HANDMAID TO FAME

Wairarapa Times-Age, 11 February 1939, Page 12

HANDMAID TO FAME

published by special arrangement copyright.

BY I

BERTA RUCK.

CHAPTER V. Continued. He had not said it loud enough for anyone,to hear. But Flower, who was nervy that day. chose to throw a temperament. Up she sprang. "I won’t be insulted ” The firm hand of her publicity manager went, out behind Vai’s back, caught Flower’s sculptured arm, and put her back into her seat. A good-humoured voice cut in, “Now Flower, none of your quarrels here, making us wretched bachelors feel awkward.” Then, sotto voce, but even more. “Can’t allow scenes. Not a dashed one. Until the end of this picture, mind, you've got to be turtle-doves. Remember, please that you represent London’s pet engaged couple. “Who says we’re still engaged?” “I do,” snapped her publicity-man. After that Flower reluctantly saw that'things must simmer down again. Next morning, at the crack of dawn, at the studio, Vai was saying to his Miss Grey, “Would you order three dozen red rose, those very sweet, long-stalked ones, to be sent round to Miss Armitage’s hotel?” “Yes, Mr Lavery. With a card?” “Lord, I forgot. ’ You think of everything.”

He pulled out a visiting card; scrawled across it, “With all my love, Vai." Terry, in the luncheon hour, dashed round to the florists.

“Flowers of reconciliation,” thought she.

“No one ever sees Terry now,” complained her young stepmother, except these everlasting film-people. “Terry, are you getting goofy about your Star?” ■“I am not quite a fool,” replied Terry, tersely—all the most tersely because she knew there was a certain element of danger that she might become a fool, “and Mr. Lavery is an engaged man.” *

Terry said, “When the picture’s finished, you will simply have to take a holiday.”

.“Have to see about it,” agreed Vai. “Might kill two birds with one stone. Take a holiday with my brother Jackkeep him out of mischief.” Jack Lavery had just reappeared from Canada, 'having failed to make good on that ranch which Vai had bought for him. He was the family’s ily Philanderer. “I don’t know, 'sighed Vai, “what would happed to the entire family Lavery if it weren’t for the Isidore Maurus Corporation (this, of course, is between ourselves, Miss Grey). Thank heaven, I shall have my contract for ‘Star Light, Star Bright’.” “Is it signed up yet, Mr Lavery?” asked Terry, the continuity girl, sympathetically. “Not yet. I expect they’re waiting for ‘Venus Rises' to finish. It’s long after its scheduled time already." “This picture is a hoodoo from thq start,” grumbled one of the technicians with whom Terry was on friendly terms. “Miss Grey, picture’ll be a flop. Haven’t you noticed a sort of tense atmosphere, like, on the set?” Terry had. She, too, would be glad when the picture was finished. “Tomorrow, with any luck.” pronounced the assistant-director, “will be the last re-take of the masquerade ball sequence.” It came to the masquerade ball. “Ready, everybody! Ready ‘sound’? Ready camera? Quiet everybody. O.K. Music —begin.” Flower caught her costly fur stole from her bare shoulders and threw it into the hands of the continuity girl without a glance 'at her. Then the orchestra broke into its passionate, exciting rhythm. On the dance-floor the crowd of extras in every sort of fancy dress drew aside to make room for the two principals. Envy stabbed into the heart of the watching efficient, composed little continuity girl as she saw Valentine Lavery catch Flower Armitage into his arms for the swinging waltz. Their steps melted into each other’s. They were perfect partners. ’“Ah, the incredibly decorative couple they make!” thought Terry, watching. “Male star incredibly handsome in Eighteenth Century Scarlet Pimpernel masquerade costume, feminine star in snowstorm Eighteenth Century frock. And how few people who watched their perfect performance guessed that for weeks now the horizon of their private lives had been blackening, blackening . . Storm was due to break!

For tile fraction of a second too long. Flower, waltzing, made eyes into the following eye of the camera, then, as she turned, one of her long icicle earrings, swinging back, caught in a white curl of Valentine Lavery’s Eighteenth Century wig and pulled it down over one eye. Vai missed his step. His hand shifted on liis fiancee’s shoulder. He gave her a small, half-playful shake. Al the same instant, his foot, in its redheeled buckled shoe came down inadvertently, on Flower’s satin-clad toe. That was the trifle that brought down the storm. It broke. "The brute!” shrieked Flower, completely losing tier head. “He kicked me!’’

