The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [176]
The girls’ bright faces fell and they glanced at their mother appealingly. “Well, but …” Winona floundered, stunned by his news. “I mean, when the movie is back on schedule, I hope my girls will still be in running for the parts.”
“Lilian and Mary will have their parts—if and when Scheherazade goes into production.” A rare smile lighted his face. “I am sorry,” he said to the girls. “I know how much this meant to you. I will tell my secretary to keep your names and photographs on file. Thank you for taking the time to come and see me.”
They gazed at him bemused as he escorted them to the door. “Thank you, Mr. Abrams,” they chorused, not knowing whether to be disappointed about the movie or delighted by C. Z.’s attention.
“Imagine that.” Winona snorted angrily as they walked across the lot to the guarded gates. “We came all this way only to find out he’s fired the director.”
“But he said he would remember us, Mother,” Lilian said, her eyes sparkling, “and you just know a man like that means it.”
“There’s just something about him,” Mary added dreamily. “He’s so calm and controlled, an ice-man—until he smiles, and then he lights up. And he’s handsome too, in that dark, smoldering sort of way.” She shivered dramatically. “I feel he is a man of power.”
“Enough power to fire everybody whenever he feels like it,” their mother retorted smartly as they waited in the heat for the tramcar to take them back to Rosemont. “A man like that has power, all right, the power to decide over other people’s lives.”
C. Z. and Magic Movie Studios and the closing down of production on Scheherazade were discussed in depth over the supper table at Rosemont that night. Missie was dining with O’Hara at the Beverly Hills Hotel and missed the excitement of how the twins almost got starring roles, but Dick Nevern listened thoughtfully, saying little.
The next morning he got up early, ate two helpings of ham and eggs, a plate of hash browns, and four popovers to give him energy, and then he set out for Magic.
The uniformed guard at the gate tilted back his cap and eyed him up and down unsympathetically. He saw hundreds like him every day. “What are ya? A comic?” he asked cynically when Dick said he wanted to see Mr. Abrams. “Anyways, C. Z. never sees anybody without an appointment, most of all you.” He sat back and folded his arms, grinning.
Dick hesitated for a moment and he reached into his pocket, pulled out a precious five-dollar bill, and said, “Please tell him that Dick Nevern, a genius cameraman and director, is here to see him.” He watched regretfully as the guard slipped the bill into his pocket, listening as he repeated his words to C. Z.’s secretary. He put down the phone and turned back to him.
“She says C. Z.’s busy all day, but if you like you can wait. Over there, third path on the right, the big office at the end,” he called as Dick ran through the gate and headed excitedly toward his future.
He paused to stare at an action sequence being shot on the western street, watching the cameraman carefully, noting how he took his instructions from the director. Then he slipped quietly into the big green barn, letting his eyes get used to the darkness, staring awed at the elaborate drawing room set—why, he might have been in a real Manhattan penthouse with the light from half a dozen brilliant kliegs streaming in through the tall windows and the famous skyline behind. And there was the glamorous Miss Mae French in a long satin dress, lounging on a brocade sofa while a violin quartet played in the background to get her in the mood for her big romantic scene with Ralph Lance.
“Glamour,” a quiet voice said next to him, “that’s what people want. They want to forget the dark hovels they live in and for ten cents escape into a world of romance. They want to gasp at how gorgeous her clothes are and imagine themselves dining with a man like him. They want to laugh and to cry….”
“They want to be entertained,” Dick finished, glancing quickly at the man beside him.