The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [174]
“O’Hara?”
He looked up and met her eyes, those same innocent, deep-violet eyes that had captured his heart an age ago.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, coming toward him smiling.
He stood up, holding out his arms, waiting for her to walk into them. And as he held her to his chest, feeling his heart beat next to hers, he knew he need not have worried. Missie hadn’t changed. She would never change. She would always be the girl he loved.
Magic Movie Studios were located north of Hollywood Boulevard on a dirt track off Cahuenga Avenue, and though they were one of the smaller and newer outfits in town, the freshly painted studios and Spanish-style stucco offices had an air of prosperous solidity that told you they were no fly-by-night operation. The two great barnlike studios were in full production night and day now that they had the new klieg lights, and a third studio was in the process of construction. There were two street sets on the back lot, one city and one western, and Magic had three female stars: Mae French, sultry, sexy, and glamorous; Dawn Chaney, petite, girlish, and innocent; and Mitzi Harmoney, cute, curly-haired, and a comedienne. The two male stars were Ralph Lance, a sophisticated, romantic Englishman, and Tom Jacks, rough, tough, and a terrific horseman.
Magic’s pictures revolved around their five stars: all the other actors were picked up as needed from the casting offices. Mostly they churned out comic one- and two-reelers and drawing-room dramas, but a new stage was being built to house their first big epic. Magic aimed to compete with Griffith with their new movie, Scheherazade, featuring their roster of stars and a cast of thousands. The sets were already being built, the costumes designed, the shooting script assessed and reassessed a million times; and now they had lost their director.
C. Z. Abrams—owner and president of Magic—leaned back in his large leather swivel chair and stared at his team coldly.
“So, gentlemen,” he said in his low, quiet voice that had them on the edge of their seats, “which of you knew that Arnott was going to defect to Vitagraph?”
The four men shuffled the papers in their hands and stared at their feet. “It was like this, sir,” the assistant director said finally. “Arnott’s heart wasn’t in it and … well, the fact is Vitagraph offered him five thousand a week. You can’t blame a man for taking that kind of money.”
“I can blame him for not coming to discuss it with me first,” Abrams said quietly. He stared at the four young men: his assistant director, his producer and assistant, and his cameraman, all of them vital to his mammoth new production. “Do I take it then that you all agree with Arnott’s decision?”
They glanced at each other and then the assistant director said, “Well, sure, Mr. Abrams, all of us reckon we would have done the same under those circumstances. And besides, the hours we’re putting in we could all be earning better money.”
He nodded, pushed back his chair, and stood up. “Then I suggest you follow Arnott’s example and go to Vitagraph. Maybe they will pay you five thousand a week also. Gentlemen, you are all fired.”
The producer leapt to his feet, red-faced and stuttering. “But, Mr. Abrams, all we said was it was understandable….”
Abrams’s cold eyes met his for a moment. “Not to me, it isn’t,” he replied. “Money can always be earned, but loyalty and integrity are beyond price.” After pressing a buzzer, he told his secretary to see that they were paid off and that they left Magic’s lot immediately.
He watched as the men he had worked with for over a year followed the secretary out of his office. In a way he felt sorry for them, but the rumors of discontent and impending trouble had been reported to him weeks ago. Now he wished he had acted faster. Discontent spread like gangrene in the flesh, and he knew quick amputation was the only way to stop it. It would cost him thousands more to delay the shooting of Scheherazade than it would to pay the men more money, but he could not bear disloyalty. He did not demand