Before the eyes of all, director, orchestra, music-director, crowd of extras, and Miss Grey, the continuitygirl, out Hew Flower’s hand. It came down across the cheek of her co-star — Smack! CHAPTER VI. “He’s lamed me!” wailed Flower Armitage with her best banshee tremolo. “Lamed me for life— —” Then, pushing aside to Terry, who stood horror-struck holding those furs, the temperamental star (with surprising ability for a lamed woman) dashed in a cyclone of whirling, spinning chiffons, away to her dressing-room. Raggedly the dance-music had stopped. The orchestra goggled. Technicians pushed up eye-shades. The ex-

Iras thrilled. That student of human nature, Carps, muttered to Terry, "Now watch our Director stage the act that means he's come to breaking-point. And Sydney Leigh, poor, long-suffer-ing, hard-driven film director jerked off his hat. He cast it on the floor. Then, under the eyes.of all. extras, technicians, assistant-director. Terry the continuity girl, and the band as before, he jumped on that safety-valve ol a hat, quite deliberately, twice. After which he picked up the safety-valve and looked about with a resigned, apologetic. defensive, appealing smile. “Call it a day. boys. Eight o'clock tomorrow, sharp. Good-night." Miss Flower Armitage, the star, throwing a fit of violent hysterics on her dressing-room divan, refused to listen for some time yet to anything but her own sobs.

Sydney her director came in, sombero in hand, and stood, waiting.

There was a tap at. the door. In came another man —Mr Elmer K. Osgood, the American multi-millionaire; he had been watching from a point of vantage in a balcony, the last of the rehearsal. Now, he stood, also hat in hand, also waiting.

Flower sobbed and sobbed. There was another tap at the door. It was ignored. Terry Grey, the continity girl, half hidden behind Miss Armitage’s forgotten costly furs, slipped in just in time to hear her employer's fiancee storming, through sobs, “Never mind the publicity manager!” More sobs and then “I—l—l’ve already had them telephone the news agencies that my engagement to Mr Vai Lavery is off!”

“Well, what do you know about that?” ejaculated the American. And “Oh!” of real distress came Lorn Terry. No one heard her. All of them, including Flower, were hanging on to what Flower had to say. She said it, though weeping, in no uncertain manner. She said that the brute Vai would be kicked out and would never stand a dog’s chance of another big job. As for playing opposite to him in any other picture—as for signing up with him in the contract of “Star Light, Star Bright,”—Ha, ha. Don't make Flower laugh! She had her career to think of. Vai, from the first had been crabbing her career. Stealing her scenes. Who did Vai imagine was the attraction, anyway? Him, or Flower? He spoilt her work, ruined it. This was going to be the end of their association. Isidore Maurus would back her. Mr Osgood would back her—(Here there was an eager movement, from the American). This was the end of her and Vai. “You can go and tell him so. Sydney, now!” Sydney, the hard-worked director put in a pacific, “Flower, darling -Don’t talk to me. He behaved like a savage. And not for the first time. He was rotten td me at that publicity dinner." “Only because the- man’s crazy, jealous of everybody who speaks to you,” declared Sydney, who spoke more truly than he knew. “He just lost his head. The poor lad’s so scared, he’ll lose you

“I guess he’s right to be scared,” put in the American.

“It’s no reason why he should start breaking every bone in my foot duiing the dancing shot.” Drawing breath, the star turned to her powder-compact, and began operations and running repairs to her face. “Unless he means me to bring the whole studio down about his ears. I’ll need a handsome apology!” “Baby, you shall have it,” promised Sydney, the director, firmly. “Vai shall grovel.” “Well, you see that he does. Go and tell him. Go and see that he does now.”

“I know that he won't." This was Terry to herself. "He’s crazy about this girl, who behaves like a mixture of a fishwife and a lunatic opera-singer, but he will never grovel to her about this. Then what will happen?”

Terry had dropped the furs. Without knowing that she had left Miss Armitage’s dressing-room. Terry found herself in a corridor of that honeycomb of corridors, outside Valentine Lavery's dressing-room door. Terry waited. Hearing no words through the door which had been. left, ajar, she heard only Sydney the director's conciliatory rumble, punctuated by the leading man’s curt grunts. Then she heard Vai rap cut hke a pistol shot, “No!”

Then, as if he was shot from the pistol, out came Sydney, mopping his brow and brushing unseeingly against that lurking morsel of insignificance, Terry Grey, handmaid to fame. As the door shut behind him. Terry caught Valentine Lavery’s following cry of “I won’t. There are limits! Drive any man to suicide- —”

The word was like a cold hand laid <m Terry heart. Well balanced, matter of fact little soul as she was. she knew moments when her imagination got the better of all her poise, all the restraint and composure which she had learnt in eight years coping with a Member of Parliament’s job. Was Vai going to stage the most fatal of all acts that shows a man has reached breakingpoint? “What shall I do? What shall I do?” she thought. "Supposing he kills himself in there? Would he have a knife? Has he got a revolver?

Biting her lips, she tapped at. the door. “Mr Lavery.”

“I’m busy.” called back the voice of Valentine Lavery. ' “I’m dressing. What do you want?" Then, urgently, “Please go away, Miss Grey. I'll see you tomorrow. Bid please —please go away!” She had the self-control to call bad:. "Very well. Mr Lavery.” But drawing

back against the wall, she waited. It seemed a year before the tall figure swung out. She took a step forward. “Good night, Mr Lavery, is there anything I can “ Vai Lavery did not hear her. He did not see her. The glimpse of that familiar face that Terry caught as he went, down the corridor and into the entrance hall, was drawn, dazeeyed, done. (To be Continued.’;