Lana Turner was before my time, but her va-va-va voom is legendary. Née Judy Turner, the 16-year-old couldn’t possibly have known that her fate would be sealed the moment she decided to ditch her typing class and instead go grab a Coke at the nearby Top Hat Cafe, where the publisher of the Hollywood Reporter would be so knocked out by her spectacular good looks that he would ask her if she wanted to be in pictures.
After that fateful meeting, Lana “the sweater girl” Turner went on to become one of the most famous movie stars of her generation, and teenaged girls everywhere began showing up at soda fountains, dyeing their hair blonde, and stuffing their bras with tissue paper in the great hope that they, too, might be discovered.
Passed down to me by my mother, Lana’s story became the glittery stuff of my imagination, and, like my mother, I had dreams of playing the lead in my own Hollywood story. But, alas, my moment of fame came when I was cast as one of the Lost Boys in a high school production of Peter Pan–and went as soon as the curtain fell.
I no longer dream of becoming a movie star, but I am lately visited by another, more modest, ambition, which goes something like this: wide-eyed, unknown blogger moves to Hollywood in the hope of being discovered by a famous mogul, who serendipitously notices a riveting Ruminationville post on her opened laptop, which she has coyly placed atop a soda fountain stool in a trendy retro diner located somewhere on the Sunset Strip.