Life is real, life is earnest

MADDY VEGTEL

Giving the reader an intimate and frantic glimpse into the super-fashionable life of a New York woman

Miss Anderson, the interviewer, found herself in the boudoir of "the smartest and best dressed woman in New York," Mrs. John Frederic Arkwright. The boudoir was a mixture of dead white and puce color. Miss Anderson looked around and approved of it. She also approved of the looks of Mrs. Arkwright when that lady stepped into the room, although it can hardly be said that her looks were a surprise. Pictures of Mrs. Arkwright had decorated Vogue and Harper s Bazaar for the last three years at an average of six times a year. With outstretched hand, Mrs. Arkwright

came toward her and said: "How do you do, Miss . . Miss oh,

Miss Anderson. Do sit down. So nice of you to come. I am quite thrilled at being interviewed! It's really most flattering!"

"You are ..."

"Yes, I got back from Paris yesterday. I have a flat there, you know. Quite a charming little place. I have just had it entirely done over. Such a nice boy helped me do it over. A Finn. Yes, a Finn, from Finland. A delightful person and a perfect genius at doing things with practically nothing. He did the place entirely in glass, oilcloth and polar bear rugs. Really most amusing. Oh no, no, I didn't stay there. I went to the Ritz, but even so I had to supervise it, of course. I felt a wreck when it was finally finished. And just in time. The last rug was put down on the day I left! Couldn't have been better. What? No, I am only staying here till I've unpacked;

then I am going to Newport. My two babies have been there most of the summer.

"How old? Tommy is eight and Barbara six. As soon as I've seen them, my husband and I are taking a trip on the yacht. The Earl of Wex is going with us and the Thornton Smiths. I've just had it completely done over. But I haven't any idea what it looks like; all I know is that it's in brown, that's rather vague, of course. ... I was just thinking, when you came in: I ought to have this suite fixed up sometime. , . . Other hobbies?

"Well, just at present I am terribly interested in tea-sets. . . ."

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," cried Mrs. Arkwright.

The door opened and in walked a tall, thin, efficient-looking girl. "London calling, Mrs. Arkwright." "Oh!" said Mrs. Arkwright, "Give me the telephone, please. Thank you. . . . Hello! Hello! Yes, yes. This is Mrs. Arkwright speaking.. .. What? Oh, Peter, how splendid! How perfectly divine. How much? Isn't that rather a lot? . . . Well . . . Yes . . . I suppose so. All right, my sweet. Go ahead. Good luck."

She turned to Miss Anderson. "That was Lord Duff Dalziel. He has just found the most amusing old stairway at Christie's. Absolutely the thing for me, he says. . . . Most attractive person, Peter. A little mad, of course, but divinely so. He's making his living buying stairways for his friends. So clever of him! But then, of course, his father was one of the most brilliant men of his time. Yes, the Lord Dalz . . ."

Miss Anderson spoke, What about your hobby, Mrs. Arkwright?" she asked.

"My hobby? Oh yes, of course. You know, I think that a woman who hasn't a hobby is really very much to be pitied. One must have a hobby if one wants to live. Really live. ... Just at present I am fascinated by silver tea-sets. You see that one over there? Just brought it back with me. . . . How many? I think I have ninety-two, but I am not quite sure. Mr. Thomas, he is the man who looks out for them for me, is always bringing in new ones.. . ."

"And what about sports? You care for sports?"

"Sports? Yes, I am quite keen on sports. You must have heard about my dogs. I ride. I've just bought a new car. No, it isn't here yet. It's an Isotta-Fraschini and the customs are so boring about it. . . ."

Again a knock is heard and in walks the efficient-looking girl. "Mrs. Smith calling. . . ."

