Motion Picture (Feb-Jul 1931)

^~]he ^ade-Out HE walked away across the terrace. Diana Trent's arm, where his hand had rested, burned; his deep voice with its boyish break ("You are so wonderful," he had said, "I'm afraid of your wonderfulness!") echoed still in her ears. Terry had never told her she was wonderful. He had never been afraid that she did not love him. Why should Terry Trent have been afraid one woman might not love him when he was loved by a whole worldful of women? He had been every husband's enemy, every lover's rival. Beauty had gone from life for thousands of women when he died, and two years later, she — Terry Trent's wife — stood here grieving because she had sent another man away! She moved swiftly along the loggia to a niche at the end. The white marble face that looked from the dimness might have been that of a young Greek god, with tossed curls on broad brows, straight nose, chiselled mouth. Even the blank marble eyes were familiar to the woman who had been Terry Trent's wife. He had never quite seemed to see her. "But you loved me," she said aloud. "Forgive me for ever doubting it! . . . But to-night I was lonely and he — " She could not tell this beautiful, coldly smiling face about the man who had just left her, a very ordinary man with only a blunt-featured, pleasant face. She who had been a worshipper so long could not confess how sweet it was to be worshipped. The air of temples is a trifle chilly, and the love Peter King offered her was warm, human, everyday . . . like a hearthrire. "I want to take care of you," he had said'. "I want to do things for you — " French heels clicked on the marble pavement and Diana turned quickly, but not quickly enough to escape Nanette Trainor's scorn. "Saying your prayers?" The newcomer lighted a cigarette, revealing her tight blonde coiffure, familiar to a million movie fans, and her shrewd gamin face. "So you've turned down Peter King! A fine actor and a grand guy — oh, you make me tired. Two years since Terry died, and you might as well be one of those Hindu widows killing herself on her husband's bier — " Diana looked down over the blaze of lights that meant Hollywood. Her voice was dreamy. "We used to stand here, he and I, and look at BY DOROTHY CALHOUN Illustration By Shellhase those lights, and he would say. 'It's my world! I've conquered it!"' "But he didn't say — "It's yours. I've conquered it for you'.'" said Xanette dryly. " Tern* Trent was the most beautiful human being I ever saw — oh, I grant you that! And the most selfish. He didn't have any more heart than that marble statue. Didn't I play in three pictures with him? You may be able to fool the public, you may even be able to fool your wife, but you can't fool the prop boys or your leading woman — " "No, Nan — " "Don't interrupt me, Di! I'm tired of seeing you waste your life on a memory, letting this mania obsess you. You're cheating yourself of love, just as he cheated you of love!" "You're wrong. Nan. At first. I sometimes wondered myself. I — I didn't see why Terry should love me. with all the gorgeous women who were mad about him. You can't guess what it was to be Terry Trent's wife. I didn't blame him for not loving me. you see — I understood. It wasn't until that day when they brought him home that I really knew — beyond question . . . that he did love me." She drew a quivering breath. "The accident had done dreadful things. His white uniform was covered with mud . . . and his face, his beautiful face, was and bloody. When I saw him. I gave way utterly. He heard nit and he spoke — just once: "Don't let her see me looking like this!" Don't you understand. Nan? He was dying, but he thought of n;c' lit loved me." The air was tilled with laughter, silvery, sardonic. "You dear, deluded fool!" said Nanette Trainor. "Listen. Diana! Terry Trent loved just one thing all his life. And you're right. He thought of that thing when he was dying. But it wasn't you. Diana. What was it he said? 'Don't let her see me looking like this!' There's the answer! Looking like this — he was thinking of himself, his precious beauty — the only thing he ever loved — " She w\is on her feet in a nutter of gilded ruffles. "Think it You know in your heart I'm right. I'm <;oing to send Peteback." And when he came, hurrying, a white blur in the dimness showed that she was there — waiting. Another True Short Story Of Hollywood 42