SECRETS OF FOLIES BERGERE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 139, 13 June 1936, Page 6 (Supplement)

SECRETS OF FOLIES BERGERE.

Girl With The Dog-Collar Waist.

FRANCHETTE OF THE LOVELY HANDS

(By EI|STON VAUCLAIRE.—Copyright.)

(No. 4.)

rE huzzalis were deafening. The din seemed to rouse the girl. "And I can dance, too," she cried, and, pulling up her tight brief skirt, began to execute a tap-dance. In half a minute she danced as adroitly as any tup-dancer I ever saw. But it was just one of those champagne flashes. Her feet tangled, and she fell against Don Jose, who picked her lip in his arms. Who and wliat was she really ? She was the daughter of a seamstress. Her mother, cherishing a secret passion for the stage, imbued her daughter with her own passion. Anette began as a sewing girl, and, attracting the attention of a rich woman in whose house sho worked for a while, was taken on as personal sewing woman and general assistant to her employer's personal maid. In that role she learned the technique of tending a woman of wealth. She had held her job with Margot for two years, which was remarkable in itself, because few maids stood Margot for more than a couple of months. Peeping at the Uproarious Party. She saved from her wages, and turned her gifts into cash at the pawnbrokers. With the money she bought herself dancing lessons at one of the leading stage schools. Her secret ambition riding her like a vice, she lived only in dread of being deprived of the wherewithal to indulge her passion.

She was only 20 when the break-out at the party occurred. It seems that she had crept into the gardens and was peeping at the uproarious party through the foliage of a concealing bush when suddenly a pair of strong arms encircled her waist, pinioning her arms. A roistering guest pulled her Tinder a Chinese lantern to see if she was worth sport. A glance must have shown she was—he held a seductive armful, young, slim, pretty, virginal, frightened, and defenceless. Slio had been induced to take champagne which had gone to her head. After that it was all a blur out of which emerged the notion that she was having a marvellous time. It would have been all right if the good time had ended with that night's mad adventure —but it did not. She had an unparalleled chance of rising on that tide of sensational mouth-to-mouth publicity and making a niche for herself on the stage and perhaps in films. It doesn't take much, you know, to get on in show business once the big chance comes along and you have something . . .

One of the other men attempted to take her from him. "I found her," he said. "She's mine." Margot's giant lover seized the girl and, crashing through the throng, ran off into the ballroom. What was in his mind heaven only knows, but he met Margot on the threshold, and stopped dead. "What's all this, Jose? Who's that?" she demanded. "It's just —just Anette," he stammered. "It's your maid. We —we found her. But I don't want her. Don't think that. It's—it's just a little game of ball," he decided. "Here, Hipolito," he yelled to a compatriot 'across the room. "Catch!" And he swung round and round like a weight-thrower "winding up," and slung the girl clean over all our heads and across the ballroom. Hipolito with great presence of mind extended his arms and caught the surprise packet in them and against his chest, and fell backwards, with her on top of him. Anette was saved for her future career. Margot kept her head superbly. As soon as it was clear that the girl was not injured she ordered the footmen to remove Anette, and took her lover by the ear. "Come along, and I'll give you supper." He submitted to being led docilely away. Secret Passion for the Stage. But the story had escaped, and by lunch time next day had reached every club, boudior, drawing room, bar, restaurant and boulevard in Paris. The maid who had stolen Margot's millionaire lover right from under Margot's nose! The girl with the dog-collar waist! The most bizarre tales began to circulate about her, the most persistent being that she was a famous Russian's dau«hter by a ballet dancer (that accounted for her dazzling looks and dancing talent), and that she was really

a prima ballerina who had been forced to flee from the Moscow State ballet school to Paris, where she had been obliged to seek work as a maid. The stories were the work of the publicity man retained by a smart theatrical agent whom I had tipped off to the chance early the morning after t-he incident. That is why, when Anette found herself fired, she also found waiting a note to call 011 the agent. He hired her for £i a week, wealth to her, and sold her for £12 a week to the syndicate backing the new Folios show as a special draw card. It was an imitation of Flo Ziegfeld's technique—he put a high cash value 011 a girl who roused the town's curiosity and got herself talked about. Anette need'nt have developed into a dancer about whom highbrow critics rave. She had to be just good enough, and work, and learn, listen, play her hand right, and the producers, Press, agents, dressmakers, lighting and scenic experts, and managers would have done the rest. A little mimicry she could have learned. She had the makings of a nice little voice, and that would have helped her in musical shows. She had caught the attention of the pleasure world and boulevards, and she could have held it by keeping them guessing, picking her men with care, not behaving blatantly. One of The Biggest "Riots" Paris Ever Knew. But it was no good talking to her. She had been a riot, and she wanted to go on being a riot; and for a time she was a riot, one of the biggest Paris ever knew.

