The next day, Margaret intervened and helped Michael negotiate a shrewd deal for Diana with the producer at Universal Pictures. Diana was only required to make three pictures per year, and if she was contracted for a part in a play, she could spend up to six months in New York. She would earn up to $2,500 a week, making her one of the top-earning film actresses—even before her first film. Michael insisted Diana have a female chaperone and that she live away from her father because things went on at his house that his daughter shouldn’t see.
After Michael’s farewell cocktail party for Diana at the Gracie Square apartment, Margaret stayed on after the other guests left. She sat with Michael on her bed. They were tired and inebriated. Over the past months, the two women had engaged in a slow dance of mutual seduction. Michael was sometimes wearing her negligee when Margaret arrived and asked her to come sit by her bed for a morning chat. She read poetry to Margaret in her lovely low voice. It was beautiful, lulling.
Michael crooned her complaints about Tweed to Margaret. He treated her like a child instead of like the artist she was. He embarrassed her in front of the household staff. She suspected he was having an affair, but the final blow was when she asked him what he thought of her poetry. He admitted he had no opinion on her poetry because he never read it.
Michael said that she was beginning to feel very close to Margaret. She would never be that close or love anyone like she did Margaret. She promised to love her until the day she died. Then she called her a son of a bitch. She said they should write something together full of tenderness and poetry. They needed to do it for humanity. Michael insisted, though, that Margaret had to stop writing the fairy stories and get to work.
Margaret couldn’t be sure how much of what Michael had said was true and how much of it had been infused by alcohol. She knew Michael’s passions were fleeting; her sentiments might easily blow away. But until they did, Margaret decided, she would be by Michael’s side. Michael had promised her that she meant it when she said she’d love her until the day she died. She would call forth the best in Margaret—she knew she would.
*
Margaret was trying to leave the fairy stories behind, but writing anything for adults was still a struggle. She tried to capture the story of Michael surprising her at the zoo in an adult love story. What came out was a children’s story about a dog who wants to go to the zoo, but the guard won’t let him in. He dresses in a straw hat, sunglasses, a floral dress, and white gloves to slip past the unsuspecting guard.
Fortunately for Margaret, her editor at Harper & Brothers, Ursula Nordstrom, was pragmatic. Margaret might one day succeed at writing serious literature, but until then, Harper would publish and heavily promote her children’s books. Ursula had a knack for spotting talented writers and illustrators. She paired Margaret’s zoo story with the illustrator H. A. Rey. The book, Don’t Frighten the Lion!, came with a paper cutout of the story’s main character that could be dressed in the same disguise the dog used to fool the guard.
Ursula believed in Margaret’s ability, and that year, her faith paid off. In its review of Don’t Frighten the Lion!, the Boston Herald crowned Margaret the premier juvenile author in the country and praised her for consistently turning out good stories. At the same time, Harper was promoting Margaret’s book The Runaway Bunny very heavily. They mailed prepublication press packets to newspapers and librarians, containing oversized, unbound pages of the colorful book to be read to large groups of children in libraries or schools.
Reviewers raved about Clem Hurd’s illustrations. The story Margaret had first thought up while on the ski slope—about a child who tries to run away from his mother and a mother who changes herself into a dozen different animals and things in order to stay with her child—had transformed into a playful back and forth about the same shape-shifting between a mother and a baby bunny. Library Journal’s reviewer predicted this would become an enduring work and hailed the rhythm and beauty of the dialogue as authentic poetry.
Instead of merely promoting this book in trade publications, Harper took its marketing campaign directly to parents and grandparents. It placed ads in consumer magazines, promoting it as the perfect Easter gift. It sent toy stores and bookstores stacks of postcards to mail to customers or slip in bags at the cash register. The campaign worked exceedingly well. Stores stocked and sold the book in huge numbers.
Three of Margaret’s books were published that spring, and another three were to be published that fall. It was customary for reviewers to forward a copy of their final reviews to the publisher. Then an editorial assistant would type a letter containing the most important part of each review to send to the author. But Margaret wanted her own copy of every review for her scrapbook. She hired a clipping service to read through hundreds of newspapers and magazines and cut out each mention of her name. The service tagged and dated the clippings, forwarding them along to Margaret, who dutifully glued each into her ever-expanding scrapbook.
*
Margaret was eager to introduce her friends to Michael, so the women planned a dinner at Michael’s apartment. The small group included Bruce Bliven, who was now a regular contributor to The New Yorker; Monty Hare, who was producing a play off Broadway; and Clem and Posey Hurd. Michael promised to help Margaret prepare the meal, but when guests arrived, she was nowhere to be found. Bill Gaston took over cohosting duties. He mixed martinis as the group waited for Michael to show up. She flew in the door almost an hour late in full evening attire and carrying a huge basket of gourmet delicacies to serve for dinner. Margaret wasn’t perturbed; she had grown used to Michael’s dramatic entrances. Whenever Michael finally did appear, Margaret felt the room come alive. She assumed everyone else felt that way, too.
After introductions, Margaret proudly showed off hers and Clem’s new book. Michael flipped through it and guffawed at its last line, “Have a carrot!” It was so like Margaret, she said, to treat someone who loved her with such disregard. Margaret was bruised by the comment but laughed it off to keep the dinner party light. She placed Michael between Bruce and Clem at the table. As they ate, she kept an eye on their conversation. Bruce and Michael chatted effortlessly while Clem sat almost silent.
Monty and Clem knew more about Michael than Margaret was aware. They had been college friends with Michael’s second son, Leonard, and had heard his stories of how terribly his mother treated him and his siblings. As they ate, Michael constantly picked at Margaret. She corrected her grammar and dismissed her children’s books as silly endeavors. It made the guests uncomfortable.
At the end of the night, Margaret declared the dinner a success with the exception of Clem’s silence. Margaret assumed Clem hadn’t talked because he couldn’t find anything in common with Michael. Margaret was oblivious that her friends resented Michael’s cruel remarks. They wondered what redeeming qualities Margaret saw in this vainglorious semi-celebrity with her swallowtail eyebrows.