Screenland (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

72 SCREENLAND 3 Girl s on a Match Continued from page 25 "Stage number five— why, that's the carny picture— that's the one I'm shooting ! Got a bit?" "Sure. I'm the Siamese twins!" "How about taking both of you to lunch? Got a date?" "Well " "Well, you've got one now. Been meaning to buzz you — been meaning to roll around to the house — but you know how it is in this business !" His sharp blue eyes probed her shy mood. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you, Beautiful, but it's a long story and I'm short on time." He consulted his watch. "I'll see you at chow. Hold up till then !" Pat was left standing breathless in the middle of the studio street. The day — the job — and now Eddie — it all made a gay carousel that spun her round and round. She wished she had worn her best brown suit. She was glad she had borrowed Olga's furs. She wondered what had prompted the invitation to lunch. She was curious to know what he wanted to see her about. "Where in the world is the wardrobe department?" interrupted a voice beside her. "This is my first day on the lot." "I'll take you there," offered Pat. "I'm going there myself." It was crowded in the wardrobe department. It was noisy. A happy confusion filled the air. The wardrobe mistress was calling out sizes and assigning costumes. Rows upon rows of colorful costumes hung from the racks. The shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling were packed with shoes and hats and wigs. The glass cabinets were crammed with costume jewelry. Everybody was talking. Everybody was laughing. The workaday world was in high spirits. Pat, assigned to a costume, took her place beside the others at the long line of make-up mirrors. Powder flew. There was a faint singe of hair being curled. Someone told a funny story. Pat broke into a popular song. Three girls took up the chorus. A warm flush rose on Pat's cheek and stayed there. This was the happy fever which sent the rich blood coursing through her veins. She was working — part of a great pattern — a cog in the most fascinating game on earth. Her whole being sang with joy as she slipped into her blue Louisa May Alcott costume with its big bustle and its leg of mutton sleeves. She tied the ribbons of her bonnet in a saucy bow under her chin. A ruffled parasol completed the portrait that pirouetted in the glass. The mirror substantiated Eddie. Pat was beautiful. She wished that Bud could see her — Ann — Olga — Pop — Mom — the kids back home in Tallahassee. She wished a big director like King Henry — or William Keighley — or George Stevens — could see her, could say to Zanuck — to Mervyn LeRoy — to Briskin — that here was star material. "All onstage!" came the call. "Onstage!" They were shooting an old-fashioned carnival picture. The set was crowded with bewhiskered Deacons, burlesque constables and Joey clowns. Hick beaux strolled about sporting fifteen dollar mail order suits. Pat stumbled over the guy ropes and animal wagons and took her place under a crepe paper apple tree in full bloom. Every now and then, she was pelted by a flurry of cotton petals that drifted to the ground. THE STORY UP TO NOW For three years Pat O'Day has struggled along in Hollyivood on the meager earnings of occasional work as an extra, sharing cramped quarters in an apartment zvith Ann Dewey and Olga Dupont, also striving for screen careers. Now Bud Bradley, boyhood sweetheart, is insisting that she forget her ambition and return to Tallahassee and marry him. Ann frankly tells Pat that she wishes some boy like Bud Zi'ould offer her a home. Olga is tired of trying to get ahead by 'working up from an extra, and noiv is banking on the influence of Emmet Richard Fielding, whose profile is famous on the screen and whose love life has been spread on front pages. Bud is telling Pat she must decide today, for tomorrozu he returns to the old home town. Just then a call comes from a studio. It's just another extra job, but Pat can't resist. She sets out, with Bud protesting that she must decide between him and her hoped-for career by tonight. The sound crew set up the mikes. The director, the leading man, and the script girl seated themselves in the charmed circle of canvas chairs. "Lights !" yelled the head cameraman and vanished behind his camera like a jack-in-the-box. "Lights !" echoed the head electrician popping out from a platform high in the rafters. "Lights!" piped a familiar voice. It was Eddie in the isinglass visor and brown leather putties, his voice a call and echo across the vast stretches of the gigantic stage. Pat watched him proudly : "Friend of mine," she whispered to the girl beside her. "You're lucky !" came the envious comment.' "In this business, there's nothing like having a in " "You said a mouthful!" agreed an extra who was playing the part of a portly matron. "Say, how about some bridge while we're waiting for the mob scene? DEAR READERS : There was a mistake in the first instalment of this story, so if it didn't make sense, please don't blame the author. The three girls go to the window— and nothing happens. But that isn't the way Beth Brown wrote it — and Pat, Olga and Ann are pretty mad about it. Were you able to puzzle it out ? Gosh ! We're sorry ! It'll be hours before they're ready for us." "Poker for me!" "I brought my knitting." Pat borrowed a magazine. One by one, the extras settled down to their favorite pastimes. Some read, others talked shop and love and dirt and religion and life hereafter. The children were herded together and seated at the school room table where the studio tutor set them to work at algebra and geography. Nine o'clock gave way to ten and ten to eleven. It was these waits between takes that made motion picture work so tiresome. Finally, the head electrician shouted down : "Ready, Boys ?" "Ready," came the answer. "Ready, sir," relayed Eddie to the head cameraman who in turn relayed the word to the assistant director, who in turn relayed it to the director himself. All on the set were instantly alert. Knitting and book and small talk were dropped. "Lights, O.K.!" "Sound, O.K.!" "Silence !" "Camera !" "Cut!" "O.K." They were ready to shoot the scene. The extras gathered around the director. "Now here it is " They listened intently while he explained what he wanted. All that was required of them was to frolic through a fun house, slide the chute-thechutes, ride the loop-the-loops, race through the revolving barrel, and gorge on popcorn, ice cream, hamburgers and lemonade. That sounded easy enough. The shooting started and the fun began. It was jolly at first, but after two hours of eating, leaping, falling, laughing, yelling and doing it over, again and again and still again, it became work, hard work. Pat bent all her energy to the task. She tried to catch the camera's eye. She tried to elicit the director's "That's good!" To be singled out from all the others was the aim of each and every extra — and for Pat to be singled out, meant more to her today than any other day. It meant the difference between staying in Hollywood or going back to Tallahassee with Bud. But luck did not favor her and the mob scenes came to an end. "Cut!" yelled the director. "Cut!" echoed Eddie. "Ready for the new star?" "Ready!" echoed the crew. The extras retreated in hot panting groups. Pat sank into a chair, dabbing her wet face. "Calling Miss Dupont " sang the head cameraman. "Calling Miss Dupont " echoed Eddie. Pat looked up and smiled. No doubt Eddie was playing one of his proverbial pranks. But now the director himself was calling for Miss Dupont. No, Pat was not dreaming. Sure enough, here came Olga escorted by Emmet Richard Fielding, and followed by a respectful coterie. "May I, Miss Dupont?" the make-up man proffered a powder puff. "The script. Miss Dupont?" obsequiously from the assistant director. "Here you are, Miss Dupont." Eddie was holding a chair Pat stared. This was scarcely the bankrupt Olga of the shabby two-room bunga