PEGGY IN HOLLYWOOD

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 March 1939, Page 12

PEGGY IN HOLLYWOOD

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

MRS PATRICK MACGILL.

CHAPTER XVII. (Continued).

Buoyed up by his flattery and insincere praises, Opal had been induced to think that she was doing splendidly; that “Success” would rival all the big box office successes of motion picture history. So long as Benny Rubin and Mervyn Royal, both’ in the Hollywood “big money” and therefore careful to do nothing to injure their reputations, were content, “stringing, along” Opal Orth meant nothing at all. By this time Finklesteen had taken her measure and his opinion was that though she was utterly without scruple or moral princple, yet in her strange violent fashion, she was genuinely in love —probably for the first time —with David Whitley, and that he alone had it in his power to touch the spark to passion, so that she could act with fire as well as force and intelligence —two attributes which even those who grumbled at her attempts at acting, admitted.

“Let’s have her in. Only don't forget that she’s our angel, boys,” advised Finklesteen, with a wink.

He operated the buzzer on his deck, which was instantly answered by the telephone attendant on the lot. “If Miss Orth has finished making up for her scene, would you present Mr Finklesteen’s compliments . . . shut up, you boys,” this to the camera and leading man, who were making derisive, inelegant noises. Ralph Davis was silently contemptuous, his rather firmly drawn face looking tired and worn in the glaring sunshine that filled the room.

Apparently Opal Orth was near at hand; after a moment’s pause, Finklesteen asked, “That you, Opal? Say, listen, Ralph and Benny and Mervyn are all here in a huddle and we want to get your opinion on a certain matter. Do you think you could just pop in for a few minutes before we take the next scene?”

Three minutes later Opal, made up for a day on the river Thames in a little white silk sleeveless sports frock and a blue bandeau in her hair, walked into the office. The men acknowledged her “Hello” and smile civily enough, but there was an undercurrent of uneasiness that quickly communicated itself to Opal. Finklesteen, after offering her one of her own cigarettes, opened nervously with, “It’s like this Opal—see? Bunny here and Mervyn has been thinking a bit about the picture . .” “That’s what they are paid to do. Well?” ■ Opal, having swallowed her flattery whole, was self-confident to the point of arrogance. It was not a very good beginning. Finklesteen shifted uneasily in his seat. Mervyn Royal, -who was perfectly willing to let the picture go if he could get out'of it without losing the money, thought he saw an opening whereby he could get his contract breached, by which he could lose the part and keep the cash.

"Well, it’s like this, Miss Orth,” he began, impudently defiant. “Money’s a good part, but not the whole of this picture game. You see, you handle the part of Esta in this play in such a way that it gives me no chance. . .” “Chance of what, Mr. Royal?” asked Opal brutally. “Chance to play up to you in the way that my public expects to see me play up to any leading woman,” explained the boy, with a little heat. Seeing that somebody else was doing his unpleasant work for him, Finklesteen sat back in his chair and to cover himself, passed the cigar box. “How do you expect me to handle Esta then, Mr Royal?” Opal was furious and inwardly, a little frightened. If. was perfectly true that “Success” was her maiden effort, and she was learning what all Hollywood tyros are compelled to learn—that maiden efforts in pictures are only allowed after long, arduous, patient rehearsals; that all motion picture actresses have to be made after they are born. She had staked too much on her debut in pictures to be able to afford to lose the investment she was making in it. Already it had cost twice the scheduled amount, and she was getting frightened, though she dared not show it. “Just what is your idea of Esla. Mr Royal?” she repeated. Wit the brutal frankness of 24, the youngest leading man in Hollywood laid down the law of his own opinion on David’s creation.

“She’s softer, younger than you—much younger . . . she has fire but not too much force—she isn’t experienced enough for your sort of lovemaking . . . and in fact, I think the way you are playing the part, the picture will be a financial failure.” “How dare you say a thing like that! Get out you little Hollywood upstart! Financial failure! Get out!” The words were almost spat at the entirely nonchalant leading man. “All right, Miss Orth, since a perfect lady like yourself can’t be expected to act with an upstart, I'll get out. But I’ll collect the full amount of my contract or I’ll sue for it, and for damages, too. Defamation of character, you know.”

With an insolent grin and a wink at the three other men who had from the first seen through his trick, the completely self-satisfied young actor reached for his hat and lounged out of the office. Opal rose from her seat and panting, leaned against the wall: tier throat contracting, her teeth chattering as if with cold, although the afternoon sunshine was pouring into the room. "The dirty, mean rat . . .” she began. Benny Rubin, having frankly enjoyed the little scene, lit another cigar and awaited further developments. Finklesteen. knowing that he could get Mervyn Royal back again with a sufficient dosage of directorial syrup, concentrated on Opal. “No good losing your hair over Mervyn. Opal." he began mildly. Before Opal could rush in with a crowd of angry reasons, he rushed ahead, as if afraid of his own words. “Morvyn’s done a lot of good work in pictures and even with the good salary I offered I had a hard job to persuade him to act opposite a newcomer.” he told Opal, with perfect truth. “Why don’t you let him show you a few tricks?” “I act the nart the way you tell me to." answered Opal sulkily. “You do and you don’t,” contradicted Finklesteen in the same breath. “:You act With your bead, but your heart seems sick, somehow. ... I can't explain it exactly, but —

“I can explain it, Finky!” Opal’s voice was breaking and her eyes misty as she turned abrupty and. left the three men alone in t.ne office. She had left an uncomfortable, strained, but somehow pitiful impression on the mature, sensitive mind of Ralph Davis, who, throughout the whole episode, had not uttered a single word. “I think she’s going through hell on account of some man,” he remarked, putting his finger with uncanny accuracy on the exact spot. CHAPTER XVIII.

