Word: ve
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Fleur Cowles doesn't own a hat, usually wears tailored suits, a rose, and black horn-rimmed glasses, is never without a huge (1 in.) Russian emerald ring ("It's my trademark, it's me, it's Fleur - rough, uncut, vigorous"). Says she: "I've worked hard, and I've made a fortune, and I did it in a man's world, but always, ruthlessly, and with a kind of cruel insistence, I have tried to keep feminine." For a sampling of Fleur's insistent femininity, readers could look to Flair...
Swayed by Love. Miss Kent explains her novel and its denial of the virtues she has preached for years as "a kind of protest. I kept being torn between the nice living I've made out of radio and the sense of shame I have at turning out the kind of stuff women listeners demand." Whenever she tried making Portia "more rounded," a sliding Hooperating and a cascade of angry letters sent her scurrying back to the shelter of the nearest clump of clich...
...always relied more on her piano than her personality, and this time, bobbing to the beat with an impish smile, she was giving them everything-boogie-beat, bop-beat ("You don't hear it, you feel it"), right-hand ripples, thick, murky chords ("Right now I've got chords way ahead of bop"). She even took a rare fling at singing one of her latest, a "five-course" satire on bebop called The Land...
...swallow-is in the customers, now mostly heckling wiseacres from the big city. "When the folks come in from the little towns where we used to play our shows straight, from Golconda and Shawneetown and Chester, they look at me with a sad expression," he says. "Our shows've been spoiled, they say; the old days are dead." Then, toughening up, he adds: "Of course, we don't care what they come for, just as long as they lay their money down at the box office...
While John was intoning that F.D.R. "was like a father to me. I loved him . . ." Ellen let him have both barrels of her repressed contempt: "I hate him, and I hate you-part of you . . . That man-this place-they've eaten you up, between them. Eaten up everything that was alive and honest and decent, everything I respected. You're not a man any more . . . You're a piece of-of protoplasm...