PEGGY IN HOLLYWOOD

Wairarapa Times-Age, 4 March 1939, Page 10

PEGGY IN HOLLYWOOD

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

BY

MRS PATRICK MACGILL.

CHAPTER VII. (Continued). In addition to being Adele Follette’s “stand-in,” Peggy’s “bits” included a young flower seller, an old woman begging, and a young society girl at a night-club. Finklesteen yelled at the players like a maniac, and the horde of assistant directors, technical advisers, cameramen, prop-men, script girls, wardrobe women, and research clerks, all swore like the most hardened troopers in existence. Waiting for a call after a fire scene, a prop boy hurt himself; an extra fainted; a poor old man, coughing up smoke from dried-up lungs, subsided in a flop on the floor and was unceremoniously dragged off to the studio emergency hospital. Near midnight, in the little dark projection room, viewing the day’s “rushes” as the first takings are called. Peggy felt so utterly spent, so devoid of human feeling, even too tired to be aware of tiredness, as she slumped back in a deep chair, that it seemed as if she must open her mouth and scream and scream —or else go raving mad. But she was in pictures! She was part and parcel of the magic, monstrous City of Make Believe! It astounded, and —because she was so new to the demands of the vampire—slightly shocked Peggy to realise, when she tumbled into bed at 1 a.m., that not once all day had she given David so much as a thought! Not even to thank him for his lovely flowers, and the present of “Success.” It was past one o’clock, and in spite of all that she could do, her eyes were closing. But, fighting sleep with a valiant determination, Peggy took up the telephone beside her bed and dialled David’s number. It rang and rang, and Peggy, on the point of giving up, was in the act of replacing the receiver when suddenly sleep was driven from her eyes as effectively as if a glass of ice cold water had been dashed in her face! The voice that answered was that of Opal Orth! Peggy jerked herself erect; every vestige of sleep deserted her. Something—a vague, nameless fear —struck her with the viciousness of .a rattlesnake. “Hello? That’s Peggy speaking, isn’t it?” Opal’s voice was honey-sweet, as innocent as a baby’s. Peggy flared; it took all her power of self-control to keep from asking the question that flew to the tip of her tongue, “Do you make a habit of visiting young men at one o’clock in the morning?” Instead, she answered quietly, “Yes, it’s Peggy Rooney. Is David there, please?” The telephone wire carried the sound atmosphere of David’s apartment to Peggy’s ears. White faced, tense, her emotions keyed to concert pitch, she even recognised David’s footstep as he evidently crossed the room and took the telephone receiver from Opal’s hand.

He spoke from a background of laughter and chatter, which he apparently suppressed, since it suddenly ceased, and Peggy heard his voice as if he had been alone in the apartment. “Get my flowers, Pegs?" “Yes, thank you, David.” Peggy’s charming voice sounded as cold and indifferent as her feeling were burning and outraged. “Peggy.” David’s voice sounded sheepish to, Peggy’s jealously sharpened ears. Without waiting for a reply, David rushed into his explanation, every word charged with such utter sincerity that Peggy had no choice but to instantly believe. “Mr Finklesteen and Opal were dining together at Enrico’s, and they suddenly decided to get up a surprise party and have a barbecue in the mountains at the house of some friends of Mr Finklesteen.” “I see.” Peggy’s voice was still unimpressed. She had not the vaguest idea of what a “barbecue” might be, but she was certain of her feelings towards David’s late employer. “Are you going?” she asked boldly. Apparently the receiver was snatched from David’s hand, for it was Opal’s voice that took up the conversation. Peggy heard her say: "Let me explain, darling,” and the words brought two flaming coins of colour into Peggy’s cheeks that stayed there all day. “You see, Peggy, darling, it isn't as if this is going to be an ordinary sort of barbecue—Numa Tahore, the Nautch dancer who is appearing at the Hot Spot Night Club, is going to do a torch dance at it. We’ve just come on from the Hot Spot and practically stunned her into coming. We are paying her plenty, of course.” Peggy permitted the mere stroke of mockery to creep into her voice as she echoed “Of course!” Then: “Was Davjd with the party?” she asked, as naturally as she could. “Oh, no, darling! Finky and I and Numa and two other perfectly lovely boys have all only just come. David was in bed as a matter of fact, but we sang under his window until he opened the door.” “Did you?” Peggy felt as if a leaden weight had been removed from her heart. Some of the restraint left her voice, and she even permitted herself to smile as she said: “It all sounds very exciting. By the way, what is a barbecue, Opal, and is David going?" “A barbecue is food cooked in an open-air oven—mostly' sausages and po-1 tatoes baked in their skins. Yes, Da-1 vid’s coming. He was getting dressed ' when you rang up.” Instantly the half-smile faded from Peggy's tense, eager little face. The knuckles showed white and taut beneath their skin as her grip tightened on the instrument which she held to her ear. “Would you ask him to speak again, please?” . “Of course.” Evidently David had been standing by the telephone, for Opal’s voice was replaced by his after an almost imperceptible pause. “I thought I might get something out of it, dear—for a play, I mean. You know, a Nautch girl dancing in the fi re _light just before dawn, with a back-ground of mountains —doesn’t it strike you with possibilities? But I say ” In her mind’s eye Peggy. ■ amongst her pillows in bed, could vis- ■ ualise David turning to the rest, as ho ■ asked them, “Could we not pick up , Peggy on our way?” For answer, two voices—Peggy’s in • the telephone receiver, and Sam Finklesteen’s in his apartment —assailed

