The Girl with the Teleprompter Heart

Even as other men, I am fond of vivacious, pert young ladies, and so I was happy to see the face of vivacious, pert young Shirley MacLaine on the covers of both Time and Look some weeks ago. I devoured both stories, hungrily ingesting the information that she is "vigorously original" (in the words of the Look writer), "a natural clown" (in the words of Peter Lawford), "a kook, but very warm" (in the words of Frank Sinatra), "a very fine, clean woman" (in the words of Charles Atlas) and "a real ring-a-ding" (in the words of Time's anonymous reporter).

"What makes Shirley a real ring-a-ding," I rejoiced to learn, "is her conversation" -- several examples of which were offered by both magazines; glittering gem-stones like "Are your teeth real?" and "We owe people dinner from ten years back, but they keep asking us." By George, I said to myself, when a girl is not only "lithe, long-legged, freckled," "nurses her baby during rehearsals," has a "near-perfect frame (34-24-34) ... the grace of a ballet dancer, the exuberance of a cheer-leader . . . the muscle power of a baseball player . . . huge feet . . ." and, in addition, can get off good ones like those teeth and dinner cracks -- well, now, that's a girl to write home about.

Of course, a few of Miss MacLaine's bons mots had a slightly familiar flavor, like "I'm an orthodox coward," which Time thought striking enough to hang a • on; but which I was able to trace back at least as far as the June 1958 issue of this magazine, where it was attributed to writer Harry Kurnitz. That led me to wonder if Mr. Kurnitz was one of the gentlemen retained by Miss MacLaine to provide her with scripts full of sparkling social conversation ("One afternoon . . . she had telephoned a gagwriter and announced: 'I'm going (continued on page 36) Teleprompter Heart(continued from page 23) to the races. Give me ten jokes on racing' "). If so, I muttered, then I suppose everything's all right, even though it seemed at variance with the magazine stories, which claimed she abhorred sham (" 'If you're a phony, you're through' ").

But just the other day I was reading a Mary McCarthy novel which has been around for a few years, The Company She Keeps, and came upon a passage which told ". . . how to get a free lemonade on a stifling day. You go into the Automat . . . and you pick up several slices of lemon that are put out for the benefit of tea drinkers near the tea tap. Then you pour yourself a glass of ice water, squeeze the lemon into it, add sugar from one of the tables, and stir." The passage sent me scurrying back to the MacLaine issue of Time, where, sure enough, I found our "vigorously original" girl mistily reminiscing about the old days in New York: " '. . . In the Automat . . . you could get an iced-tea glass with a lemon in it free, go to the fountain, put water in it, get sugar at the table and have as many free lemonades as you wanted.' "

Now, if Miss MacLaine wants to pay people to provide her with bright things to say at parties and race tracks, that's one thing, but when she finds it necessary to buy, like dry goods, so many bolts of personal memories -- and personal memories cadged from other people's novels, at that -- then I begin to grow just a trifle sad and not a little concerned. Where will it end? And just how do we know, since Time and Look won't tell us, which dazzling ripostes of Miss MacLaine's are her very own and which first saw the light of day in a scriptwriter's mind or in a work of fiction by Mary McCarthy, Gene Stratton Porter, James Branch Cabell or me? Are none of us poor writers safe?

I brooded quite a while about this, and my brooding took the shape, as it often does, of a vividly imaginative scene, which I will transcribe for you here in the form of a playlet, simply to save wear and tear on my typewriter's quotation-mark key.

• • •

The scene (you insist upon italics? be my guest): The scene is a Hollywood party. On hand is a cross-section of the industry's finest; to mention only a few: Chester Morris, Lawrence Tibbett, Lola Lane, Tim Holt, Keye Luke, Donald Crisp, Lauritz Melchior, Buster Crabbe, Hugo Haas, Lon McCallister, Ted Fio Rito, Gene Raymond, Evelyn Ankers, George Zucco, Julie London, Julie Harris, Julie Haydon, Julie Styne, Kim Novar, Kim Stanley, Kim Hunter, Kim Chaney, Jr. (the Wolf Man in drag), rex Harrison, rex Reason, rex king of wild horses, and me, disguised as Peter Ustinov. The real Peter Ustinov is disguised as burl ives. burl ives is disguised as a potted palm. Everybody is reasonably happy, and yet stasis has gripped us in an aspic of expectancy, for the unofficial guest of honor, the anxiously awaited life of the party, has not yet arrived. I refer to lithe, long-legged, huge-footed, freckled Kim pixie, the puckish gamine who catapulted into our hard Hollywood hearts straight from her Broadway success in the smash musical, "Don't Make a Wave," in which she played a WAC. Temporarily dropping my Ustinov masquerade, I sidle up to a casual acquaintance, Maisie van skin-pop, the well-known obscure starlet, and say:

Me

What's a girl like you doing in a nice place like this?

