We are dining with friends. He is a director and has just finished his first important film. She is the wife who lives only for her husband’s career. They lived for a number of years in New York, but have now moved to Los Angeles. Bought a house they cannot afford. Sought out company and the acquaintance of those they do not really care about. Maintained a social life with men and women with whom the only thing they have in common is the hope that the association can lead to future business.

For some it is lonely and impossible not to be in “the right circles,” and they scramble and crawl over each other in order to be included; humiliate themselves and lose their souls somewhere on the way toward a goal that does not exist.

The director and his wife are having a difficult time. In her insecurity she strives so hard when they are with other people that she scares off those with whom she wishes contact. She tells them that her husband is the world’s most talented man, that he will become the greatest of them all, make the best films, earn the most money—and any strength that he himself may lack, she will provide. It is a year since I last saw her, and the change is striking.

Then they had just arrived from New York, where they lived quite happily. She was perhaps a little plump and had lovely black hair, and was all eagerness over the life that awaited them in California. Now there are sharp little lines around her mouth. She is nervous and smokes all the time.

They talk enthusiastically about the parties they have been to, about all their plans and acquaintances. That she has lost twenty pounds—can you really recognize her?