David’s ears. “You can do nothing of the kind!" Peggy’s refusal was no minced matter. “As her director, I say ‘No!’ —there will be plenty of time for barbecues when her picture is finished. She must finish her sleep." Peggy heard every word distinctly, as Sam. Finklesteen intended that she should. “I would not have gone, anyway, David. Take care of yourself and have a good time with Opal,” the miserable heart-sick girl could not resist adding as she replaced the receiver on its rest. For all that she was able to obey Finklesteen’s injunction to sleep, Peggy might just as well have gone to the barbecue. For two hours she lay staring at the ceiling, her eyes filled with tears that glittered in the light of the rose shaded lamp by her side. Her pillow was wet, so she punched it savagely and turned it over to the other side. “Love and Death are twins.” Over and over the line from some play in which she had acted during her student days, ran through her mind, torturing her with its apparent truth. When at length she fell into dream-haunted sleep, she murmured them brokenly. CHAPTER VIII. To David, riding at two o’clock in the morning beneath a big yellow moon did not seem any different, except that it was more heart-breakingly lovely, than riding at two o’clock in the afternoon. He was thinking of Peggy, glad somehow, that she was not going to the barbecue. Opal was “going Hollywood” with a vengeance, he told himself, paying for parties and drinks and Nautch dancers in the dawn for two such worthless individuals as the fellows who occupied the rear seat of the car with her. He himself was riding beside the chauffeur while Finklesteen in some mysterious fashion had curled himself into a ball at their feet and promptly gone to sleep. David had almost followed his example when the high, excited restless voice of Ojai Orth, who was leaning over the back of the car, sounded in his ears ard jerked him irto semiwakeful n ss. “Darling, ao you mind very much if we change our plans?” From the corner of a sleepy eye, David noted that her fingers were resting on nis shoulders. Being fired with an acu + e desire for the bed from which he had been roused, David answered: “No, not a bit. Matter of fact, I’d rather go home if the rest of you don’t mind.” “Go to sleep again, honey,” purred Opal, stroking David’s face softly, so that the two poys on the rear seat, observing the action, suddenly leaned over and pulled her back, demanding to know why they were left out of the little “petting party.” They were almost 45 minutes’ drive from his apartment, so there was time for another few winks before they reached it, David told himself, as he closed his eyes.. The “few winks” deepened and lengthened into quite a considerable sleep. When David awoke, it was to the sound of waves breaking lazily on a sandy beach. The Filipino chauffeur, with his fiat, expressionless face as immobile as a board, was standing holding open the door of the car, while Finklesteen was bending over him, shaking him lightly and saying, in a sleepy voice which he endeavoured to make sound light and “sporting,” “Here we are, buddy, and are we going to have fun!"

