Avril smiled in Barton Druce’s level eyes. ‘I’m very, very sorry to hear about Mr. Schultzer’s difficulties,’ she said, ‘and I refused a rise in salary from Mr. Hinckman when he asked me to break my contract the first day I was in Hollywood—but this is quite different—if Mr. Schultzer is willing, I shall be very pleased to accept your offer.’
‘Okay—that’s great stuff, and I’m mighty glad to hear that you turned Hinckman down, I take it that I can rely on your good faith, Miss Bamborough, to refuse any similar offer in the future?’
‘Once I have signed a contract,’ said Avril gravely, ‘I should never dream of breaking it.’
‘Then we’ll get down to the details right away. Pacific contracts differ in some ways from Ubiquitous, but not in essentials—we’ll fix the main points now—rget the contract drafted tomorrow, and you can sign up the day after.’
He moved over to his big desk with Avril and Schultzer beside him. Vitelma and Nelson were left standing at the other end of the room.
‘What in heck possessed you to bring that wench into my Lab?’ he asked angrily, nodding in Avril’s direction.
Vitelma’s eyes opened wide. ‘Just listen to the boy friend now!’ she appealed to the empty air. ‘If that isn’t the limit. Why, I thought she was a little friend of yours—you both got worked up enough about the exotics—I’ll say—seemed to me you’d made a proper hit.’
‘Ah, you don’t understand—she’s a nice kid all right—I got nothin’ against her, but I wish you’d get wise to it for good an’ all that the work I’m doin’s secret. The “Z” Projector’s the most important thing in motion pictures since the talkies hit the screen. I don’t want half Hollywood to know what I’m on—there’s plenty of people’d take a chance on shooting me up if they knew what I’d got in my Lab and thought they could lay hands on it. You haven’t done no harm today, I don’t suppose, but for the Lord’s sake act sensible another time and don’t come butting in with strangers.’
‘All right—all right—don’t get sore, Honey! People aren’t all that interested in your little box of tricks—you’re not the only clever boy in Hollywood—there’s scores of other fellers got labs, an’ they don’t make all this fuss.’
Nelson Druce smiled quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Honey—don’t go and get all het up. I’m just a bit worried, that’s all. Now smile a little and be your angelic self—there—that’s the way, you sure are the loveliest darling in all the world—and I’m bats about you.’
Barton Druce got up from his desk. ‘That’s fine, Miss Bamborough, I’ll introduce you to Cyril de Rille, my principal producer, tomorrow, then we can go right ahead. By the by, does it happen you’re free tomorrow evening?’
‘Yes.’ Avril nodded. ‘I don’t think I am doing anything.’
‘Then I’d be glad if you’d join us for dinner, we’re going after to the Premiere of “This Brave New World”, it’s not a Pacific production, but Trans-Continental Electric’s new super film. Hinckman and I don’t love each other none, but we still shoot each other free seats for our new shows—trade custom—an’ they tell me it’s a great spectacle. Nelson and Vitelma’ll be here, and it ’ud be great to have you come along. Okay?—I’ll send the car to pick you up at your hotel—where’re you staying—Garden Palace, isn’t it?’
Avril’s ‘Yes’ was almost drowned in the roar of a high-powered engine. At first it sounded almost like an aeroplane, but as it stopped they realised that it was a huge car with an open exhaust which had pulled up at the front door.
‘Now who in the world’ll that be?’ Barton Druce looked out through the vista of wide rooms to the hall. ‘Why, it’s Handsome!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come right in, Handsome. How de do?’
Handsome Harry Honeydew strolled in, a broad smile on his face. ‘Waal, folks?’ he asked. ‘Heard the great news?’
‘I’ll buy it,’ said Barton Druce.
Handsome’s smile broadened into a grin. ‘I’m going to produce—direct—and star, in three great Super Films—can yer beat it?’
Barton Druce’s face became grave. ‘You’re sure crazy, the way things are at the moment,’ he said seriously.
‘Not on your life, I’m not. Trans-Continental Electric are financing them—and they’re to be made on their lot.’
‘Handsome! You don’t mean that! You ain’t gone in with that bunch, have you?’
‘I certainly do. They took over Reno Limited this afternoon, and I’m to make three Super Films.’
Vitelma clapped her hands. ‘Oh, boy—now isn’t that just great—what a marvellous break!’
The knuckles of Barton Druce’s hand showed white as he clutched the back of his chair. ‘You stupid fool!’ he burst out. ‘If you’d held your interest in Reno’s you’d still have been making motion pictures in ten years’ time. As it is—you may make these three—but after that they’ll never let you make another. Haven’t you the sense to see? It’s Von Sternheim they’ve bought—not you!’
