the office, where a middle-aged man was seated behind a desk. His greeting was fairly abrupt. He asked my name and address and was very surprised to hear that I was staying at the Lanes’. When the questions were over, he looked me up and down again and said, ‘Are you sure you want to be a movie star?’
‘Yes, sir, very much, if you think I have the talent,’ I replied.
He pressed a buzzer and immediately a smartly dressed girl came in. She motioned for me to follow her. She opened a door, and for a moment all I could do was blink, since the room was filled with a blinding bright light.
A young man behind a very intricate camera greeted me in a friendlier way than the older man in the office, and told me to sit on a high stool. He took a few pictures, then rang for the girl, who led me back to the ‘old’ man. He promised to let me know whether or not they wanted me. Delighted, I turned down the road to the Lanes’ house.
A week went by before I heard from Mr Harwich (Priscilla had told me his name). He wrote that the pictures looked quite good and that he would see me the following day at three o’clock.
This time I was ushered in ahead of the others because I had been sent for. Harwich asked me if I’d like to model for a company that made tennis rackets. The job was just for one week. After hearing what the pay was, I said yes. A call was made to the tennis manufacturer, and I met him the same afternoon.
The next day I reported to a photo studio, which I was supposed to go to every day for a week. I had to change clothes continually, stand here, sit there, keep a smile fixed on my face, parade up and down, change again, look angelic and re-apply my make-up for the umpteenth time. I was so exhausted every evening that I had to drag myself to bed. After three days, it was all I could do to make myself smile. But…I felt I had to keep my agreement with the manufacturer.
On the evening of the fourth day, I was so pale when I arrived at the Lanes’ that Mrs Lane forbade me to do another day’s modelling. She even called the tennis manufacturer and had him cancel the contract.
I thanked her from the bottom of my heart.
After that I was free to enjoy the rest of my unforgettable holiday, and now that I had seen the life of the stars up close, I was cured once and for all of my delusions of fame.
Friday, 24 December 1943
My First Interview
I MAGINE WHAT WOULD happen if the subject of my first interview knew he was going to be used as material! He would no doubt turn red and say, ‘Me? What’s there to interview?’
I won’t keep you in suspense any longer: Peter is my subject. I’ll also tell you how the idea came to me! I was thinking of interviewing someone, and since I’ve written about every person in this house over and over again, I suddenly thought of Peter, who’s always in the background, and – like Margot – almost never does anything that can give rise to dissatisfaction or quarrels.
Early in the evening, when you knock on his door and hear his soft-spoken ‘Come in,’ you can be sure that when you open the door, he’ll be looking at you through the steps of the ladder to the attic, and that most of the time he’ll utter an inviting ‘So there you are!’
His room is actually a…hmm, I’m not sure what it is. I think it’s a kind of landing going up to the attic. It’s verysmall, very dark and very damp, but…he’s managed to turn it into a real room.
When he’s sitting to the left of the ladder, there’s only about three feet between it and the wall. This is where he has his table, which is usually strewn with books like ours is (the steps also get the overflow), and a chair. On the other side of the ladder is his bicycle, suspended from the ceiling. This now useless form of transportation has been wrapped in brown paper, and a long extension cord dangles merrily from one of the pedals. To add the finishing touch to the interviewee’s work space, the light bulb
‘Yes, sir, very much, if you think I have the talent,’ I replied.
He pressed a buzzer and immediately a smartly dressed girl came in. She motioned for me to follow her. She opened a door, and for a moment all I could do was blink, since the room was filled with a blinding bright light.
A young man behind a very intricate camera greeted me in a friendlier way than the older man in the office, and told me to sit on a high stool. He took a few pictures, then rang for the girl, who led me back to the ‘old’ man. He promised to let me know whether or not they wanted me. Delighted, I turned down the road to the Lanes’ house.
A week went by before I heard from Mr Harwich (Priscilla had told me his name). He wrote that the pictures looked quite good and that he would see me the following day at three o’clock.
This time I was ushered in ahead of the others because I had been sent for. Harwich asked me if I’d like to model for a company that made tennis rackets. The job was just for one week. After hearing what the pay was, I said yes. A call was made to the tennis manufacturer, and I met him the same afternoon.
The next day I reported to a photo studio, which I was supposed to go to every day for a week. I had to change clothes continually, stand here, sit there, keep a smile fixed on my face, parade up and down, change again, look angelic and re-apply my make-up for the umpteenth time. I was so exhausted every evening that I had to drag myself to bed. After three days, it was all I could do to make myself smile. But…I felt I had to keep my agreement with the manufacturer.
On the evening of the fourth day, I was so pale when I arrived at the Lanes’ that Mrs Lane forbade me to do another day’s modelling. She even called the tennis manufacturer and had him cancel the contract.
I thanked her from the bottom of my heart.
After that I was free to enjoy the rest of my unforgettable holiday, and now that I had seen the life of the stars up close, I was cured once and for all of my delusions of fame.
Friday, 24 December 1943
My First Interview
I MAGINE WHAT WOULD happen if the subject of my first interview knew he was going to be used as material! He would no doubt turn red and say, ‘Me? What’s there to interview?’
I won’t keep you in suspense any longer: Peter is my subject. I’ll also tell you how the idea came to me! I was thinking of interviewing someone, and since I’ve written about every person in this house over and over again, I suddenly thought of Peter, who’s always in the background, and – like Margot – almost never does anything that can give rise to dissatisfaction or quarrels.
Early in the evening, when you knock on his door and hear his soft-spoken ‘Come in,’ you can be sure that when you open the door, he’ll be looking at you through the steps of the ladder to the attic, and that most of the time he’ll utter an inviting ‘So there you are!’
His room is actually a…hmm, I’m not sure what it is. I think it’s a kind of landing going up to the attic. It’s verysmall, very dark and very damp, but…he’s managed to turn it into a real room.
When he’s sitting to the left of the ladder, there’s only about three feet between it and the wall. This is where he has his table, which is usually strewn with books like ours is (the steps also get the overflow), and a chair. On the other side of the ladder is his bicycle, suspended from the ceiling. This now useless form of transportation has been wrapped in brown paper, and a long extension cord dangles merrily from one of the pedals. To add the finishing touch to the interviewee’s work space, the light bulb
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