the one in my breast pocket, and she signed. The woman hugged the catalog as she walked away.

Who, Irene or Edie?”
“Edie. She thinks she’s a big shot since Louie bought her husband that job.
Thats not fair. Goetz has experience. He used to produce pictures at Fox Film.
Pictures? Spanish language westerns! Louie bankrolled that project so his daughter would be married to someone who earns a living. Now Edie goes around bragging how her husband is vice president of Twentieth Century-Fox.
They got a bargain when they got Fox. Do you know Darryl Zanuck?
I knew him when he was a producer at Warner Brothers. I kissed him one time.

Bad girl.
Im thinking of maybe settling down now, Harry. I got them oats out of me. Ma aint getting any younger. Im getting younger, but she aint. Sends her love to you. And so dont Louie.
At least theyre leaving Movietone alone.
The most valuable asset Fox has, Anita said, besides you at Movietone, is Shirley Temple. That is the cutest little girl I ever saw. I asked her, I said, ‘Shirley, of all the famous laps they make you sit on, whose do you like best?’ She says, ‘J. Edgar Hoover because he dont jiggle his knees.’
Preview over, people filled in the chairs around us while the auction staff took paintings off the wall. There was a lot of chatter in the room, excitement and anticipation.

Did you know Louie was going to cast me as Jane in Tarzan the Ape Man? I said, ‘Louie, havent you noticed I aint nineteen no more?’ He says that I could pass for seventeen. I says, ‘Louie, get your eyes checked.’ He says, ‘You dont want to play opposite Johnny Weissmuller, a U.S. swimming champion?’ Did you see the picture, Harry? Theyre sitting in a tree, and Maureen OSullivan introduces herself. She says Jane, he says Tarzan, she says Jane and then, to show hes learned that theyre telling each other their names, he says Tarzan and thumps himself with that ape hand he makes, all the fingers together and bent down. Then he thumps her in the chest with them fingers and says Jane—back and forth, back and forth, Jane, Tarzan, Jane, Tarzan. He thumps her chest so hard every time he says Jane, Maureen storms off the set and says, ‘I aint acting with that ape!’
At the front of the room, the auctioneer stood at a wooden lectern. He was a sweet-faced, gray-haired gent in a suit and a tartan vest, a mild man who might avoid a caterpillar on his path. He spoke calmly. The first lot came up and was sold. Next lot came up and was sold. Tension built as each painting was carried from behind the black curtain, placed on an easel at the front of the podium and then was carried back behind the black curtain when the gavel thwonked and the auctioneer cried, Sold!

The Sir Joshua Reynolds portrait of the Prince of Wales was set on the easel. Anita tensed and held her paddle poised. She wanted that picture because she had met the current Prince of Wales when he was touring the United States. The auctioneer said the opening bid. Anita held up her paddle, was outbid, held it up again, was outbid, then turned to see who was bidding against her. I turned too, but a woman behind me in a tall hat with feathers blocked my view. Anita was huffy that anyone would dare bid against her. Wasnt he a fan? Couldn’t he see she wanted that painting?  She fired bullets from her eyes, turned back to the auctioneer and kept her paddle raised. Three thousand dollars. Do I have four? Nodding to the back of the room, Yes, and do I hear five? Nodding to Anita, Yes, and do I hear six? Anita hesitated. The auctioneer said, Do I hear six thousand? Anita kept her paddle down while she did calculations furiously in her head. Six thousand? Do I hear six thousand dollars for Sir Joshua Reynolds. She hesitated, and he struck the gavel. Sold. Five thousand dollars to number twenty-two. Thank you. Anita twisted around to glare at the victor, then turned back. Hey, she whispered to me, who is that guy? He looks familiar. But I couldn’t see.
Some Chinese pottery came up next, some watercolor paintings and the Gainsborough portrait of Mrs. Ralph Bell. The bidding started at two thousand.  Anita held up her paddle until the auctioneer said, Seven thousand, do I hear seven thousand dollars? Again she hesitated. The auctioneer waited. She agonized. Then, thwonk! Sold to number twenty-two. Thank you.
Damn, Anita whispered. She twisted around to glare at her competitor.
Had enough?
I should of bid more. I should of kept going. Why didnt you make me keep going?

You dont need a portrait of some person you dont even know.
The Peter Paul Rubens painting of madonna and child was carried to the easel. I think that baby is so cute. Im buying this one.
Does it go?
Yeah. I think so. Theres sort of a yellow color in the background. The bidding started at two thousand. Anita held up her paddle. And do I hear three? Yes, and do I hear four? Do I hear four thousand dollars? Anna hesitated. I dont know, I dont know, she whispered. Yes, he said to the back of the room. And do I hear five? Do I hear five thousand dollars? Going once, he looked around the room. Peter Paul Rubens, do I hear five thousand dollars? Going twice, do I hear five? Sold! Number twenty-two. Thank you.
Lets get out of this place. This place aint fair.
Lets go meet Molly at the St. Regis, I said. Shes interviewing Alfred Hitchcock. Shell be done now.
We walked toward the exit, Anita doing her movie-star strut as everyone turned to watch her. In the lobby was George Peabody Converse holding paddle number twenty-two. Dressed in a blue cashmere coat with velvet lapels, a cream ascot at his throat, he bowed. Anita Stewart, he said.
That wasnt very nice of you, she said. I wanted them paintings.

 But so did I, he said. He extended his hand to me and said, Harry, in a way that was meant to sound surprised. Our eyes met in a split second of conspiracy. He was still Molly’s boss at Inside Scoop, and I had told Molly that Anita would attend this auction. But I didn’t know that George would bid against my friend. You dont remember me, do you? he asked her.
She met so many people and had such a direct manner that they all expected her to remember them. Of course I do, she lied. George just stood there smiling. Maybe he was remembering how she felt in his arms. Maybe he was thinking how the years had not made a dent in her beauty. Oh! she said, at last. U.S. Steel!
He laughed. At your service.
Nick Meadows New Year’s Eve party a million years ago!
He was smitten. He was positively smitten. Youre even more beautiful now, if I may be so bold.
You can be as bold as you want, she said. Youre U.S. Steel, for Petes sake.
And you can be as bold as you want, he said. Youre Anita Stewart, for Petes sake.
She laughed and said in a coy way, You took them pictures away from me. That wasnt very gentlemanly of you.
No, he said. It wasnt. Let me make it up to you. Come have a drink at my club. Its not far from here. You come too, Harry.

I aint sitting in no club with you, Anita said. Next thing, everything I say will be plastered all over Inside Scoop.
Off the record, George said. He was tanned from Palm Beach, where he played in tennis tournaments.  Molly and the rest of his staff were fond of him. He paid well, had a shrewd sense of what was interesting, never published anything malicious, and his magazine was the most popular of its kind on the newsstands.
Harry, Anita said, Ma will be sorry she missed you. As she gave me a peck on the cheek, she gave me a secret poke, which meant I should clear out so she could work her magic on U.S. Steel.