Fancies and Goodnights Part 9

"My dear fellow! This is the twentieth century."

"Well then, clear off!"

"Have a cigar."

"Listen. I'm a tough customer."

"So am I. Which reminds me: I thought we might do a new version of Jekyll and Hyde. I could play the lead. Watch!"

"Phew!"

"Queen! Everyone hates seeing me like that. There was a saint I once looked in on. She said she'd rather spend the rest of her life on red-hot needles than see me like that for one second. Flattering, in a way. But don't you worry, Rythym, you and I are going to get along like blazes."

"Yes! Yes, indeed! Stay as you are now, that's all I see that I'm in for it. I'll do anything you like."

"That's what I like about writers. Well, now, what are we going to do about making films?"

"Take a friendly word of advice. You don't want to make pictures. It's nothing but worry. Besides, you'll get mixed up with a lot of actors."

"I have always found the players very congenial."

"I guess you've been rather out of things recently. You haven't seen some of our stars."

"My dear Rythym, forgive me, but I'm supposed to have rather a good way with people. As for the worry - pooh! I've been a top executive in one of the biggest organizations in existence. Nothing but grumbling and complaints! Now I've retired, and I mean to enjoy myself."

"Well, why not sit back?" said I. "Sit back and take it easy?"

"You should see my throne! No, my dear fellow, I'm crazy to start in making pictures. You concentrate on finding a story. I'll stay here to interview the press. And, by the way, there's someone coming here to see me soon. Your excellent agent found her for me. A clean English girl. Fresh! Unspoiled!"

"I know that sort"

"I think not, Rythym. She's a mere child! I'm going to groom her for stardom. In fact, she may be here already." He rang a bell. "Has a Miss Windhover arrived?"

"Yes, sir. She's waiting."

"Show her in."

In a moment Miss Windhover had entered, again like a patch of sunshine, outdoing the costly electric glare.

"Oh, Mr. Mahound. I ... I ... I ..."

He patted her hand rea.s.suringly. "Now, now, my dear! Not nervous, surely? Always remember that you have talent, the thing that money can't buy. Remember that. It will give you poise. Miss Marlene Dietrich has poise. I want you to have poise, too."

"If you knew what it's been like, Mr. Mahound. The struggle for small parts. The cheap boarding-houses. And Daddy's been so cross. And Mummy cries. Why are one's people always such sn.o.bs? They're dears, of course, old-fashioned dears. Why are one's people always so old-fashioned?"

"There, there, my dear. It's all over now. Think of the big lights. Wealth! Fame! Parties in Beverly Hills!"

"And my art!"

"Yes. Yes. Your art."

"It comes first. And, of course, doggies."

"Yes, indeed. My dear Rythym, Miss Windhover loves dogs. Could you, possibly... ?"

Not too pleased, I took the telephone and called Room Service.

"Some dogs. For Miss Belinda Windhover."

"Sorry, sir. Pet-shops all shut by now."

"Do you call this service? Are there none in the hotel?"

"Only Myra de Falla's."

"She's slipping. Send 'em up."

The page soon arrived with two Borzois, four Scotties, and a pug. Belinda Windhover was delighted. "Oh, doggies!"

"See how she kisses them, my dear Rythym. You think she will make a star?"

"Listen, Mahound, I can see you're going to spoil that girl."

"Nonsense. I flatter myself I have a way with people. I want you to take her out, study her psychology, write her a big part."

"Let her study the part. To h.e.l.l with her psychology!"

"Oh, come, my dear Rythym!"

"I won't," said I. "That's flat."

"Well! Well! I say, just look at this parquet floor. One of the blocks is loose."

As I looked, he dislodged a block with his toe. The effect was extraordinary. I seemed to be looking down to an infinite depth, at a vast number of highly animated figures in a flame-coloured setting. Mr. Mahound edged the block into place again, and the vision was gone.

"Phew!"

"What did you say, my dear Rythym?"

"I said, 'yes.'"

"You will spend the evening with Miss Windhover?"

"Yes."

"And explore her psychology?"

"Yes."

"Ah, here are the reporters! Come in, gentlemen! Come to. I want you all to meet Miss Belinda Windhover. She gave up a refined home for her art. Write it down."

"OK. We know it. Old-fashioned parents."

"Well, take a photograph. Here she is, being groomed for stardom in Mahound Pictures Incorporated. Here are her beloved dogs."

"O.K. We know them. Hallo, Mirza! Hallo, Bobbles! Remember when Nancy North had 'em, boys?"

"She's slipped."

"And Lucille Lacey. She was always took with the pug."

"She's slipped, too."

"Maybe they ain't house-trained. O.K. Frame up. What about this gent?"

"I'm a writer."

"Fine! You can hold the leg of my tripod. O.K. Shoot Miss Belinda Windhover. And you're Mr. Mahound?"

"I will tell you my intentions with regard to the renascence of the American Film Industry."

"Sure. Let's get Belinda with the big white dogs. They're cla.s.s. Where's your sables, Miss Windhover?"

"Sables for Miss Windhover, my dear Rythym."

"Yes." Annoyed, I took up the telephone again.

"Sables."

"Sorry, sir. Can't buy sables at this hour."

"What sort of joint is this? Are there none in the hotel?"

"Plenty, sir. There's Miss Pauline Powell's."

"She's slipping. Bring 'em up."

Soon the photographs were all taken. The pressmen withdrew.

"Now, young people, I'm going to send you off to make friends with one another."

"Oh, Mr. Mahound, aren't you coming along?" cried Belinda with an arch pout and wiggle.

"Call me Nicholas, my dear. Tonight, alas, I can't be with you. I've a great deal to attend to."

"But," said she, "do you think I ought to be seen about with a writer?"

"Mr. Rythym is a very distinguished writer, my dear. What's more, he's my right-hand man."

"Yes, and I'm going to explore your psychology."

This cheered the future star a little. "I want to know all about my psychology," said she as we went down in the elevator. "I'm not going to be an ordinary actress, Mr. Rythym. I'm going to be intellectual. And at the same time I like nothing better than cooking, just simple things, in a simple play-suit. I'm going to ask Clark Gable, and Katharine Hepburn, when I get properly known, and Gary Cooper, and give them little cookies I bake myself."

"Fine! Stick to that idea. I like it."

"And you'll tell me all about my psychology?"

"Sure," said I. "We'll go into it together. Come on."

Next day, I spent a lot of time with Mr. Mahound. His suite was full of orchids and cablegrams.

"People are getting excited," said he, rubbing his hands.

"Yes."

"We're going to do great things."

"Yes."

"Now, what about our Belinda? Can you fit a part to her psychology?"

"Yes. I'm sure of it."

"Did she ... talk about me at all last night?"

"She did. She thinks you're the cat's pyjamas."

"The cat's pyjamas, eh? Rythym, we're going to do great things. Great things! Run along."

I ran along to the restaurant where I was to meet Belinda. She seemed to have acquired poise overnight "Mr. Rythym. How do you do?"

"Listen. A film studio is the greatest democracy in the world. You can call me Charlie."

"Yes. I'm just simple. I like to cook. How's Mr. Mahound?"

"Belinda, he's wild about you."

"Tell me. Is he one of the really great producers?"

"The biggest of all. He's got all the money in the world."

"Yes, Charlie. But there's one thing money can't always buy, not in England anyway. Or is that just a thought of my own?"

"You mean talent. I can guess your thoughts, Belinda."

"Don't do that. You see, my people are old-fashioned. I think I'd like to play Juliet."

"It's been done."