Jacqui Barrineau: Platinum Record

So the pretty girl has yet another name – to go with her even blonder hair. Ben – Mr. Lyon – asked me to type up her studio papers with the ridiculous "Carole" bit, and then again, using the "Jeane" paired with her mother's maiden name. Now this. Mr. Lyon says this name will work! This is the name of a long-burning star! "Alliteration!" he says. "It'll be lucky!" But I'm doubtful and so is she; I can tell. Luck is low in '46, and Hollywood is packed with blondes, prettier and prettiest, each believing without right or foresight that she's the next Harlow. Maybe this one is. We'll see. But first the papers have to be typed.

Height? Five-five. I'll add a half-inch. She'll wear good pumps. Age? She's 20, too. She had a birthday just in June. Where did she go to school? Her forms don't say. I don't recognize her from North Hollywood, and she damn sure didn't go to Beverly Hills. I'll say Van Nuys, filling in the blanks. College? Nope. She studies at the Actor's Lab, but they all say that. She models for Blue Book, though; that'll count for something when she tests. The camera does love her.

Name? M-a-r-i – i, not y. An l, now the y. Just one n, not two. Like Marilyn Miller.

There. She's done.

Time to go home, to enjoy a sliver of weekend. It's not the first summer Saturday I've spent rewriting a life. Perhaps she'll live it long and well.