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Photoplay Magazine for September
"They say you certainly pulled the lucky number this time, baby! All you need is one leading man thal'd rather play 'Post Ollicc' with you than anybody else. Allri^htl Don't forget who it was got you on the Columbia wheel!"
The telephone rang.
"It's probably Randy," Francia said.
Yes, it was Randy.
"Hello, sweet man," she said — "oh, you mean for dinner, Randy! Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I've promised to go with my agent. Mr. Kurtzman! I thought you'd be at the studio all evening. Come and take me away tomorrow," she said, very softly, "and let's play all day! Del Ray or Redondo or Casa del Mar or somewhere. You're a precious boy, you are. Do you love me a little? — Yes, darling, I'm terribly sorry — I thought you'd be at the studio all evening — wait a minute — "
"A/f AX," she said, "something's happened
•'■''-'■that Randy don't have to stay at the studio. Can I ask him to come along?"
"Sure," Max said, "ask him. We'll go to George Olsen's Cotton Club — out to the Plantation."
"Listen, Randy," she said, "Ma.x says, why don't you join us. He says we're going out to the Plantation. Come on, darling— all right, that'll be wonderful — we're going right now — '
She put the telephone away and surveyed her llame-colored gown.
"If Randy's coming," she said, "I'll have to wear something else. He's different. He don't want me sensational. I guess he isn't used to big time — "
Ma.x Kurtzman telephoned for a reservation at George Olsen's. The Chevrolet sped down Beverly Boulevard to the sea; the tower of the Carthay Circle Theater played red and | white searchlights on the sky, the lights of Los .\ngeles were sprinkled on the dark, like jewels on black velvet.
.\t the Plantation, Max always had the same table. Francia was like a hot-house orchid in lavender organdie, silver shoes, a wide, drooping silver transparent hat. The waiter brought iced stuffed celery and crisp sticks of Italian bread.
"I got a letter today," Max said — and hunted for it in his pocket. "If you wasn't as good as headlined already, we'd start in on this lead. He handed her a letter on heavy white stationery;
"Dear Max: I'm having an informal
party tonight. Won't you bring the little
girl you told me about — Miss Delmar?
I'd like to meet her."
It was signed "Richard DLx."
Francia tucked her chin in her hand, a chiffon handkerchief trailing down to the table, thumb and forefinger circled delicately with diamonds.
"I'll have my secretary drop him an R. S. V. P. tomorrow," she said, "and say we're sorry we couldn't be there. Here comes Vic Fleming."
TTHE director came gingerly across the ■* polished floor.
"Hello, Max," he said. Max presented Miss Delmar, and asked the waiter to bring another chair.
"You look like the little girl who played the queen in 'King of Tatters,' " Mr. Fleming said. "I just saw the rushes."
"Really?" she said. "Yes, it was me. What's the answer?"
Fleming took the cigarette Max offered.
"Good little musical show," he said. "Good program picture. Good for the road. That's all they wanted. They got an awful surprise when they saw the kid they picked for a knock-out! What's his name— Seamorc? They thought he was something that would make Colman and Chevalier look like the Smith Brothers. They had a contract fixed up with options on it till Gabriel blows his horn!
"And we took a look at him h
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