Wind Chaff

by Mercedes de Acosta

This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1920. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XXX A Few days later Paula sat alone in the house. Since Faith had gone she did not wish to go out or see anyone. Marion Allsen came to call, however, and accidentally caught Paula, who had not time to escape upstairs. During the conversation, Marion let drop quite casually, and as though unpremeditated, the fact that Faith and Conrad had been seen taking a train together from the Grand Central Station. "My dear, where were they going?" she said. "I did not even know Mrs. Wyndham was away." "She is upstairs," Paula said, lying, "so I don't know who could have seen her going away." Marion said no more, and, after her departure, Paula rushed upstairs and telephoned the Vanderbilt Hotel. "I want to speak to Mr. Tread," she said. She felt sure that if Conrad had left for Russia he would not have gone without saying good-bye to her. "He left two days ago," the clerk answered. "Did he sail?" Paula asked, her voice trembling. "I think not," the clerk answered. "I believe he checked his luggage somewhere up New York state." Paula dropped the receiver and sat with her head buried in her hands. "Then it's true," she said aloud to herself over and over again. "It's true -- they have gone away together, and that is why Faith did not give me her address." She rose, white and shaking. All the blood seemed to have drained from her body; she swayed, and finally, crouched in a little chair with her head huddled in her arms, rocking frantically from side to side. She called on God, then stopped: "There is no God," she thought; then for a long, long time she sat quite still and straight, and dry eyed. After a few minutes she managed to rise to her feet and with extraordinary calm, she went to the telephone and called for Wentworth. She spoke rapidly, and with the tone of a...

126 pages, Paperback

First published December 23, 2009

About the author

Though she was the author of books of prose, collections of poems, and scripts, Mercedes de Acosta is rarely remembered for her writing. She is, instead, celebrated as a passionate lover who had affairs with some of the most intriguing and beautiful women of her time. De Acosta is rumored to have boasted often of her prowess as a lover, even going so far as to declare “I can get any woman from any man.” Her list of lovers is long, including Eva Le Gallienne, Isadora Duncan, Marlene Dietrich, and, most famously, Greta Garbo.

De Acosta, the daughter of affluent Cuban immigrants, grew up in New York where, in the 1920s, she was a figure in both the city’s “high society” and its drag clubs and speakeasies. “These were years guided by the spirit of the New,” she wrote of this period; “We were on fire with fire, with a passion to create and a daring to achieve.” Equal to the times, de Acosta was a forward-thinking student of eastern religions and a strict vegetarian. An early feminist, de Acosta advocated, along with her friend and lover the dancer Isadora Duncan, the elimination of uncomfortable and restricting fashions for women; while other women were lacing themselves into corsets, de Acosta was often seen wearing trousers. When she convinced Garbo to visit her tailor and get a pair also, the two caused a great commotion on Hollywood Boulevard. “GARBO IN PANTS!” the headlines exclaimed. “Considering what walks down Hollywood Boulevard now,” de Acosta wrote in 1960, “it seems strange that Greta and I should have caused such a sensation.”

After a life surrounded by fame, glamour, and wealth, Mercedes de Acosta spent her last years in loneliness and poverty. She suffered a variety of illnesses later in life, requiring several painful surgeries, and was forced to sell her diamonds to pay her medical bills. Her 1960 tell-all autobiography, Here Lies the Heart, alienated many of de Acosta’s friends. Some claimed the book to be wildly exaggerated and even blatantly untrue.