Free The Autograph Hound by John Lahr Page A

doesn’t answer.
    â€œDon’t bother, lady. Actresses are moody. They’re concentrating on their career and their lines. Professional collectors don’t push. They understand.”
    â€œCome here, Laurette.”
    Laurette gets up and walks slowly towards us. She’s got carriage. “Hello, Benny,” she says.
    â€œYou know her?” the receptionist says.
    â€œ The Late, Late Show? ”
    She shakes her head no.
    â€œDick Cavett—that’s it. You and Bill Russell talking politics.”
    â€œWhere’s your memory?” Laurette says.
    â€œI never forget a face. It’s my business.”
    Laurette puts her hand on her hair and pulls off her wig.
    â€œGloria! Don’t you say thank you?”
    â€œI was going to ask around Shubert Alley.”
    â€œOh, sure.”
    â€œLaurette’s my stage name. For Laurette Taylor—my father’s favorite actress.”
    â€œWhat’s your last name?”
    â€œJust Laurette. No last name.”
    â€œLike Twiggy or Verushka or Kleenex. Easy to remember.”
    â€œI owe you a present.”
    â€œForget it.”
    Gloria shows me the camera and the zoom lens. She lets me look through it. The bed looks very small.
    â€œDo you act every day?”
    â€œWhen they ask for me.”
    â€œWhat happens when the other actresses are performing?”
    â€œI rehearse my special material. Sometimes I hold the camera.”
    â€œYou direct?”
    â€œI hold the camera.”
    â€œThey must give you a rest. People get tired under the lights. Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra . She was exhausted.”
    â€œI have lunch. I sit by the window. I read my magazines. I practice my song.”
    â€œSing it.”
    â€œIt’s for tryouts.”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    â€œI hardly know you …”
    Gloria shouldn’t be shy. In this business, you need guts. “Do you have a script?”
    â€œSometimes they bring a script. Sometimes, we make it up as we go along.”
    â€œYou could use your special material.”
    â€œThat’s for open calls. I’m on the list.”
    â€œDon’t you get nervous? I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t be myself.”
    â€œAfter a while, you hardly notice the camera.”
    Gloria takes my arm. She walks me around the set like it was Fifth Avenue. “Why don’t you direct me, Benny?”
    â€œI haven’t gone to camera school. I don’t have twenty-five dollars.”
    Gloria pulls out a big feathery hat to match her dress from the prop box. She also takes a cane. “Let’s pretend I’m about to take a long journey to meet my lover, Lord Churchill. He’s a great man. He has acres of land, and a coat of arms. He loves me very much. But my father won’t let me go. He wants me to take a job as a shop girl. He says to wait until I’m sure.”
    â€œIt sounds like a good story. But I’m scared, Gloria.”
    â€œYou know a lot about movies.”
    â€œNot enough to make one.”
    â€œI’ll take pictures of you, then.”
    â€œI don’t have the money. Please?”
    â€œThere’s no film in the camera. It’s for free. I do it all the time when the boss goes out. I get experience this way.”
    Gloria stands behind the camera. I get a chair and sit in front of the black eye. I put on my Mets cap. She’s bending close to the camera. I can only see the top of her head.
    â€œYou look good,” she says.
    â€œDon’t I look small?”
    â€œNo. Very clear.”
    It’s my movie debut. I feel very … responsible. I don’t want the camera to see me being boring. I want it to see me being just right.
    â€œThat’s enough.”
    â€œDon’t be silly. Stay right there, Benny. Do something. Sing ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’”
    She wants me to wiggle like Elvis. What can I do? My Lone Ranger galloping sounds? No. The camera would see my