Once Upon A Time…
in a land to the West, with wishes carved out of dreams and hubris, over the hills (and any resemblance to rational thought) lived a ‘fair maiden, with hair as dark as night and eyes that could melt a frozen Margarita’.
She had been orphaned by BOTH of her parents soon after her birth (Which sounds ‘fishy to me, seeing as her father was the son of a wealthy surgeon of Irish decent and her mother was Mexican) and was raised by her fraternal, and emotionally distant, grandparents in a large house surrounded by the occasional green blade of grass within a large sand bowl called Arizona.
Our fair maiden desired to use her God given ability to spin a baton (and not be taken for ‘average’ in a baton-spinning era) against the other girls who could tie a hog and braid their hair at the same time, and so she entered a Beauty Contest.
Bathing suit bought, she wet the judges appetite with her ‘star quality’ (and C-cups).
“And we have a Runner-Up!” (1935, Miss Arizona)
she went to Hollywood! (And broke her arm on the first day of shooting a low budget western).
Never daunted by adversity, she did what any young nugget with a hankerin’ for fame would do… she used her grandfather’s ‘seed-money’ (when he wasn’t looking) and went to Mexico! (Where she hooked-up with a washed-out old French wigmaker, and learned his craft).
Back to Hollywood!
The young wannabe starlet ventured into a beauty parlor, was offered a job styling the wigs, decided there was more then one way to ‘work in pictures’, married a young alcoholic poker-playing film technician, and parlayed her wizardry with a comb and curlers into The master wig craftswoman to the Stars.
Hollywood doors opened widely upon the heads of many- literally.
She became great friends with many of her clients, like Ann Sheridan (who had starred opposite Humphrey Bogart in Angels with Dirty Faces  and They Drive By Night - you just can not make these titles up).
Ann invited the beautiful wig-mistress to accompany her to the ‘wrap’ party for Casablanca.
Bogie had told her to “Bring anyone ‘ya want kid. Just make sure they can hold their licker and have great legs.”
Even though, our femme fatale, had married by now, she accompanied Miss Sheridan to the party. After all, it was a chance to met the best bad boy of them all.
And meet they did. Time and time again for the next 14 years, around marriages and through divorces, including Bogart’s marriage to Lauren Bacall, and up until his death.
She even wrote a book about it.
How do I know this?
Because Verita Bouvaire Peterson Thompson lived in our house.
That’s right- our H-O-U-S-E!
(in the red hat)
at her book launch.
*(More specifically, she rented a room in our house, from a girlfriend, who was divorced, and needed the income. And our house has a lot of bedrooms. But- whateva’. And OurHouseStories did the research. You simply MUST hire this husband/wife history-house-lovin’ duo- they make Sherlock Holmes look amateurish- and boring. Yes- they found a dead body in our house history too. Not nearly as interesting).
Seems, Verita’s journey ended in New Orleans, where she opened a night club in the Quata’ and partied ’till dawn well into her 80’s (Our neighbors remember her coming home in a taxi, red hat askew and drunk off her ass).
will be waiting.
And she lived in my house.
I will repeat: She lived in my house.