David scarcely knew what the fellow was saying, but he raised himself self with an effort, and looked around for the others. They were gone.

“Where is Opal?” he asked. Finklesteen grabbed David by the arm, making it almost impossible for him to remain in the car.

"Come and I’ll show you,” he said,, leading the way down the beach to the margin of .the sea, where a small ketch stood waiting in readiness for them.

“Where' are you going? I thought Opal said that the barbecue was off . . . plans changed . . .” There was a distinct edge to David’s tone. Somehow, although in all fairness these people could not be blamed for the fact that he had fallen asleep, yet in his own mind he resented their disturbing him at all. He was no longer in Opal Orth’s employ; he wanted to be finished with her—cut her and her gang definitely and for good; in the morning, or rather later in the day, he would change his apartment and leave no address. “Where are we going now?” David asked, as the boatman stood aside to let him enter the ketch.

“Numa hedged about doing a dance in the open air at two in the morning. Said it was too cold. Suggested doing it pn one of the gambling ships out at Long Beach. Lots of fun, these ships —pretty girls to serve the drinks — dancing—you needn’t gamble . if you would rather not, but all visitors to Hollywood have to spend at least one night on the ships just to say they’ve seen them.” volunteered Finklesteen in the explanation. “And what do they charge?” asked David, a little more awakened now, deciding that he would go through with the party as he had come so far, but still not entirely mollified. “Plenty,” returned Finklesteen briefly. He added, with a sly wink. "But you don’t have to worry, buddy. It's Onal who’s angel for this party. "I don’t like women paying for my amusements, thanks," returned David shortly, with the faintest possible emphasis on the pronoun. Finklesteen made no reply. -The ketch had reached the ship, which was outlined in red and green lights, and looked like a weird, bulky monster lying at rest on the face of the waters. CHAPTER IX. David Whitley’s first impression on entering the low, smoke-filled saloon was that Opal certainly seemed at home in the strange, exciting, but vaguely repellent atmosphere of the gambling ship. She wore flaming red pyjamas over which she had carelessly flung a mink coat worth a small fortune. She was also wearing her pigeon blood rubies, which alone would have marked her cut from the other women guests, who were smartly enough gowned and coiffed, but whose adornments mostly ran to strings of pearls .with genuine, if small, diamonds in the clasps, and there the genuineness ended. There were Chinese men, wearing national garb, and the traditional pigtail: little brown men from the Phillipines, and a few full-blooded negroes with diamonds in their teeth as well as

on their hands. A slow-moving, languid beauty from the Argentine, dressed in a perfectly plain sheath of purple velvet without a single ornament, moved restlessly) from one to another of the small tables that encircled the tiny dancing floor, and startled David by bursting suddenly into a passionate Spanish love song. “You are going to enjoy this, Mr Whitley. Mind, you don’t have to gamble if you don’t want,” Finklesteen reminded David, virtuously, as he signalled to Opal., who was evidently watching the door, to come over. “Darling! Isn’t this just too wonderful? Have you ever seen anything so exciting in all your life? But come along over. I've got a table right on the very edge of the floor, where we can get a marvellous view of Numa’s dance.” As she spoke, Opal sought and caught the eye of the ship’s captain, a gorgeous individual decked out in a musical comedy kind of uniform that was very effective, but meant nothing whatsoever. “Glad to meet you, Mr Whitley. How do you do, Mr Finklesteen. It’s a long time since we have the pleasure of seeing you,” he said, leading the way to the table which, decked with American and British flags, was in the most conspicuous spot in the room. The Argentine beauty undulated-over to the table when they were settled, and took their order for drinks. So, she was a waitress, thought. David. who was now thoroughly awake and bound to admit that he was enjoying the bizarre novelty of an entirely new experience. “David, are you thrilled? You look it," whspered Opal, leaning forward and delicately touching his hand. The rest of the party were dancing, Finklesteen with the Argentine waitress, the other two men with girls whose job it was to entertain guests, and Numa had gone oft to prepare for her dance. All three of the other men had danced their “duty dance” with their hostess. David, it must be confessed, had been too absorbed seeing the whole scene purely as stage material, to remember that he was a guest. (To be Continued).