Opal's crimson hat, with the Paradise plume sweeping a graceful curve to her shoulders, made her black eyes look like pools of ink in her dead white face. Her corn-coloured hair was dyed, but it was beautifully, expensively dyed; any film actress could have told to a dollar just how much it had cost. Although she hated it and infinitely preferred bright colours, nothing became Opal like black and she knew it. Therefore, for her visit to David, she wore filmy black, unrelieved except for a scarlet buckle at her waist, matching her hat, and scarlet heels to her long, pointed shoes. David's nurse, who let her into the hospital, registered the private impression that she looked the worst vamp she had ever seen off the screen, as different from Peggy as day from night. .. . and David, who had seemed so different, had given orders that Miss Orth was to be admitted at any time!

Davjd was sitting up in bed, gazing out through his window into the flawless blue and gold afternoon, wondering about Peggy, about Lewisohn, about Opal Orth arid her absurd infatuation for himself.

“David, you gotta humour that dame till I tell you to lay off, no matter how she makes your gorge rise! What’s it matter when it means getting yourself out of the drop she and her gang have on you—not only on you, but on Peggy as well! You want this dirty business cleaned up good and quick, don’t you?” David had gurgled rather than spoken his assent. He was too choked with fury to articulate clearly. “You just leave the whole works to me and you and Peggy will be sitting on top of the world—we all will—before that set of dirty dogs know what has happened to them!” Thus Oscar Lewisohn.

David knew Nurse Mary’s soft but distinct tap on his door, three times. It was a prearranged'signal for Opal’s arrival.

“Miss Orth to see you, Mr Whitley,” said the’ girl’s coldly disapproving voice.'

CHAPTER XVlll—(Continued)

A little mist of the heady perfume affected by Opal filled David’s nostrils. He felt that he would hate the sight and smell of crimson roses as long as he lived. Opal spilled an armful of them on the coverlet and flung down three magazines. “I don’t know what to get you, David, darling,” she breathed, rather than said, in the little staccato gasps that she now affected because one of her cohorts of hangers-on, at a loss for a fresh tribute, had told her that a certain little catch in her speaking voice was so effective as to be worth a million dollars.

“You shouldn’t have troubled to bring anything,” said David simply. “Not even yourself,” he added mentally, his knowledge of the woman causing a wave of resentment that she should have chosen to enter his life at all to swoop over him. "Feeling bptter, honey? Pains all gone?” Opal ran her fingers lightly over David’s forehead, bending slightly towards him so that her own perfume mingled with the scent of the crimson roses. David shifted slightly. Living amongst artists of all descriptions as he had done since leaving college, he had never until now run across a girl who made love to another girl’s sweetheart, behind her back. What a mess it all was!

“Yes, thanks, I feel ever so much better . . . ”11' his life had depended upon it, David could not have infused any real warmth into his voice or manner.'' “When do you think you will be well enough to leave here, David? We all want you over at the studio to help with the picture,” Opal went on, with a keen look into the rather pale but now quite fit-looking face. “Oh, not for a little while yet. I —er —they rather want to keep me under observation for a bit,” replied David, awkwardly.

He 'was quite well enough to leave; he knew it and the hospital authorities knew it. They had given him permission to work and he had started on a new play. It was Lewisohn who had fixed up everything. “Oh, what a pity! Why, we shall be finished in three weeks, even with retakes," grumbled Opal. There was a spell of somewhat strained silence. Opal struck a striking attitude and gazed at the opposite wall, her pure, lovely profile very much in evidence. Neither she nor Finklesteen could understand David’s lack of interest in “Success” —nor his refusal to take the 10,000 dollar cheque which Opal had offered for the film rights. “The money is yours. David —people cannot calmly film a play without paying for it." pretested Opal.

“Take it. boy. and salt it away." urged Finklesteen, laying his pudgy hand on David’s shoulder.

To all entreaties, David had remained the same: utterly indifferent, giving no reason, saying nothing beyond, “No thanks,” when the cheque was offered for the third time.

Opal felt baffled, hurt and outraged; it was impossible that any man, especially one on whom she had set her heart, for whom she was ready to do so much, should be indifferent to her, she told herself fiercely. Never had she so passionately desired a man as she desired this young, unknown, struggling dramatist; she deluded herself into the belief that her love was selfless because if he came, he would come to her empty-handed. Suddenly the reins of her passion broke; she felt the blood rush to her head in a mad, surging torrent at the sight of David so calm, so indifferent that she might not be on the earth at all. Her breath was hot on David’s cheek as she flung strong, white, caressing arms around his neck; her voice was the most utterly sincere thing that David had ever heard as she pleaded fiercely, defiant-

ly, “Oh, I know it isn’t considered the thing, even in these days of freedom for women, but it isn’t a question of good or bad, right or wrong. I love you* So what's the use?” (To be Continued).