Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1943)

Actor Riley Sloane Nurse Kay Howells Dr. Christopher Ross ism of passionate and reckless youth. "Then she insisted it be kept secret," he went on. It was as though he were talking to himself, his voice flat, his eyes on the floor and dark with some remembered pain. "I was to go on living in my furnished room and she as the queen of Beverly Hills. Nobody could know she was mine. 'Only for a little while,' she told me when I balked, 'only till you get your break in pictures.' The break never seemed to come. Somebody else always got the roles I'd been halfway promised. And when she gave a party I'd have to leave with the other guests and then sneak back — later. I had to use back alleys to see her — my wife. She dangled me like a puppy on a leash and when I kicked, she — well, she persuaded me I was wrong." I KNEW how. I'd seen her in action once. "But why did she marry you, if she didn't love you? Why — " Riley shrugged expressively. "She was as fond of me as she could be of anybody but herself. And I was the perfect stooge for her ego. She was beginning to slip at the studio and she needed me around to tell her how wonderful she was. "Then it looked as though I were going to have my chance. A role in a picture with her — 'Pretty Lady,' the last one she ever made, as it happened. She promised she'd do all she could to throw it my way. Suddenly, something happened. Somebody else got it and I was dealt out. I was about ready to cut my throat when Leo Martin picked me up for a bit in one of his productions. You know the rest." That was the role that had catapulted him to fame, while "Pretty Lady," ironically, had been one of the biggest flops in box-office history. "It was then I found out the truth. She'd been knifing me all along, deliberately keeping me out of pictures. Part of it, I guess, was natural jealousy of what I might do and part of it was because she liked having me around as a combination lackey and gigolo," the toneless voice went on. "That was the showdown. She was on the skids and knew it. She'd been doping for some time, and drinking, and her heart was on the bum. By the time our positions were reversed, she wanted to announce the marriage. But I was through. I told her she'd wanted it kept secret and she'd jolly well have it kept secret. "Divorce?" He answered the unspoken question. "What was the use? She'd have contested and there'd be all that nice dirty linen aired. Besides, there was nobody else for me and never would be. I supported her, but I wouldn't live with her and it was that that finally burned her up. She was afraid of losing her meal ticket and her one chance for a comeback on my coat tails." I'VE stalled the reporters as long as I can, Riley," Chris was saying. "I'll tell them you'll see them now. Then I'll sneak Kay out the back door." When he'd left the room I walked over to Riley. I put my hand on his arm and looked up into the bitter face. "Last night," I said softly, "you asked me never to leave you. This is today and maybe you feel differently. However you feel, I want you to know I'll always be around if — or when — you need me." For an instant there was an answering flicker in his eyes, some wordless communication for me alone. Then Chris came back and the barrier dropped into place again. "Don't worry about me," he said gruffly, and went to meet the reporters. Upstairs, a weeping Ellen helped me pack. "Poor Mr. Sloane," she mourned, "just when he was getting on so well." It was what was in my mind, too. What would this shock do to that precarious balance, this jarring open of half-healed wounds? I longed to stay near him. But I couldn't. Not now. Driving out to the sanatorium, Chris said, "You'll have to keep out of sight till this blows over." He looked strained and worried. "It doesn't look good for either of us, mixed up in something like this. I telephoned Dr. Justin and he doesn't like it a little bit." Dr. Justin certainly didn't. Suavely but with unmistakable meaning, he told me that — er — under the circumstances, with all the unfortunate publicity and the name of the hospital involved ... I cut him short. I understood perfectly that my services were no longer wanted. Feeling like an outcast, I packed the few possessions I'd left at the sanatorium. Where was I to go? . Chris couldn't take me in. What was I to do? I had very little money. I had to stay near Riley but — the telephone brought me up short. It was Carlotta Fane. "I've just heard," she said. "My dear, you must come here immediately. Nobody need know except your young doctor and Riley, of course." I thanked her gratefully. And thought how strange it was that my only friend was this aging, garrulous old actress with her dyed red hair and her golden heart. NEXT day, the full fury of the press hit. I cowered before the blast. Every newspaper in the country carried the story: Honey Hollister Dies in Hollywood Home of Riley Sloane. Star Reveals Secret FiveYear Marriage. In the tabloids there were pictures, even one of me — Nurse Who Was Present at Time of Tragedy. And one of Chris — Prominent Young Psychiatrist Who Was Witness of Sudden Death. Fortunately there was nothing about the shot that had been fired, but there didn't need to be for people with evil minds. It was all there, implied, for those who cared to read between the lines. I felt sick. The phone rang all day. "Yes, I knew Miss Howells, a dear girl. No, I haven't the faintest idea where she is," Miss Fane would lie cheerfully. Every time the bell tinkled, I jumped. Chris would have told Riley where I was. When would he come? When would he call? I was pacing the floor when Chris's call came. "Riley Sloane has disappeared." He said it just like that. Just as if every syllable weren't a separate blow. "He left during the night without a word to anyone. His car is gone. Mr. Martin," he spoke in a careful undertone, "is here at the house now. (Continued on page 79) 58 photoplay combined with movie mirror