Maisie

Boy are you funny.

Me

I'll try again. What did the masochist say to the madam?

Maisie

"Take me to your beater"?

Me

Boy are you funny.

Maisie

Get lost, fungus-face.

Me

Bye-bye, sweets, and don't take any wooden dialog.

I leave her side, happy to do so, partly because her side is not one of her most attractive features, but chiefly because Kim Pixie has at last arrived, each arm occupied by a tanned-to-the-corneas chorus boy. She is barefoot, wears a sable stole, faded blue jeans, and no make-up except on her toes, which are lacquered all seven colors of the spectrum, in the correct order: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Yes, that leaves three toes unaccounted for, I know, but I'll let all you foot fetishists get your kicks by filling in the blanks.

Kim

Hi, kids!

One of the Rexes

Gee, what a free-wheeling vocabulary.

Kim

(Throws off the sable stole to reveal the fact that she is wearing nothing under it save two large brandy snifters that form a kind of transparent brassiere) Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses! (Slaps her thigh)

Oscar Homolka

You're a real ring-a-ding, Kim!

Kim

You know it, Pops! Did I ever tell you how I used to freeload lemonade in the Automat? Ah, New York . . .

Homolka

(Agreeing) It's a wonderful town.

Kim

The Bronx is up and the Battery's down.

Leonard Bernstein

I like it, I like it! (He leaves, beautifully, his exit choreographed by Jerome Robbins)

Me

What's a girl like you doing in a nice place like this?

Kim

Very clever! Listen, Mr. Ustinov, you're a peppery talker -- want to pick up a little extra cash?

Me

Ah, take the cash and let the credit go, I always say.

Kim

I dig that! Don't let it get away! Here's the pitch -- I need a new writer. You keep me supplied with bright patter and wise sayings and I'll make it worth your while.

Me

(Lying in my teeth) Money means nothing to me, Miss Pixie.

Kim

Who said money? I said I'll make it worth your while! (Winks suggestively and flaunts the brandy snifters) Dig?

Me

When do I start?

Kim

Right now. (She whips out a lapel microphone and fastens it to my buttonhole) Whisper the goodies in here and I'll pick 'em up with this. (Points to a discreet hearing aid in her left ear)

Me

Testing, one two three.

Kim

Read you loud and clear.

"Look" Writer

Are your teeth real, Miss Pixie?

Kim

(She proffers me a panicky glance, and I whisper a goodie into my lapel mike. She picks it up) I disapprove of what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.

"Time" Reporter

(Scribbling furiously) "Your . . . right . . . to . . . say . . . it." Very well put! Slower, please, Miss Pixie, or I won't be able to get it all down.

Kim

(Nursing her baby) You're so right, stud. Uh -- (I toss her another classic) Haste makes waste.

Reporter

Oh wow! That's wild, wild! (Dashes to a phone)

Kim

But why should I -- get this -- cast my pearls before swine? You are all a lost generation.

Jack Kerouac

(Disguised as Gregory Corso) You put us down, man. We're, like, beat.

Kim

Like beat? Like the beat, beat, beat of (continued on page 82)Teleprompter Heart (continued from page 36) the tom-toms when the jungle shadows fall?

Jack Kerouac

Oooooooh . . . you're too much, Mother. (Swoons)

Reporter

(Dashing back) Did I miss anything?

Kim

Relax, Max. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here.

Reporter

(Grinning nervously) You're a lovely girl, Miss Pixie, and the whole world worships you. How do you feel about all this -- deep down inside?

Kim

(Modestly) Beauty is only skin deep. What is a girl profited if she shall gain the whole world and lose her own soul? The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on, Y'know?

Lyle Talbot

You swing, Kim!

Kim

(Aside to Me) Say, Banjo Eyes, you are truly turned on. I may decide to give you a bonus, if you know what I mean!

Me

What do you mean?

Kim

(She tells Me what she means)

Me

I like it, I like it!

Reporter

It sure is nice of you, Miss Pixie, to bestow the salty humor and homespun philosophy of your keen mind upon us common people.

Kim

The Lord must have loved the common people -- he made so many of them! (The band plays "Battle Hymn of the Republic")

Louella Parsons

Kim. How are your acting. Studies progressing.

Kim

Well . . . every day, in every way, I'm getting better and better.

Mr. Decay Germ

(Snarling) Isn't that awfully optimistic?

Kim

As you travel on through life, brother, whatever be your goal, keep your eye upon the doughnut, and not upon the hole. Dig?

