Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1943)

(Continued from page 58) We've been hoping he'd come back. I thought you might have heard from him." "No, I've been waiting . . . oh, Chris, what could have happened? Where could he be?" "I'm afraid," he said, "our friend is out getting drunk." "Oh, no! Not now! He couldn't — " "Well, the bottle used to be his best friend. It looks as if all our work had been in vain. I'll stay here a while longer and then come by. You sit tight." I couldn't sit tight. Not with Riley out roaming the streets somewhere, seeking release from bitterness in sodden oblivion. Miss Fane calmed me. "I know the boy's old hangouts," she said. "We'll go look for him." SO in a borrowed hat and a pair of dark glasses as a disguise, I drove her small car while we toured the bars of Hollywood. At each place, I waited outside while Miss Fane went in. She stayed long enough to see somebody she knew (which was every inhabitant of the city) and ask a few leading questions. Each time she carne out shaking her head. Finally we got a lead. "Corky Smith was in there," she said as we left a little place on the outskirts of town. "He says he saw Riley early this morning in a low dive on Ventura. He had three double Scotches and left, Corky said, after being very rude to everybody." My heart sank. So after all, the bottle was his best friend. Better than me. Better than — anything. "We'll find him yet, but I must say" — Carlotta straightened her hat over her red hair — "I'm getting awfully tired of beers." But we didn't find him. The bartender at the low place on Ventura said Mr. Sloane had left there at eleven, under his own steam, and hadn't been seen since. Even the faithful Miss Fane was discouraged then. "I could wring his Irish neck," she said, "running out at a time like this. The studio will never forgive his holding up 'Lost Melody,' the biggest thing they've ev?r done. It'll ruin him." Then she gave me a sharp glance. "But you're not worried so much about that part of it, are you, dear?" "No, I'm worried about him. Where he is, what he's doing. I — " She clucked with sympathy and laid her hand on my arm. "I was afraid you felt that way, I wish you didn't. Loving a man like him could mean only heartbreak for a girl like you. Why don't you marry that nice Dr. Ross?" "I can't. Not feeling as I do — " And then driving back in my borrowed disguise, looking for a man who didn't know I was on earth, I told her the whole thing. That time at the hospital, the duel that went on constantly beween us at his house, and finally Saturday night when the guard had dropped and I'd known, once and for all, that I loved Riley Sloane. Carlotta sighed. "I wish I could help you. But nobody can. Drat his hide!" Chris was waiting for us. "No trace," he said. The studio was keeping the disappearance from the papers, giving out the story that Mr. Sloane was in seclusion and under the care of a physician. "That's me," Chris said wryly. "I had to double back on my tracks coming over here, to shake the reporters. But the funeral is set for tomorrow. He's got to come back for that." We all agreed on that. Hardened cynic though he was, not even Riley Sloane could fail to make that final gesture to FEBRUARY, 1943 Two against Love **•*•••••••••••••••••*•••*■* Jyia out u&ut inaplltotl! They may save the lives of hundreds of American boys. JLilten: A few years ago we smiled tolerantly when the Japs and Nazis overran our country with their omnipresent cameras. They even set up photographic agencies which "sold" abroad pictures of significant American buildings, civic centers, waterfronts, bridges. It isn't funny any more. We wish now that we had done the same thing in their countries. (Try and do it!) The Japs and Germans were smart, all right. But we can still out-smart them! I/O tnil: Look through your photographs of foreign countries and see if you have any which show as backgrounds landscapes, harbors, beaches, docks, manufacturing plants, oil storage facilities, railroad stations, yards and tracks. Then write to the Office of Strategic Services, Station G, Box 46, New York City, outlining what you have. A questionnaire will then be mailed to you for filling in details. Do not send in your pictures until you hear from the O.S.S. specifically requesting them. Silhouette shots of islands, air views of cities and harbors or photographs taken from heights are particularly valuable. Pictures will be returned after use upon request. DO IT NOW AND HELP OUR SECOND FRONTS! *••••••••••*•*••••••*•••••* the woman who had been his wife. When I went to bed that night, it was with the buoyant hope that tomorrow I'd see him. THERE was only a handful of people in the chapel. Honey Hollister had had no immediate family. There were a former director of hers, a former secretary, an old man alone in a back pew who might have been a butler and a few others beside Carlotta and myself. Nothing could have proved more plainly that Honey was "through" in pictures and that she had had no real friends. Apparently no real husband, either, for though I waited anxiously all through the short service, Riley did not appear. During the next few days Carlotta and I continued our fruitless search with mounting discouragement. Undercover, the studio was combing not only all of Southern California but parts of Mexico as well. Interest in Honey's death had abated by now, but once the news was out about the disappearance, it would start all over again bigger than ever. And the secret couldn't be kept very much longer. On Friday night, Chris came. We went to a quiet little restaurant in the neighborhood for dinner. He looked harassed. "I've decided to leave for the East on Sunday," he said. "You can't leave till Riley's found, Chris! He was your patient and your friend. You can't leave him in the lurch like this — needing help more than ever in his life!" "He doesn't deserve our help. He ran away, leaving us to face the music . . . all this horrible publicity, this covering up. Once I thought' there was hope for him as a good guy. I don't any more. He's no good. I want you to put him out of your mind, Kay — and to come with me Sunday." "You told me once," I said in a low voice, "that you thought he cared for me, that I was good for him. . . ." "Running away proves he doesn't care for anybody but himself. Look, Kay. I saw how you felt about him and I thought I saw how he felt about you. I was willing to step out of the picture if it meant your happiness. That's no longer true. I want you. I've always wanted you. Marry me now and let's get out of this!" "I can't, Chris. Maybe you're right about him, but I can't leave." "Don't you see the longer you stay, the more people will talk?" he burst out angrily. "You'll have no name, no future! All this publicity — " I LOOKED at him then and it was as if ' I'd never really seen him before. "The publicity is really what's driving you away, isn't it, Chris? It's what you've been scared of since this thing happened — what it might do to you in your new job. You don't care about Riley or about me. You're his doctor and yet you haven't lifted a finger to find him because of the publicity. You care only about your own career." "That's not true! I'm thinking of you and the scandal — " "You don't think enough of me to face down the scandal and stay here with me until we know Riley is safe. You've always played it cautiously. Your career always came first — before me, before anything." Mirrored in his eyes, I knew I'd spoken the truth. He'd seemed strong because his ambition was ruthless; he'd seemed sure because he never took a chance. I got up. "I promise you this, Chris: If he isn't back by Sunday, I'll know you're right. I'll put him out of my mind for good. And I'll come on East later and make a new life for myself as if he never existed." On the sidewalk outside, we ran into Prudence Vickers. "Oh, my dears," she cooed. "Just the people I want to see. How is poor dear Riley?" "As well as can be expected," I said shortly. "Poor darling — such a shock. I take it you two are no longer on the case?" "We plan to leave for the East soon," Chris said. "I'm going with my mother on Sunday and Miss Howells is coming on later to take a position in New York." Somehow we got away from her prying questions and knowing eyes. Chris and I said goodnight and I went wearily into the apartment. I'd given myself a sort of mental deadline — Sunday. I couldn't stay on here longer with no job and no prospects of getting any. If Riley didn't return, there was no point in staying at all. . . . 79