Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1936)

104 PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE FOR SEPTEMBER. 1936 Bride. . Queen . . Martyr ALL IN NINE DAYS You'll cry and love it! "Because little Lady Jane is my favorite character, and her love story my favorite love story ... I was a tough audience ... I ended up in tears on my knees ... I sincerely believe that it is one of the great pictures . . ." — Adela Rogers St. Johns "LIBERTY" Cedric HARDWIGKE Nova PILBEAM NINE DAYS a Queen JOHN MILLS DESMOND TESTER SYBIL THORNDIKE Directed h Robert Stevenson COMING TO YOUR FAVORITE THEATRE iA @fflTroduction In October PHOTOPLAY 1 1 ladanio (2/vlvia CJxeiurns with a wealth of new ideas to restore you to beauty. Be sure to read her frank, amusing, inimitable comments as to why women skid on the beauty road — how she, keeps the stars from doing so — how you, yourself, can quickly emerge from the summer beauty slump. Regularly, henceforth, you will find Sylvia's famous articles exclusively in PHOTOPLAY in the film magazine field. And with them you will be offered a free service on your individual good looks problems — worth far more than the subscription price. For the sake of your health and happiness, get a copy of — October PHOTOPLAY— Out September 10th "-y X He looked at her with a distressed diffidence. Then, his face became troubled. "I suppose," he said, "you're wondering why I don't ask you to marry me, Sue?" She nodded, wordless. He went on vehemently, for he was unaware of the hidden crisis within her: "I've got nothing to offer you, Sue. Why, damn it,. I don't earn as much as you do! What future is there r a small-town reporter? None!" "Tommy!" she whispered; and if he had un;nt the least little bit, she would have surrendered then and cancelled all the future. But he was young and stiff and clear-headed enough to see the truth in what he said. "I'm not going to be a stumbling block to you," he told her, soberly. "I'll always love you, Sue. That is — in my own quaint way — which is not your impetuous way, I'm afraid." She hadn't answered that. Emotion silenced her. He smiled then, his young eyes serious with some private jest. "Maybe we don't understand love the same way, Sue," he said. " I want you to make good — to be famous. I'm willing to make the sacrifice. Take your big chance and we'll see what happens. One thing's certain — I'll never marry you unless I make a lot of money — more than you do. People need money — in this world " I IIS letters had been strangely impersonal. ' 'She had written little. Her crushing fiasco, after all the brave hopes, humbled her; and when she had had to appear befoie Mammoth's casting director, practically stripped, something deep within her rebelled. It meant sixtysix dollars a week, however, and it was that — or starve. She was grateful for her rescue at Bill Lederer's hands; and she loved her job as script girl. " Keep your eyes open." Bill had advised her in the beginning. "This is one way to learn how to act in pictures. Study the technique of all the actresses. It may come in handy — later." A S the luminous California night fell, she ' * a rose from her reveries and began to dress. It was time to get her dinner together. And then the phone rang. "Hello — Duchess?" said a thick voice. "Say — come over to Victor Hugo's, an' we'll kill a fresh bottle." She recognized the nickname. It was Bill Lcderer, and he was drunk. "Bill," she said, "why don't you go home? I — " "Go any place but home," he objected. "Gettin' gloriously plastered, Duchess. Wish you'd come over — too damn' lonesome, all b' m'self. Gonna drive over t' th' Vendome. Come along?" "I'll come," she decided suddenly. If Bill drove a car in his present condition, he'd kill himself. Recklessly she hailed a taxi, for it was beginning to rain, and directed the driver to the cafe. She found Bill sitting in his open roadster, his head nodding. He was drenched with rain. "Bill!" she said sternly. "You're drunk!" "Wouldn't be surprised," he gravely informed her. "If I'm not — I been cheated. Le's celebrate, Duchess There's a place on th' Coast Highway, near Ventura, where they have swell drinks — " She stopped him. She had never seen Bill away frcm the studio before. Viewing him now it struck her, suddenly, that Bill was very good-looking. It seemed a surprising discovery somehow. "Come on," he insisted vacantly. "Le's celebrate." "Celebrate what?" she snapped. "My nom — nom 'nation t' th' doghouse," he told her. "Wouldn't it be better if you went home?" asked Sue. " You're in no condition to be out. Bill — we're both getting soaking wet! I'll help you put the top up." I I E climbed out of the car groggily and came 'to her side. The rain had increased to a downpour. In no time at all Sue was drenched to the skin and her dress was a wreck. Bill, too, looked like a scarecrow. "I'm quitting," he told her. "T'hell with Hollywood. Goin' back east, t' Broadway." He was so deadly white as to look ill. Sue said: " Bill, you'll have to go home. You're ill and drenched to the skin. Y'ou'll have to set into dry clothes." Without answering, he obediently climbed back into the car and seated himself at the wheel. It was plain murder, Sue saw, to let him attempt driving. On impulse she sail: "Mo\e over, Bill. I'll drive you home. Where do you live?" He slid away from the driver's seat and sat, his chin on his chest. "Beverly Hills," lie muttered sleepily, giving her the address Sue started the car. There was no use in trying to get the top up by herself, so she drove in the blinding rain. By the time she turned