All

Go, Kim, go!

Charles Atlas

You're a very fine, clean woman, Kim. I imagine you must bathe a lot?

Kim

That reminds me, Charlie -- I was sitting in the tub, see, this morning, sort of noodling out the problem of how to tell how much gold there is in a king's crown, which has been bothering these scientist types? When all of a sudden, I noticed a little thing I called water displacement. Well, I was so tickled to have discovered the secret of water displacement as well as the secret of lemonade displacement, that I jumped out of the tub, buck naked, and yelled Eureka!

Reporter

How do you spell that?

Kim

?-µ-f-?-?-a

Reporter

Thanks, Miss Pixie. What a story!

Kim

Speaking of stories, I just dashed off a scenario that has a good part in it for me and which I will film as the first venture in my new producing company, Kimpix Pix -- got all that, son?

Reporter

Got it, ma'am!

Kim

Story starts with this documentary-type film maker taking an ocean voyage to an uncharted island where there is some kind of living god or something the natives fear, see? The natives kidnap me and tie me up as a sacrifice, and the living god turns out to be an ape about fifty feet tall and he digs me, see? Sort of a perversion angle, but clean. Then ----

Lenny Bruce

(Disguised as healthy) It's sound, chick. It'll play.

Kim

(Aside to Me) That scenario is a gas, Pete. I'll take an option on it.

Me

Kim, sweets, if you'll play in it, I'll pay you!

Kim

A two-bit writer is gonna pay me?

Me

Well, not exactly in currency . . . (I whisper something in her ear)

Kim

I like it, I like it! (She whirls off to the buffet)

Intoxicated enough by the anticipation of all the abandoned pleasures to come. I dump my superfluous drink into the nearest potted palm.

Potted Palm

One moment, my friend.

Me

You don't fool me -- you're Burl Ives.

Potted Palm

Wrong again, lover. Lookie! (Potted Palm lifts its disguise to fleetingly reveal a strangely familiar face . . .)

Me

You're . . . you're . . . I saw you on the cover of Time and Look. You're much too pretty to be Khrushchev. Let's see . . . I know . . . you're ----

Potted Palm

Shhh! Yes, I'm Shirley MacLaine! I've been keeping track of this little Pixie broad -- she's trying to beat my time as a snappy conversationalist, and you have been helping her!

Me

I -- uh ----

Potted Palm

Don't bother to deny it! I've had my eye on you all night. You're full of rich, creamy goodness, kiddo, and I want you on my payroll! I know how Pixie is paying you off, and let me tell you that if you think what she plans to do for you is hot stuff, then you have led a very sheltered life, if you know what I mean!

Me

Make me an offer.

Potted Palm

(Whispers passionately in my ear)

Me

(Turning pale) I don't like it, I don't like it!

Potted Palm

Chicken. (Hisses and withdraws)

But now I notice Kim Pixie has been wildly signaling to me for aid. I rush over, flustered and rattled, just in time to hear the Reporter say . . .

Reporter

. . . All I said, Miss Pixie, was can I offer you another hors D'Oeuvre?

Kim

Huh?

Reporter

You know -- little sandwich? Cheese, bread?

Kim

Uh . . . well, like, uh, man shall not live by bread alone . . .

Reporter

That's good!

It sure is, but now, still shuddering from my conversation with the Potted Palm, my invention flags . . .

Kim

. . . Nor iron bars a cage . . .

Reporter

Wha'?

Kim

The weed of crime bears bitter fruit. Crime does not pay! The Shadow knows! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Reporter

Miss Pixie . . .

Kim

Nov schmoz ka pop? (Aside to Me furiously) What's wrong, Ustinov? I'm not going over.

Me

I -- that is ----

Potted Palm

I'll tell you what's wrong, Pixie! You've been duped! This fraud is a creep! I mean, this creep is a fraud!

Me

Why do you expose me thus, Shirley? Why do you hate me?

Potted Palm

You're so smart, you tell me. Whip out one of those bright sayings of yours.

Me

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?

Potted Palm

Right the first time, Cuddles. Ta-ta! Don't take any wooden dialog!

Me

My line! You stole my line!

Bud Collyer

Will the real Peter Ustinov please stand up?

• • •

Dear Shirley: no hard feelings, eh? All good clean fun? I mean, I read what you said about poor Bosley Crowther after he gave you a rotten review in The New York Times -- "He's like he is because he's insecure! He likes the sexpots; that shows you where his taste lies."

My taste lies somewhere in that general vicinity, too, so if you happen to be in the market for a new scriptwriter, chock full of even more clichés, old adages and stale jokes than your present scriptwriter, just keep in mind that I'm available, and that I work cheap -- if you know what I mean.