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shadow sliding across fields, leaping a hill. She smoothed her gray skirt and Blue jumped up, snuggled down on her lap, shivering against the noise. She'd had to give all the other cats away. "There, there, kitten," stroking and soothing him until he went to sleep. Then she opened her book, a life of Bernhardt. It was an old friend; she'd read it at the library many times, now she'd bought a copy to sustain her in the new world. Blue and Bernhardt. During the night, Blue mewed so shrilly the conductor took him to another compartment.
For her arrival, Mae wakened early and dressed with care. A little red-and-white checked suit, red shoes, a big red hat. She poked her head out the train door, eyes wide with anticipation, one small foot arched in its red shoe.
No carpet! A few sleepy porters trundling carts in the hot sun, and down the platform a bunch of red roses. The roses came toward her. From behind them emerged a pleasant-looking man in sport coat and cap. He mopped his hot face.
"Miss Murray? I'm Jenkins, Paramount Personnel Department. Mr. Lasky asked me to say hello and welcome you to . . ."
"Where's the band?" she cried.
"I beg your pardon."
"I thought ... I was promised my train would be met with . . ."
He laughed. "A band? No. We're corny, but not as corny as you sophisticated New Yorkers would make us out. May I have your baggage checks?"
She managed a slight smile. "Will you ask the conductor about my cat ? He's a lovely Persian with orange eyes. He was so nervous, out of Chicago, they called in a veterinary and moved him into the next car, into a room of his own. He has a carrying basket."
"Don't worry," Jenkins said.
"He's all I brought with me."
She sat in the limousine, with a lap full of roses, waiting for the kitten. The sun was terribly hot. It would never do to cry.
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