"I'll speak to her myself. This is my secretary, Miss Anderson, Miss Farly. . . . Hello! Oh, hello Nancy. When? Oh, my sweet, I can't! Absolutely impossible. I am in a frantic rush as it is. Lunching at the Colony with Liz and the Comtesse de Beerh and after that I simply must drop in at Hattie's. ... I haven't a thing and I've got to go to Newport tomorrow. You know that Peggie is giving a party for Jane later in the afternoon? She's going to Africa again. . . . You can't? Well, she'll be back soon. . . . Tonight? Let me see. Darling, I have the lousiest people coming in for dinner. John's friends. Well, perhaps, later on. . . . Who's coming? No! Why, how divine! He did? How exciting. You must tell me all he said. You'll be at Liz's tomorrow? See you there then. 'Bye. . . ."

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Miss Farly appeared again. "Mr. Craven to see you, Mrs. Arkwright."

"Mr. Craven? Oh! Of course. Tell Porter to ask him to come in here. Mr. Craven is taking some pictures of me, Miss Anderson. Perhaps you'd like to use one or two with your article? You've heard of him? Fascinating person! Does marvelous things with hardboiled eggs and pieces of white tape....

"You have been painted, Mrs. Arkwright?" asked Miss Anderson.

"Painted? Of course. Sargent did me as a little girl and then Sorine did me twice and that young Viennese is going to do me sometime this winter. . . . What's his name? . . . And I almost forgot poor dear Lavery."

The door opened and in walked a beautiful, blond young man. "Oh hello, Cecil darling! So glad you could come. Mr. Craven, Miss Anderson.

(Again a knock on the door.) "Oh, it's you, Biggie. Put the drinks over there. What? McGregor hasn't any pink roses? How ridiculous! Why, the man must be crazy. I ordered them myself last February. Two hundred bushes. Everyone has pink roses. Not that shade of pink? Well, I can hardly be expected to change the shade of a table cloth. . . . Isn't it chic? (Pause.)

"I hear that all of Tiffany's men have measles, so I can't have my diamond necklace tonight. It isn't finished! And all they are doing to it is taking out the emeralds and putting rubies in instead. I simply have to have it this evening. It's to go with my Lanvin. Oh, it's a wonder I am not crazy. . . . Well, I'll wear pearls, that's all. . . . Thank God, pearls go with everything."

(A knock.) "Come in! Yes, Biggie, what is it? What? No pink roses anywhere? How ridiculous! Not that shade of pink. Yes, you told me so before. Well, think up some other flower—pink zinnias perhaps? . . . Don't worry me. Well, it just shows. . . . You think

up something, Miss Farly. . . . Really, it's no wonder, though, that we had a depression! Here I am, willing to buy twelve dozen pink roses and has anyone the sense to have them? No!

"Your hair waves naturally, Mrs. Arkwright?" asked Miss Anderson.

"Oh yes, thank Heaven, I was bom with natural, wavy hair. No trouble at all. I have Louis come to the house for a shampoo and wave every ten days and, in between, my maid looks after it. That's all. Of course, I have a permanent three times a year. . . . No, no, I don't care for extravagant make-up at all. And I simply loathe messing around my face. I have facials, of course. Here at home. A Madame Speer gives them to me and I use some of her stuff. Personally I still believe in the good old methods. Plenty of hot water and soap. The only thing is that my skin can't stand it. Madame Speer implores me, literally implores me, never to let a drop of water touch it. . . ."

"There's one more question I'd like to ask, Mrs. Arkwright. What about books, music. What do you read?"

"Oh, I read anything, anything at all. Music? I am very interested in modern French music. I just met the nicest French boy who wrote the most amusing symphony. I am going to see if I can't have Toscanini give it next year. You know, of course, that I spoke over the radio for the Philharmonic?

"I am really quite interested in music. I'll tell you. . . . It's a secret, of course, but ... 7 sing myself! Only for my most intimate friends, of course. My darlings, what is the time? Twelvethirty! Good Lord! I've got to fly. Miss Anderson, it's been so nice of you to come. When will the article appear? Oh! Not before that? Well, I.

. . . Just a minute. Paris is calling me, in the next room. (Exit and a threeminute interval.) Mrs. Arkwright reappears. "Miss Anderson? Where. . . . Where are you? Now, where did that damn woman go to? Miss Anderson has left? And Mr. Craven, too! . . . How very strange. . . . And how very rude of them."