My Library

finally managed to do this. He said Swanson was expecting me and I was to wait in her dressing room backstage and then went off without telling me where it was. I forget how I found her dressing room. Soon the play was over. I could hear the applause and curtain calls. Then I heard Swanson screaming at some one outside the door, and she steamed in. "WHO the fuck are YOU?" she demanded. I explained, totally intimidated. "SIT THERE," she pointed, "I’ll be right with you." So, I SAT, sweating up a flood. She went behind the proverbial dressing room screen and changed almost in full sight of my eyes which didn’t know where to look. When dressed, Gloria was still muttering about something. She shoved two bottles of cologne or perfume into my hands. "HOLD THOSE," she commanded. So I HELD THOSE. Then, without warning: "Well, come on," and she left the room with me trailing. When we exited the stage door at the BACK of the theater (our taxi was waiting at the front, a block away), there were at least 200 people waiting for autographs. At this, SWANSON turned into the kindest, most considerate Bird of Paradise. She gave me the two bags she was carrying -- and which weighed a ton each -- and started signing playbills left and right. The taxi meter was ticking away. What would happen if I didn’t have enough money? GOD! Finally, I didn’t know what to do -- except push through the crowd, take SWANSON firmly by an arm, and say loud enough: "We’re going to be late for the next appointment." Then I simply dragged her out of the crowd, apologized that the taxi was on another street. Finally, we were in it, and on the way to Lucille’s apartment building. "So," Swanson said sweetly, "tell me everything about yourself." I did my best.