But people get tired of that after a time, when there is nothing to back it up, and as a draw she began to fail. There was no way of rehabilitating her.

She could not be dissuaded that it was neither necessary nor desirable for her to go on reminding everybody that she was the maid who had stolen her mistress' man. The gilded young men and the old roues, competing with one another for the privilege of taking her out to sup, dine, the races, anywhere where tliey could be seen flaunting her —they turned her soft and simple head. She got the fixed idea that she really was devastating, an irresistible siren; and she liked'herself in the role.

She could not go out with a man without letting her eyes rove around in search of a male, with female, whom she could string along with surreptitious, inviting glances. There were rows, scandals. One of her men flared up and slapped her face. Another walked out and left her to pay the bill. Women protested to their escorts, or called the waitress and complained. In the end she made the mistake of starting an affair with a prosperous jeweller who, for her, broke with the lady with whom he had been so long. This waited for Anette at the stage door and tore her face and threw her on the ground. Anette was forced to .go into hospital and her injuries laid her off work for months. That final vulgarity finished what was left of her aflure. Men shy away from a woman who gets mixed up in vulgar brawls and fights. The Folies Bergere stage, where she might have made good, knew her no more. Her subsequent history I do not know. Doubtless it was the usual one in such cases —odd jobs in oliscure cafes, lower and lower, and then the streets, at first the bright-lit ones of the pleasure quarter, and afterwards the murkier promenades. Franchette's £10,000 Hands. Some may still remember Franchette as the girl with the loveliest hands in Paris. Of course, hers were not the loveliest hands in Paris; but she got free publicity by insuring them for £10,000. The news also suggested that the girl did something besides prance and posture and she used her hands more than her feet and that meant art. She caught in her web a quiet gentleman who for many years had loved an actress, a wort'ian of character and dignity. Why and how the man was enticcd is one of those riddles which only a psychologist, or perhaps a pathologist, can guess. Anyway, the man was infatuated and deserted the actress for the girl with | the lovely hands. The romance lasted three months, and then the dancer tired of him.

The actress called at the dancer's apartment and, to the hitter's great astonishment, thanked her for bringing her lover to his senses. She bore her no malice.

She was extremely amiable. She pressed the dancer's liaiul warmly between both of her gloved ones at one time. Unfortunately, withdrawing her hands, she scratched the girl. Just a tiny jag with the diamond ring she wore, oddly, outside her glove.

Oh, she was so sorry! She seized the girl's hand to examine the scratch, held it again pressed between hers as she anxiously begged to be assured that it was all right. Then she took out a dainty white cambric handkerchief. Allow her to bind the hand . . . The dancer submitted, smiling and protesting; it was such a tiny scratch. Amputated to Save Her Life. Sometime later they amputated the dancer's arm at the elbow joint to save her life, and the lawyers got busy. Tho crux of the business was the dancer's claim under her policy. The company decided to fight. A mystery here, and they smelt rats by the score. Their suggestion was that tho dancer had attempted to damage her hand and had bungled the job. Motive ? Well, sho wag in debt, and her lover had left her after a row over bills. For her part she made an accusation against the actress. She asserted that tho woman had deliberately scratched her and then infected the .wound with a poison-infected glove. In the course of probing this astounding suggestion, the examining magistrate had tho handkerchief analysed. It got a clean bill of health. The dancer's lawyer suggested that it had been cunningly used so that the victim- would not bandage her hand herself, in doing which she might have put on iodine or somo other disinfectant. It was also suggested that the ring produced was not the real one, and that the latter was one specially prepared for its sinister purposo with a tiny jag, or point, on tho underside. These accusations were hotly denied, and the examining magistrate had no hesitation in choosing between the distinguished middle-aged actress, whom he had long known and admired, and the little beauty who had so suspiciously insured her hands for a fabulous amount. Tho dancer got no satisfaction. Her lawyer lost his zeal when it looked as if ho would not bo able to collect his fees from her or anybody else. I fancy the insurance company finally made a private settlement which covered her legal expenses and, perhaps, left a little over. The affair remained a mystery. (To bo continued.)