borrow three dollars?” he asked.
Well, hell,
I thought, embarrassed.
You only paid me four total!
I gave him the three bucks and never saw him again (more’s the blessing!), but I figured the education had been worth it. I’d not only learned to hurtle myself enthusiastically into boisterous sex but had found the courage to pose nude. And I was still one dollar to the good.
So what the heck. I’d still give Randy a solid A.
E nglish Night at the Harlequin meant donning green leotards for “Robin Hood.” America was “Steam Heat,” a Bob Fosse number in white shirts and black derbies. For Spain, we did a mean flamenco—implementing the castanet technique I’d learned at Jacob’s Pillow. France was a cancan. Italy was “Finiculi, Finicula.” Hawaii was our blockbuster. We two gals did a hula, then George burst forth in a short feathered skirt and huge headdress, his Mr. Pasadena muscles bulging, and did a thrilling frenzy number. And
oh, my,
could he frenzy! Attendance was sparse, but we performed as if we had a full house, six nights a week. We closed at eleven, but George and I always spent an hour or more talking and laughing in the parking lot. Then I left for Venice in my station wagon and he took off on his Harley. He was fun, but too rich for my blood. Older, experienced, and way too good-looking.
Early every morning, I drove from Venice to Pasadena and rehearsed
Present Laughter
from ten to five. Exhilarating! I was acting! Then I was off to Azusa to be a singing-dancing waitress for four hours, then back to Venice for a few hours’ sleep. I had no idea where I would go after the closing of the play. I yearned for New York, but how could I do it with Mark? I ached for him every minute of every day. The Harlequin fed us dinner with enough leftovers to take to the Playhouse for lunch, I was living rent-free at Nettie’s, so I’d saved enough to pay the Playhouse summer tuition and get by a few months. Just before the play opened, I gave notice at the Harlequin and trained my replacement, who—bless her heart!—learned the routines in jig time so I could begin evening dress rehearsals on the play just before opening night.
Present Laughter
was a hit. Toward the end of its short run, the Playhouse folks asked if I’d sit in the audience of a television show called
It Could Be You!
, saying they wanted some students in the balcony to publicize our new season. Then Mother called and said she was bringing Mark out for a visit! I was overjoyed. She arrived with a rawboned, redheaded country girl named Ruthie Mae Henry, who’d been babysitting Mark. Ruthie Mae had never been out of Oklahoma, and Mother said this trip was a bonus for the good care she’d given my baby. Nettie and Larry welcomed the whole crew into their home, immediately enchanted with Mark—as was everyone. I showed Mother and Ruthie Mae around Venice Beach, which they found as far out and groovy as I had. That afternoon, the sophisticated Larry Lipton sat chatting with my little Oklahoma mama, and I listened in amazement as Mother not only held her own with him but had him in stitches. Where did she get such
savoir-faire
? Heavenly days!
The next morning, at the studio in Hollywood,
It Could Be You!
started with two surprised recipients being called to the stage for prizes. Then they broke for a commercial.
“Our final prize,” the MC announced when the show resumed, “will be awarded by a star of screen and stage, Mr. Lee J. Cobb!”
Mr. Cobb, who’d played opposite Marlon Brando in
On the Water-front,
took center stage.
“I’m here to give a full third-year scholarship, the first of its kind, to a performer at the Pasadena Playhouse,” he said. And then he boomed, “It Could Be You…Rue McClanahan!”
Mother beamed from ear to ear as ushers squired my stunned self onto the stage and Mr. Cobb read some very complimentary remarks about my acting and handed me a framed award.
Plus,
the MC added, “this handsome set of
Well, hell,
I thought, embarrassed.
You only paid me four total!
I gave him the three bucks and never saw him again (more’s the blessing!), but I figured the education had been worth it. I’d not only learned to hurtle myself enthusiastically into boisterous sex but had found the courage to pose nude. And I was still one dollar to the good.
So what the heck. I’d still give Randy a solid A.
E nglish Night at the Harlequin meant donning green leotards for “Robin Hood.” America was “Steam Heat,” a Bob Fosse number in white shirts and black derbies. For Spain, we did a mean flamenco—implementing the castanet technique I’d learned at Jacob’s Pillow. France was a cancan. Italy was “Finiculi, Finicula.” Hawaii was our blockbuster. We two gals did a hula, then George burst forth in a short feathered skirt and huge headdress, his Mr. Pasadena muscles bulging, and did a thrilling frenzy number. And
oh, my,
could he frenzy! Attendance was sparse, but we performed as if we had a full house, six nights a week. We closed at eleven, but George and I always spent an hour or more talking and laughing in the parking lot. Then I left for Venice in my station wagon and he took off on his Harley. He was fun, but too rich for my blood. Older, experienced, and way too good-looking.
Early every morning, I drove from Venice to Pasadena and rehearsed
Present Laughter
from ten to five. Exhilarating! I was acting! Then I was off to Azusa to be a singing-dancing waitress for four hours, then back to Venice for a few hours’ sleep. I had no idea where I would go after the closing of the play. I yearned for New York, but how could I do it with Mark? I ached for him every minute of every day. The Harlequin fed us dinner with enough leftovers to take to the Playhouse for lunch, I was living rent-free at Nettie’s, so I’d saved enough to pay the Playhouse summer tuition and get by a few months. Just before the play opened, I gave notice at the Harlequin and trained my replacement, who—bless her heart!—learned the routines in jig time so I could begin evening dress rehearsals on the play just before opening night.
Present Laughter
was a hit. Toward the end of its short run, the Playhouse folks asked if I’d sit in the audience of a television show called
It Could Be You!
, saying they wanted some students in the balcony to publicize our new season. Then Mother called and said she was bringing Mark out for a visit! I was overjoyed. She arrived with a rawboned, redheaded country girl named Ruthie Mae Henry, who’d been babysitting Mark. Ruthie Mae had never been out of Oklahoma, and Mother said this trip was a bonus for the good care she’d given my baby. Nettie and Larry welcomed the whole crew into their home, immediately enchanted with Mark—as was everyone. I showed Mother and Ruthie Mae around Venice Beach, which they found as far out and groovy as I had. That afternoon, the sophisticated Larry Lipton sat chatting with my little Oklahoma mama, and I listened in amazement as Mother not only held her own with him but had him in stitches. Where did she get such
savoir-faire
? Heavenly days!
The next morning, at the studio in Hollywood,
It Could Be You!
started with two surprised recipients being called to the stage for prizes. Then they broke for a commercial.
“Our final prize,” the MC announced when the show resumed, “will be awarded by a star of screen and stage, Mr. Lee J. Cobb!”
Mr. Cobb, who’d played opposite Marlon Brando in
On the Water-front,
took center stage.
“I’m here to give a full third-year scholarship, the first of its kind, to a performer at the Pasadena Playhouse,” he said. And then he boomed, “It Could Be You…Rue McClanahan!”
Mother beamed from ear to ear as ushers squired my stunned self onto the stage and Mr. Cobb read some very complimentary remarks about my acting and handed me a framed award.
Plus,
the MC added, “this handsome set of
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