Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1936)

94 PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE FOR NOVEMBER, 1936 • * • • FOR FASHIONABLE CURVES mOLDS tv FOR THE JUNIOR FIGURE MOLDS can take a figure without lines . . . and give it the graceful curves that feature the current Fashions. MOLDS by FLEXEES is a feathery bit of figure-forming magic . . . smooth, snug, and as friendly to constant tubbing as a good handkerchief. Made of lacey LASTIQUE ... lovely to look at and easy to wear. At good stores everywhere. Garment illustrated $5. Other MOLDS $3.50 to $7.50. ARTISTIC FOUNDATIONS, Int.. 417 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY • *********** sands; and a fire. Later the guests, in elaborate lounging pajamas, sat around the living room and talked in lazy relaxation, sipping their drinks. Behind Sue, Kessler's peevish voice said: "You can't buy him off. It's not money he's after. And we can't afford a messy lawsuit, God knows!" Paul Elsmere's low voice murmured something inaudible. Quite inadvertently Sue distinctly heard Kessler's reply. " You don't know this business like I do, Elsmere. Any bad publicity would be fatal. Do you want the Hays' office to get busy with the morality clause? Huh! It would kill the biggest box office in years! And the Purity Legion! I tell you, I gotta do something— ' His voice trailed away and was lost under the laughter of those guests surrounding Sue. She dismissed Kessler's conversation from her mind, never dreaming it could have any bearing on her life. C EVERAL nights later, unable to sleep, a^ thrill with the prospect of realizing her most ambitious dreams, Sue sat by her window. She watched a theatrical moon flood the world with an eerie, white veneer. The indescribable freshness and sweetness of blossoming summer was in the quiet air, the soft "hush!" of the surf. The flint fragrance of the gardens filled the air with a tapestry of living perfume. It was late. All the guests had gone to bed. She had a sudd;n urge to go down into the garden and revel in its freshness. She threw a silk robe over her pajamas and stole down the dark stairs. She passed through the foyer of the combination game and drawing room, and paused irresolutely. From the far music room came the faint notes of a piano. On impulse, she walked to the door and looked in, wondering who would be playing so late at night. It was Paul Elsmere, intent over the keys, under the soft light of a single electric bulb in a shaded lamp near him. He looked up and saw her. "Hello, Sue!" he said. "There's a melody that's been bothering me for days. I'm trying to find it. I always work best at night. Come in and contribute a little inspiration, will you? " He didn't wait for an answer. He turned to the piano, his long, artistic fingers sweeping the keyboard with the sure touch of the master, the composer at a loved instrument. It responded with a soft, glad burst of melody, exotic, fascinating. Curiously she advanced into the room and sat down. Once or twice his eyes went to hers. A golden flood of brilliant chords poured from his fingers, like raindrops across the surface of sunlit waters. Fascinated, Sue wondered where the melody came from. Was it possible that any piano held such heavenly music? Under his skilled fingers rollicking gaiety danced into the room in a rioting flood. He played as one inspired, his head bent in an attitude of listening, as if he slightly stooped to catch some unheard, celestial prompting. A MIN( »I\ sadness wove itself into the fabric ' \>f the music; something that clutched at her throat; something so full of tears that she caught her breath. She viewed the gaunt planes of his intensely intellectual face. It seemed to be illuminated In' some anient inner lire Here was a man with perceptions line as a needle and delicate as mercury, to wlom music was an emotion. Faintly the music trailed off, like a soft carillon in a misty Flemish dawn, ineffably sweet and poignant. He turned to her as if comin; out of a trance. "The central theme words," he told her, "are — T love you.' " "I know," said Sue. "What is it?" "Something of my own. A theme song for my next musical." "I — didn't know you could play like that." she said softly. "What a marvelous gift! But then, you have so many." "Tricks," he said. "Please," she asked, "play something else." His eyes narrowed suddenly, watering her. then he turned again to the piano. Softly the Moonlight Sonata took form, gently, almost caressingly, and Sue sat bemused, enchanted When he finished, her eyes, to her surprise, were brimming. "That," she whispered, "was too lovely for words." In the electric silence that followed, she sat as one bewitched. An eerie, green moonbeam thrust a pale finger through the window, and by melodramatic chance, fell across her as she sat there. It gave her the grave and religious loveliness of some young saint. The still figure at the piano stirred. As le arose, she too came to her feet in clairvoyant response. He swept her into his arms, her pliant warmth and fragrance invading him. He kissed her with a lingering passion, a checked ardor that made her tremble. Her eyes opened slowly, then slowly they closed. But the kiss continued through an eternity of experiences. With a slight, involuntary movement of her shoulders, she pushed him firmly away and looked up at him, aware of a frozen moment of crisis. I IER blood was beating in her ears. An all ' 'illuminating moment of white logic drove home the stark, unadorned truth that she loved this tall, sardonic young man with all the ardor of her youth and strength. She had never believed herself capable of such an intensity of emotion and longing as now swept over her. She saw his white, tense face sway toward her. and she raised slim fingers in prohibition. "No!" she whispered. "Don't! I — " "It's too late. Sue," he breathed. Her name, on his lips, was an infinite caress "Neither of us — can stop now." " No," she acknowledged faintly. Her mouth was against his, moist, unbelievably sweet and innocent. His studied affectations deserted him. He held her desperately close, seating her on his knees as he sat down on the couch. She clung to him with a desperate defenseIessness, stampeded, her eyes brimming. Over and over a^ain she murmured: "Darling' I love you so. darling!" He sat for a long moment like a man in some bizarre nightmare He was inconceivably stunned by the emotion that contracted his heart. For the first time in his life he had fallen genuinely and terribly in love. Momentarily he tried to jeer. He knew himself for a vo luptuarv. addicted to caprice and self-indulgence. Could this happen to him? Had experience given him no antitoxin of immunity? lie hail deliberately, maliciously, provoked this, and the paradox was that he had found out something about himself which lie did not suspect — or even credit