The Picture Show Annual (1930)

120 Picture Show Annual SLEEPING BEAUTY'S AWAKENING (Continued from page I 18.) Oho, I see. No, it won t show, as it happens. " He smiled down into the wide, anxious, smoky-blue eyes with more warmth than he realised and patted her shoulder. " Go along now. You know the action ? " Kay nodded and seating herself gingerly on the couch, began to arrange the soft folds of her gown as she had seen Jeannette's maid doing for her mistress. " Just the action now. We'll arrange that presently, said Montaigne. " Ready, Marlow ? " Kay lay back among the silken pillows, her eyes closed, and Terry approached her with less conscious artistry than he had ever used. She was a lovely little thing. He found himself anticipating the kiss of awakening with pleasure. Kay sensed his approach and her heart beat so violently that she was sure its throb must be visible, it seemed as if it must suffocate her. He was very close now. Sud- denly she felt his warm breath on her cheek, then, light as a butterfly's stamp, his hps were on hers. Involun- tarily a little quiver ran through her from head to foot. Slowly her lids fluttered open and she looked full into Terry Marlow's eyes. The expression in them brought a vivid blush creeping up her neck, faintly tmgeing the powdered whiteness of her skin. A little sigh parted her lips, and then, closing her eyes, she snuggled her cheek into the pillows. Her lids fluttered open again. Wonderingly she put out her hand and touched his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed it, and they looked deep into one another's eyes. " Cut ! " The director's voice came as a shock. She had forgotten that this was make-believe. Once more that annoying flush rose up under the layer of grease paint. " That's fine. I don't think we need another re- hearsal. You were much better, Mr. Marlow. Don't look quite so wolfish now, though. This isn't Little Red Riding Hood. Just powder your face. Miss Bramley, where you turned your cheek on to the pillow. " Two studio hands gave the shining floor a last polish with enormous square mops. The cushions on the couch were puffed up again, and once more Kay lay down and the director himself pulled and arranged the folds of her gown to his satisfaction. " Music ! " A tired little man at the piano began thumping out the Barcarolle from " The Tales of Hoffman," cis he had been doing intermittently since four o'clock, while he wondered whether his supper would be steak and onions, or whether it was cold beef from the ham and beef shop because his wife had gone to the pictures, and wishing, anyhow, he could get home and put on his slippers and toast himself before the fire. " Lights ! " The mercury vapour lamps lit up, making the whole set look as if it had been attacked by mildew, turning faces a dull sap green, dyeing lips a hideous leaden purple. " Camera ! Enter, Mr. Marlow. Not too fast " Kay lay there in the flood of green light, motionless, while she waited for the rapture of that kiss. She heard the camera grinding steadily as if far away in the distance ; she vaguely heard the director's voice shouting meaning- less words, then once more came the breath on her cheeks, that brief light kiss, that ecstatic opening of her eyes to gaze into Terry's own and see that expression in them. Without a hitch the scene went through, and Montaigne, beaming all over his face came on to the set. " Splendid ! " he said. " That's what I call acting. Marlow, my lad, you were fine. As for you. Miss Bramley, I don't know what I should have done without you. You'll both come—darnation ! I ve to go out myself to dinner. I leave Miss Bramley in your care, Marlow. I'll be seeing you to-morrow, I know. Good- night ! " He clumped away abruptly and Kay slipped off the fair wig with a sigh. Terry looked down at her with a smile. " Tired ? " he said, and there was a caressing note in his voice that made Kay's heart leap. " Poor Sleep- ing Beauty ! You looked so lovely and so cold lying there that if I had been the Prince I should not have dared to kiss your hps. I am sure it took him more courage to do that than to surmount all the othbr diffi- culties. " But surely in the fairy tale it vfas worth it. They married and lived happily ever after, didn t they ? She smiled up at him, her eyes starry. " Yes. So we are told. And you believe in the fairy tale ending ? " he questioned, then added : " But let s get off the set. All these people want to get away.' He put a coat over her shoulders and led her towards the stairs. Suddenly Kay felt very cold, very tired, very lonely. The play was over, her glorious hour of make-believe. To-morrow she would have no fairy prince. She would be just Kay Bramley. script girl, and Terry would be away on another film, winning other hearts, as he had always done. A sigh escaped her, tears welled up in her eyes, and she sniffed without knowing it. Suddenly she found Terry's arms round her, holding her close in a comforting grip. " What's the matter. Sleeping Beauty ? " he asked, his voice very low and tender. But Kay could not answer. She looked at him dumbly, then breaking from his clasp, fled up the stairs to the dressing-room. It was the old Kay who came down again half-an-hour later. She had taken off her regrets with her gown. If drabness lay before her, she would at least meet it with a smile, and no one at the studio should guess what Terry's glance and that wonderful masquerade had meant to her. She would slip out quickly, lest the sight of Terry should upset her self-control again. She ran down the stairs and bumped right into a dark figure waiting at the bottom. It was Terry. " Why, Sleeping Beauty, where are you going so fast ? " he said. She turned to shake her arm free. " Oh, back again," she replied, a little wildly ; and he did not understand what she meant. She tried to tug her arm away, but he held it firmly, and she" looked at him over her shoulder. Let me go, please. I want to go home. Her eyes looked beseechingly at him, pools of darkness in the paleness of her face, but he swung her round, facing him. " Kay," he said, " you're hysterical. Wfiat you want {Continued on page 160.)