For all her reputation as a coolheaded businesswoman, Sally is high strung, nervous, inordinately proud of he fame and given to fits of anger in which she has been known to scream piercingly. These angry demonstration, usually have a natural climax when, no matter what the provocation, Sally cries out in a voice redolent of ham, I'll sue!”
And for all her fame as a sharp bargainer, she has been taken in again and again. She once bought a boxcar full of elegant statuary which, the man told her, was produced by the great sculptors of ancient Italy. She wrapped and stored the pieces in a barn on her California property against the day when she might own a castle. Then she found out that the statues of cherubim and crusaders and whiskered saints had all been stolen from a Middle Western cemetery. ;
Once I had an evening appointment to see Sally backstage at the Casa Mafiana. Somehow I happened to de velop a technical interest in a bottle of scotch and missed the date. On the next evening I walked into her dressing room. She was in a fury.
“You are no gentleman!” she shouted, hitching up het girdle. “You can’t do this to me. I won’t stand for it. Not one minute. I'll sue you!”
In a little while she was sitting down and talking about a play in which she hoped to make a Broadway appear ance within the next six months.
On another day I called on Sally in her rooms at the Park Central and found her nervously plucking hairpins from her blond tresses.
“Pardon me from here to there,” she said, “while J take my hair down. I’m sorry you came in on me like this, with my face bare of make-up. I don’t mind if you see any other part of me bare, but not my face.”
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