Helen's Week

Last week Helen Wills (if it is true that she is keeping a diary) continued her entries in the red morocco notebook (TIME, Feb. 8, 15), somewhat as follows:

Wednesday. Rain again. A reporter told me that William C. ("Pop") Fuller, who has coached me simply for ages, had given out a statement to the effect that I had a good chance against the Lenglen woman, and that my plan of battle had all been figured out before I left California. Pop said that I would drive hard, and aim at the corners of the court; the reporter wanted to know if this was true. . . I am afraid it is. And it is also true that I am going to play with a wooden racket, and a felt-covered ball, and that I am going to try to win.

Thursday. Not content with betting huge sums of money on me, as if I were a trotting horse or a red-eyed gamecock, the people here have now begun to wrangle over the moving picture rights of the big match. The chairman of the tournament committee has farmed out the "exclusive privileges" to a French cinema company, and now all the other companies are trying to get in on it. ... Brand Whitlock gave out an interview about my skirt. He said that it was "decently long" whereas Lenglen's "kissed her knees from above." What an exciting skirt she must have. . . . Rain, rain! Now I begin to understand Somerset Maugham's play. This constant dripping makes me feel like Sadie Thompson.

Friday. The sun came out. Cheers! The sun disappeared again. Groans! ... I heard about a man who paid 1,000 francs for a 50-franc ticket to my match with Lenglen on Sunday, with no rebate in case of rain. That poor gigolo was certainly stung, because we won't meet now till Monday or Tuesday anyway. ... A flock of moving picture men called on me this morning and begged me to object to letting the exclusive rights go to any one company. . . . Moving picture men! They are just the same here as they are in California. They all ask you very, very politely whether you mind their cigarets, and then they drop ashes on the carpet. One of them (a French Jew) hadn't been in the room five minutes before he called me "Helen"! I wonder why I don't dislike them more. . . .

Saturday. Suzanne Lenglen began to get temperamental about the cinema wrangle. "If they don't fix it up," she said, "I'm going back to Nice. I will scratch. I don't care whether they say I am afraid of Miss Wills or not." Everybody laughed, and then, voila, the thing was cleared up. The Carlton Hotel people announced that no monopoly would be allowed. . . . What that woman's bad temper can accomplish is simply marvelous....

Sunday. Yesterday I played a match in the singles and one in the doubles and won the singles 6-0, 6-0; the doubles, 6-0, 6-2. The girl whom I beat in the singles was Cosette St. Omer Roy, a sweet little thing, as romantic as a kitten, but considered the best forehand driver in France, with the exception of Lenglen. She is scared to death of her father. After I had beaten her, a reporter asked her how she thought I compared with Lenglen. She looked up at her fond papa and he grunted at her from behind a mustache like a fungus: "Go ahead. Tell the American cochon." So Cosette explained things in her childish voice. "No player in the world," she said, "can return balls that hit so hard in the corners of the court. I have played Suzanne many times, but jamais, jamais have I felt the inferiority norme, prodige, that I felt today before M'amselle Wills. . . ." Rather pathetic, I thought, but I was grateful for her praise. In a time of strain one can be grateful for very little things.

Valentine's Day. Everything was under control today, the best tennis I've played since coming over. I tried chop strokes as well as driving, and left that pretty Eileen Bennett simply flatfooted, 6-2, 6-0. Suzanne was in rare form too. She allowed lefthanded Lady Roundway only three points. In the semifinals I play Didi Vlasto, and Didi's cousin, Mile. Contostavlow, plays Suzanne. Didi was too sweet. She said that if she should beat me she would never be forgiven for cheating thousands of fans out of an event they have come thousands of miles to see. . . .

Monday. "The greatest sporting spectacle ever participated in by women!" How these reporters love resounding phrases! Tomorrow morning at 11, on the centre court. Beating Didi Vlasto 6-1, 6-4 this afternoon, I tumbled on my knee and tonight they were saying I had hurt myself. I rolled down my stocking and showed them it was all silly talk. Suzanne dropped two games in a row in her match and they immediately said she was overtrained. Pah! I told every one I was hopeful of winning, which I am. Suzanne said she hoped it would be over "as quick and painlessly as possible." I don't know if she's going to bed early tonight, but I am, right now."