Silver Screen (Feb-Oct 1935)

60 Silver Screen for August 1935 Accent on Youth [Continued from page 21] association with Steven. Her eyes never left his face; she was hanging on every word he said. "Old Love" Takes on New Life "Doggone it— I know I am!" Linda loved even his ego. "But, Linda, my sweet, I don't love you or anybody, and if I loved you it would be worse. Why it's like the situation in my play 'Old Love.' Linda!" He sprang to his feet excitedly and Linda stared at him in confusion. "Get your notebook! Angel, you've saved my play! Why didn't I think of it before. How beautifully simple! You detest a middle-aged man making love to a young girl— but you can't blame him if the girl makes love to him. Bless you, Linda! I said get your notebook!" Linda hadn't moved. She got slowly to her feet, crushing her hat against her, tears filling her eyes, tragic unbelief in their depths. "Don't— you're not going to make me write what I said to you?" "Get your notebook! Quick!" Linda moved to the desk as in a trance and laid her hat and gloves down as she reached for a notebook. Steven rushed to the door. "Flogdell! Stop packing! I'm not going :o Finland. And if Miss Geneveive calls I've been run over by a truck but the truck is doing nicely." Then back to Linda at the desk. "Linda, it's marvelous! If we can only find the right actress— of course— you said it and you can play it!" "No! No!" wailed Linda. "I can't act!" "You don't have to act! This is you!" Linda looked about her frantically as though to escape. "I quit! Again!" But Linda didn't quit. She went into the part which was to have been Genevieve's and became an overnight sensation. And Steven, in the months that followed, fell hopelessly in love with her, as did also her young leading man, Dickie Reynolds. When the play closed Steven prepared to show Linda the town. One evening while she was dressing for an appointment with him, Dickie, very drunk, came to her apartment. Linda was taking a shower and the noise of the water prevented her hearing him enter. In almost a stupor he fell on her bed. This was the picture which met Steven's eyes a few minutes later when he arrived. Jealousy and Misunderstanding As he stood looking at Dickie, disgust and unbelief on his lace, he heard Linda in the shower, singing happily. This was too much. One hasty glance he cast in that direction; then, taking his notebook from his pocket, he scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper— "Linda, I was early. Sorry. Lee Tracy and Estelle Taylor bring an atmosphere of romance to the Trocadero. Steven." He pinned this to Dickie's shirt, looked at him bitterly, then with a short, harsh laugh left the apartment. Linda was as surprised as Steven when she came into her bedroom after her shower, and hurt that Steven had not remained to help her find out how Dickie had gotten there and what to do with him. The next day, more angry than hurt, unable to get in touch with Steven and later refusing to answer his calls, she went to his apartment. Steven came in from a walk to find the bewildered Flogdell following her around protesting as she gathered up her photographs and a lampshade she had made for Steven. They faced each other in a bitter argument. Steven asked why she was angry with him and she denied that she was. "So, you're not angry!" he flared up. "What do you call this ... a laughing jag?" She looked at him gravely before walking to the piano against which she leaned. "No— this is despair— because your faith in me is gone and everything is over." "Linda, I have all the faith in the world in you but I know too much about life— about women. You might be an angel straight from heaven but you're so young and Dickie's young. . . ." "You're jealous!" Linda turned and looked at him incredulously. Steven dropped into a chair and ran his hands through his hair. "Dying of it. Every night in that play— my play — he takes you in his arms. Every night in words that I wrote, his youth calls to you . . . every night and two matinees a week. I know nothing happened last night. It's all right. Forget about it." "Why won't you marry me?" Linda pleaded going to his chair and bending over him. Her hair brushed against his cheek, it's fragrance enveloped him like a suffocating fog. With an effort to be calm he took her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the forehead, with the unconcern of a big brother. "Darling, if I were twenty years younger . . ." "I'd hate you!" She walked away from him, back to the piano. "Linda, some day you're going to discover that you belong to youth— that it's something grand, and silly, strange, glorious, and that there's no substitute for it in the whole world. When that happens you mustn't find yourself tied to me." Linda thought this over later that night when she was turning down her bed. There was a sort of preoccupied despair about her. Steven wrote of women so well— strange he knew so little about them. In the midst of her thoughts the doorbell rang and believing Steven had come to tell her he was wrong she rushed to answer it happily, patting her hair into place as she went, but the smile of welcome froze on her lips as she opened the door. "What do you want?" her hands dropped to her side and she backed away as Dickie Reynolds stepped into the room and closed the door. "I want to explain about— about when I was here before. Linda . . ." his voice broke queerly, tensely. "What's the matter with you?" Linda was very frightened. "You! I'm quitting the show on account of you. Don't look at me like that. That's the way you've been looking at me for six months ... as though I was the paper on the wall. I got drunk last night just so that I could break through that look of yours. I love you so darn much I can't see straight." For a moment he looked at her defiantly, then suddenly took her in his arms and kissed her. Just as quickly, he released her and hurried from the room. Linda stared at the spot where he had stood. In panic she seized her coat, pulled it on over her lounging pajamas and rushed from the apartment. Ten minutes later she dashed unannounced into Steven's library, eyes wild, hair disheveled. A Marriage Is Planned "Steven," she said, clutching his arm as he regarded her in surprise. "I'm not going to listen to any more of your crazy arguments. I love you, Steven— for the last time I love you— and if you love me you'll marry me." How lovely she looked, how verv young and desirable, her misty eyes lifted to his— the faint perfume she wore robbing him of reason. "I only hesitated because I wanted to be sure not that you love me now, but that you'll continue loving me," said Steven as he led her to a chair and seated himself on the arm. "Let's go up to Greenwich tomorrow night!" "It's a date!" And springing up she kissed him on the cheek. Not daring to trust himself, Steven went to the piano and commenced playing the scales jocularly while Linda told him they'd ask the cast to an announcement dinner the next night before leaving— all but Dickie, who annoyed her. "Funny," he mused, not looking at her as she leaned against the piano, swinging one sandaled foot. "About Dickie annoying you. Now if I were writing a play I'd have Dickie in love with you." "What put that crazy thought in your head?" Linda stopped swinging her foot and stood stiffly erect. "Well, he's a fine looking kid . . . and it's a good reason for that little visit he paid you. Finally, I'd hint that he doesn't annoy you at all." "I said he does!" snapped Linda irritably, walking away from the piano. Steven's eyes followed her short, jerky progress across the room. "Of course, he does . . . but in the play . . . he doesn't. In fact, I'd suggest that you like him a lot more than you're telling. But thank goodness I'm a pianist not a playwright." The following evening Dickie called on Steven and told him he was leaving the show. Dickie, as the son of wealthy, socially prominent parents had only been trying his hand at acting and, realizing this, Steven ribbed him considerably. Dickie was ill at ease, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room turning from side to side to follow Steven as he roamed about. Finallx Dickie asked why he hadn't been invited to the dinner and pleaded for a chance to talk with Linda. As he related what had occurred between himself and Linda, Steven paced the floor restlessly, then angrily, but Dickie, absorbed in his own emotion, didn't notice. Steven told Dickie Linda was due any minute and went out. But Linda wasn't pleased at seeing Dickie. When he tried to get near her she gave him an impatient shove and told him not to annoy her. Angrily he swung her into his arms, kissing her again and again, as he had done once before. Linda pushed against him, her hands beating his shoulders fiercely. But as Dickie continued his kisses her resistance broke down and she lay passive in his arms not understanding the strange, tingling sensation which warmed her like a glass of wine. Shaken. Dickie released her ... a moment they stared at each other. Linda had experienced an emotion swift and consuming ai 1