Cary Grant and I were doing a play in New York. He had a crush on me. Whenever we went to a party, he would always sit on the floor beside me. I thought that was kind of beautiful, like that’s where he wanted to be.

Paul Lucas had a particularly amusing accent, so I chuckled. That was terrible; I shouldn’t have done that, but he took it too big. He got up and said he couldn’t work with people who laughed at him!

The producers who wanted me to do it liked me and trusted me, and more than one scene was only one take, because I’d plan ahead what I thought would be appropriate for that scene-so one take was enough.

They were very considerate, I must say. Every time I felt I was about to slip out of these fingers and would yell for help, they’d let me down and re-organize things.

As far as advice, that will be in my next book, my next collection. I certainly never like to instruct anyone, but just say as I feel. That’s the same as advice, isn’t it?

When the picture was finished, they took me into the sound room and then I screamed more for about five minutes just steady screaming, and then they’d cut that in and add it.

He was just trying to tease me – I knew that later – but he said he’d have to leave because it wasn’t fair to have anyone in the room who was going to make fun of what he had to say. He had a good sense of humor, really.

It was so satisfying for me – a great reward, just to see it done well. And it was beautifully directed by my daughter Susan Riskin. Imagine, a play about my mother directed by my daughter?!

I don’t know why Sinclair Lewis fell in love with me. He didn’t get even the slightest response from me. But his letters were lovely. And the poems he wrote me were lovely. I used some of them in my book.

My children didn’t when they were little because I thought that they had to be of a certain age. I hoped they liked me well enough not to want to see me in that sort of a spot.