The New Movie Magazine (Dec 1929-May 1930)

ing the white drape over the body when his eye caught a corner of paper shoved in the bodice of Velva's dress. He drew forth a crumpled note that had been hastily stuffed there, smoothed it out, and read : "Velva, dear. — Thanks for being a real sport! When you finish here at the studio I will meet you as agreed at the Club. I'm planning one of our old-time love parties tonight to celebrate our reconciliation, xxxxxxxx (kisses) Frank." "How about this, Fallon?" Craig still holding the note turned to the dancing man who had been at the piano with the fiddles and the drum engaged in rendering the sound accompaniment. "It's true, Mr. Kennedy," nodded Fallon with a startled face, averting his eyes from the drape. "We were going to announce it tonight — and now — He seemed to choke off the rest, with suppressed emotion, an ominous scowl on his face. Craig turned just in time to catch an interchange of hatred in a flash of looks between Fallon and Asche, who now was getting a grip on his nerves again. Kennedy said nothing for a moment as he watched the two faces narrowly. This was noteworthy and I knew it. We had been attracted to watching the taking of this scene particularly by reason of the gossip of the studio. "All through this picture," whispered Van Hise to me, "Asche has been overplaying his love scenes with Velva. You know I told Kennedy about that, and how she wasn't checking him, either." "I thought Fallon was putting his whole ability, everything he had, in the piano." "He was," Van Hise nodded. "I'm wondering whether she was not really playing to win him back — the old jealousy game — and it worked." "Where would that leave Asche?" I whispered back. "You think he really meant it?" "Sure of it. Just a dummy figure, a come-on, a foil. And he's high spirited, Asche." "H'm," I considered. "I see." "Now let's see — who's here." Kennedy had wheeled suddenly. It was not that he was taking his attention away from Grant Asche and the husband, Fallon. But Kennedy was playing to cover the whole field at once. I saw him counting to himself with his forefinger leveled at the spectators. He stopped at six beats. Another thing that had attracted us for old time's sake was the fact that they were just recording on the other set the Sextette scenes. Now the girls from it were all around, still in make-up and costumes, but not carrying their parasols. Craig took a few steps toward a rack which had been placed for the purpose of holding them, paused a few seconds, then looked up. "Seven parasols," he muttered under his breath, "not six — in the rack — and there are just six girls, as there should be!" He turned and faced the crowd. "Whose was the seventh? Where did it come from? I saw this scene taken. There was no extra one then." "There were extra ones at Treves, the costumer." suggested Victor. "By the way, I live over in Brooklyn. They mail these programs from the Portland Theatre every week." He reached into his pocket. "Here's one. They've billed 'The Sextette Act,' a little vaudeville skit over there. Mr. Asche wrote it. In fact, it was the thing from which this picture was built." Kennedy took the program and studied it. "Featuring Dell Gillen, once understudy in the original Floradora Sextette," he read. "Dell Gillen — why, that's your wife, Asche, isn't it?" "Yes, I was an extra man in the show when she was the understudy. That's how we met." "And this is a revival of your vaudeville act?" "Yes. In Brooklvn." "I see. Where is the Portland Theatre?" "Near Fort Greene." Kennedy did a moment of mental calculation and I fancy I followed him in it. Dell Gillen would have had time to leave the show on the subway circuit, jump into a taxicab and get up to the Studio, between appearances, if she remained in costume. She would then have been just like the other six girls in the chorus in the Studio. It was a logical explanation of the seventh parasol. But there were six girls and these were the six in the picture. "Why, you ought to know something about that, 'Bugs,' " commented Van Hise. "This is 'Bugs' Gillen, her brother, who is the electrician in the Studio, Kennedy. Has your sister, Dell, been on the stage, Bugs?" "Not here. I ain't seen her here," insisted Bugs Gillen. "Don't you think she ought to have been here — judging by some of the stories I hear about the Studio?" Kennedy said it quietly with a significant nod of the head toward Grant Asche. "I should say so!" he emphasized. "Did she know what was going on here while she was playing vaudeville in Brooklyn." "She did." "From you?" "No, sir. Not at first, at least. I was boiling over. But I didn't have to tell her. You maybe don't know this gossipy little business of ours in the movies. Some grapevine system ! I don't know how news travels. But it does. Of course, after she heard about it and began to put two and two together, she asked me. What was I to do. Should I have lied to my own sister?" "I wouldn't say that, exactly. Then she did get information from you?" "Finally; yes. But by that time it was so flagrant it wouldn't have made much difference if I hadn't told her. She'd have got it anyhow from someone else. Oh, this Grawnt Asche!" He broadened the "a," ironically mimicking the Anglicized thespian. "Some bird with the ladies!" Bugs narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the sheeted figure at the table awaiting the authorities. "That is. ladies of a certain type." "Then you don't think Velva Lavelle was all that she should have been?" "I'll speak no evil of the dead — not even when they've been pirating other women's husbands." Bugs set his jaws grimly. "I ask you — do you think it was right, revivin' that vaudeville skit at just this time so's to shoot his wife off to the Sticks?" "Do you think Velva fell for Asche, then?" asked Craig keenly. "Well." Bugs answered cautiously, " 'Barbara Brooks' never resented the marked over-playing of the love scenes by 'Douglas Gerard' — either in rehearsals or otherwisi Kennedy nodded. He knew it had been the talk of the company and the Studio, too. From my post at the door I was endeavoring as best I could to interpret Kennedy's moves and understand what was in his mind. Where did we stand, 1 asked myself, in view of the impending reconciliation of Velva and Frank ? I started, as Kennedy had, with Grant Asche himself. Close as he was to her, he must have had at least some inkling of it. He would certainly resent the reconciliation, would be sore at Velva for leading him on to an overt break with his wife, then throwing him over. I knew him for a temperamental actor and hot-tempered director. No sooner had I arrived at this point, however, than the thought of his wife obtruded itself. Dell Gillen, knowing nothing about either the reconciliation or the note, would still be insane with jealousy over this talking-movie vamp of the younger generation stealing her husband. She had met him years ago in the old Floradora company. The first love is always a deeply motivating source of action with any woman. The old tragedies of the Floradora Sextette would be running true to form. Undoubtedly she had a strong motive. I was balancing the motives of the two, purposely rejecting the third and final possibility, the resentment of Bugs Gillen. Dell's brother, when I saw that Kennedy, in looking over things off the set, had picked up a coat flung in a heap on a chair and, casually rummaging the pockets, had brought out a note. "Whose coat is this?" he asked. "One of the stagehands?" "Bugs Gillen's," replied Van Hise, looking quickly over his shoulder and reading under his breath as he 71