Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1922)

Photoplay Magazine 33 Grantham's eyes she stopped, almost as though poised for flight ''I don"t think — " began Candace. "I know you don't," said Helene. "I do. Wait a minute." Suddenly she sat up, slamming both hands palm downward on the table. "I've got it," she cried. "Look at yourself, Candy, and tell me the one thing that's written on you." Obediently, Candace opened the top of her gray vanity box and gazed into the depths of its shining glass pool. She saw a face of sheer, pure, exquisite blonde beauty. Great sapphire eyes set in sooty lashes that were flecked with gold at the ends. Thin arched eyebrows whose curve gave a suggestion of intentional hateur. Delicate, thin little nose, betraying imperceptibly, vaguely, the barest suggestion of a hook, above the finely curved red nostrils. A mouth whose carved upper lip was caught outward just a trifle from the perfect, even white teeth. A small, pointed chin that gave her face that odd, intriguing triangle of the Creuze women. Tiny ears, set close to her head beneath the smooth, glistening ashen hair. THE face of an eighteenth century marquise on the guillotine. A French print in colors. A silver birch tree. There could be no doubt about Candace Carr's beauty. She herself had even conceded that. It was one of the things that made her so hopeless. Violently she shut the picture from sight within the scented vanity box. "Gosh," she said. "What'd you see?" "Me," said Candace hopelessly. "No you didn't. You saw a lady. I've got a great idea. Candy. Your line is going to be the aristocrat. Milady, the carriage waits — home, James, stuff. It hasn't really been done and somebody gave ycu a face like duchesses ought to have and don't." "You're making fun again." said Candace Carr, "Oh, Helene, don't smoke another cigarette. That's six at lunch. It'll ruin your complexion." Helene shook her dark hair impatiently. "Never had one," she said, "and I can't think unless I smoke." -Maybe if I tried—" "Xope. You can't lubricate a motor by pouring oil down a sand hole. "Now listen. You're going to be an aristocrat — not a movie one, there are plenty of them. Play grand dames for ten a day. You aren't much of an actress but you've got a great make-up for this part. The real air — the cool, sweet smile that goes fluttering over people's heads like a white butterfly looking for a place good enough to light. Your eyebrows an eighth of an inch higher. The handshake like you were bestowing them with the order of the garter or something. Like you expected to have it kissed. And the walk — that's the hardest, because I don't know how it's done. They don't move their feet. The manner — not the fake one that makes everyone hope your contract is up next week. I mean the real manner — impersonal, kind, not superior, because there ain't any left really worth being superior to. YOU haven't got any bad habits to get. rid of. You can do anything you like if you're born in the sacred kennels, but if you're trying to get in you've got to be a good dog. You don't smoke nor swear nor row nor get cockeyed. So you won't be apt to make breaks. And when you don't talk you can't say anything that'll be held against you, so we will now adopt this motto, 'Silence is golden ' "The next best thing to a woman that's really got something to say is the woman that knows when to keep her mouth shut. "Now what makes me think the whole works is screenable, is that woman that's always been crazy about you — Mrs. Bobby Hitt. She's not only the queen of this society game around here — she's a royal flush." Candace flushed again. "She has been wonderful to me. But — I never just feel comfortable with her, and you know how you feel." "I know how you feel, and that's more important. Now a lot of movie stars have been on the edge — you know. The Beverly Hills and Wilshire District and the Adams street exclusives rub elbows once in a while, because they're human and like to say they've met the big guns in our game, too. Or they let 'em give charity fairs and benefit programs. But there isn't anybody has really been in yet — except Mr?. Flint and Mrs. Devereaux and they were, before they married, in the movies. "If you'll listen to me, and play the women — and you're better with them than with the men anyway — you'll have a new line all your own, and you'll meet some men that are at least human, and pretty soon everybody in Hollywood will begin to remember how well they knew you." She crushed out the tip of her cigarette. "Maybe you'll get a husband. Some women do. What a self-supporting woman wants to get married for. I don't know. But I suppose life can't be all sunshine. Only don't marry any of these fancy young sports like some stars do — mother cuts off the prestige and father cuts off the allowance, and all the poor girl has got is an extra mouth to feed. "I'll take you down town to buy some clothes for the part. I know a girl in the Unique, where all the 500 buy their raiment. I guess she can be made to dig up some of the things they sell to ladies, instead of the trick stuff they keep for the movies. And you call up Mrs. Hitt to-night." "Oh, Helene — I can't do it." "No, but you take direction pretty well. Speaking of directors, let's get back to the studio before Chet gets to the raw meat stage." Candace Carr followed her slowly down the broad, carpeted stairs. She was still pale. But there was just the suggestion of a gleam in her eye. II HELEXE had apparently been correct in her assumption that in any other walk of life Candace Carr's beauty. set in the golden circle of her (Continued on page g~)