Screenland (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

73 Clark Gable, Carole Lombard, and Louis B. Mayer were interested spectators of the sports events which featured the annual Studio Club picnic. for January 1937 low, the Olga who borrowed Ann's perfume and Pat*s stockings. This was scarcely the gold-digging, wise-cracking, platinum blonde. This Olga was glamorous in inchlone evelashes. This Olga was resplendent in shiny, snaky satin. This Olga spoke with a charming French accent. This Olga had the director at her feet. "You come on the carnival lot," the director was saying, "and you fall in love with the big ballyhoo man. You go for him in a big way. You get him." "Je comprends," said Olga with a languorous wave of a lily-white hand. "You say, "It is the summer night. It is the moon, "it Is the stars. No, it is love!" Olga raised her eyebrows and breathed deeply. "Oui — l'amour — toujours l'amour — " Pat had still to believe her ears. She had still to believe her eyes. But then, this was Hollywood and the strangest things happened in Hollywood. Olga was her buddy — and Olga was a star. What luck! One of the three girls had finally broken the ice. Pat felt like shouting. She felt like turning cartwheels. She was suffused with pride as she joined the admiring circle that was paying homage to the new star. "You're simply colossal," fervently from Emmet Richard Fielding. "You said it!" agreed Olga. Pat ran over to congratulate her. "Hello, Olga. Gosh, but I'm proud of you!" Olga cut her coldly. "I beg your pardon— " -Why, Olga—" "The name is Dupont. Miss Dupont to you — " Pat w-as taken by surprise. "I'm sorry," she murmured. She put her hand to her cheek as if she had been slapped. She felt humiliated before all these people. But it went deeper than that — she loved Olga — they had shared the hills and valleys for so long — fortune and misfortune — the battered community car — and the bumpy community bed. "Sorry," she repeated numbly and she slipped away. It was time for lunch. Slowly, Pat followed the others into the crowded commissar}"Over the partition that divided the royalty from the rabble on the lot, she caught a glimpse of the glamorous Marlene Dietrich, exotic in floating feathers, Gary Cooper shambled past, handsome in cowboy regalia. And then, there was Olga again. Olga saw her. Olga cut her. Pat mounted a stool at the counter. There was a lump in her throat. She was no longer hungry. The sun had gone out of her day. Eddie rushed in and climbed up beside her. "Hello, Honey. What are you having?" "I'm not eating." "Go on ! Have a ham on rye. Gosh, it's hot!" He mopped his brow. "What do you think of Olga?" he asked and he answered: "You could have knocked me over with a feather when they told me the news. What a break ! The boy friend's fixed it up for her." Eddie studied the menu. "Coffee, tea or coke?" He went on in an irrelevant rush of words. "Doing anything tonight?" She remembered Bud. "I've got a date. Sorry." "Come on," he coaxed "Call it off. How about going to the movies with me?" After all. Eddie was a power in this picture business. She capitulated. "I might be able to manage it if we take in the last show." Bud was planning to leave at ten o'clock. "How about nine?" "It's a date. Hope nothing comes up to break it like it did the last time." She thought of all the other times she had made engagements with Eddie only to have them broken. The movies were a hard taskmaster. "Cigarette?" "Thanks." They smoked companionably as they wandered back to the set. In a few minutes, Pat was back in the make-believe world of carnival — gay, lilting, fast, playful. "Hey, you !" called the director. Pat was startled. Here was her chance at last. She stepped forward hopefully. "Not you — ■' The director indicated the blonde beside her. Pat stepped back. There was a dull void where her dream of success in the movies had stood tall and shining only a moment before. Suddenly, everything seemed futile, tangled, hopeless. She thought of the money that was due Gianninni. She thought of the rent that was overdue. She thought of the lost day she might have spent down at the beach with Bud. Bud was right. It all depended upon luck. It was not beauty or ability that counted. It was the breaks. The long afternoon dragged endlessly. Again there were takes and retakes. It was hot under the intense kleigs. It was tiresome waiting around. It was wearisome standing hour after hour in tight little knots listening to the director bark orders, watching the cameraman focus and grind, focus and grind. One by one, the extras dropped out. "Too much pop !" "Yeah, and too much popcorn!" complained a hick beau under his breath. In spite of the iron constitutions for which the extras were noted, the food and the fun began to take their toll. Three of the girls had to be taken to the studio hospital. And two of the carnival constables were sent packing home to bed. Pat was relieved when the day was over. She was glad to turn her costume in, climb into her clothes, get her card punched and collect her money. She walked slowly out of the gate — across the grounds toward the parking lot. She was surprised to find Eddie sitting in her car. "Hello, Eddie." She sounded dejected. "Hello, kid. Better luck next time." He chucked her under the chin. "Keep this up ! You know what I think of you !" He kissed her. "Gee, Eddie. What made you do that?" "I love you, Beautiful, that's what!" He put an arm around her. "Don't you worry. Honey. Won't be long before you're in the lights and I'm in the credits. I'll see to that !" She blinked the mist out of her eyes and summoned the sun in its place. "Thanks, Eddie. Be seeing you tonight. Now don't forget — nine o'clock." "That's just what I was going to tell you. Sorry, kid, but we'll have to make it tomorrow night instead. The chief just sent down word that I'm on tonight. Got to be back at eight o'clock to take some retakes." "Gee, Eddie!" Then: "That's all right, Eddie. I understand." "We'll make it tomorrow for sure " "Sure, Eddie." "Here's one on account — on account of I love you!" Eddie kissed her again. The honk of a horn sounded close at hand. Eddie scowled at the interruption. "Oh, hello, Ann." Pat looked up. Ann and Bud were sitting in the car parked at the curb. There was a strange, twisted little smile on Ann's white face. Bud's lips made a thin, hard line. "Bud thought he could come for you and I would drive Melinda back," proffered Ann lamely. "You can get Eddie to drive you back !"declared Bud savagely. He shifted noisily into second. "Bud's leaving tonight," reminded Ann. "You'll try and be home before ten, won't you?" "I'll be there," promised Pat. "You — we " but the' rest of Ann's words were lost on the wind. Bud's car groaned, shot forward and vanished around the corner. "What's eating him?" demanded Eddie. "Oh, I don't know " Eddie looked hard at Pat. 'You're not in love with that guy?" "No," she decided. "No, I'm not in love with him." The day was like a wheel in her tired head that spun round with the piano man, Mrs. McGuinness, Bud, Olga and now Eddie who had made and broken a date. "I guess I better step on it, Eddie. I'm tired." Eddie clambered out of the car. "See you tomorrow. Baby. S'long." "Good-bye, Eddie." She started the car and without so much as a backward look, she chugged slowly up the hill. (To Be Continued)