6
This Brave (?) New World
The following evening Barton Druce sent for Avril as he had promised, and she dined quietly with him, Nelson and Vitelma.
After dinner, as they drove into the great Trans-Continental Electric cinema—the Ocean Palace—Avril became quite excited; she had attended many first nights in London, both of the Theatre and the Screen, but this was her first Hollywood Premiere.
Outside, the night signs flashed, the streets were thronged. On such occasions the crowds of Hollywood never fail to turn out in force to see the famous stars and the great producers arrive; those magnates upon whom the very life blood of their city depends.
Inside, the foyer was packed with people, and as Avril looked about her she found that now she knew quite a number of faces with certainty, whereas a fortnight before they would have been only vaguely reminiscent through the medium of the screen.
The vast house was a blaze of light when they entered. At the back of the Grand Circle was a tier of private boxes, and Barton Druce, as the head of Pacific Players, had been allotted one of these. Hinckman himself occupied the next box, with him was one of his principal directors, who had made the picture, Handsome Harry Honeydew, and the famous German, Von Sternheim. Walt J. Cinch was in another box further along, and besides him sat the tall, lean figure of Rudy Stillman.
Percy Piplin was not in evidence, nor were the Mary banks. They remained supreme—aloof—the Olympians of Hollywood. In the seats below Avril caught sight of Ronnie Sheringham. Why didn’t the man go on the films, she wondered once more; he positively exuded personality. That fine head of his, the broad shoulders, and the slightly eccentric but beautifully cut evening-clothes—the male stars paled beside him.
The door at the back of the box opened and Angelo came in. Avril’s brows contracted into a quick frown. In his beringed hand the Italian carried a vast bouquet of flowers. His white teeth flashed into a smile as he presented them.
‘I finda you again, eh? Angelo always finda you when he want. Please to accep’, Madonna, zis little gif’.’
Avril was angry and embarrassed. The man was becoming something more than a nuisance. She had come to dread the stare of his hot, hungry eyes, and there was something beastly and unclean about his loose, moist mouth. She turned quickly away and looked at the auditorium.
‘My—but ain’t they lovely!’ Vitelma exclaimed, ‘exotics, too.’
Nelson Druce came to the rescue, in one swift glance he had realised the situation. ‘This is a private box,’ he said firmly. ‘I guess you’d better fade out of here.’
Angelo, for once in his life, was taken aback by so complete a rebuff. ‘I leava de flowers,’ he said after a moment. ‘Den maybe you taka dem home and dream der happy dream ’bout Angelo.’ He laid the bouquet upon the floor and left the box.
Vitelma’s beautiful face showed sudden malice as she said sweetly to Avril: ‘Well, I’ll say you haven’t wasted much time getting a boy-friend. But you sure do treat ’em rough.’
>
‘You’re nuts, Vitelma,’ said Nelson Druce quickly. ‘That rotten little wop has been pestering Miss Bamborough ever since she set foot in Hollywood. You sure don’t think she’d take one of Hinckman’s gunmen for a beau?’
‘Say, now.’ Vitelma was all eyes. ‘Is that what he is? Well, p’raps you’re right—I’m all for a quiet life myself—but he’s a good-looker all right, in that Italian sort of way.’
Nelson Druce laughed. ‘I’ll be getting jealous in a moment, Honey.’
Vitelma smiled at him archly. ‘If you don’t make a fuss of me I’ll give you lots of cause.’
He laughed again. ‘I guess I won’t give you any opportunity, not when I’ve got you to myself, in the fall.’
Avril had ignored the incident to the best of her ability. She was grateful when the house went dark and the programme opened with a slap-stick comedy.
The film was one of the hundreds which are made annually to fill the yawning maw of a greedy but uncritical multitude. It was mildly funny and exceedingly well-photographed—by the time that it was over every seat in the house was occupied, yet before the big film there was still an Alt Risney Songalogue to come.
Even the sophisticated picture-goers of Hollywood were compelled to laugh at the antics of the absurd fish with owllike eyes, and the dog which used its tail as a marline-spike and its body as a life-buoy—but Avril missed a good deal of the film because Hinckman had joined them in the box.
He leaned against the door, his hands in his pockets, a cigar between his teeth. ‘Evening, Druce,’ he said amiably.
‘Evening, Hinckman. I hear it’s a great film you’re giving us tonight.’
‘Yeah, it’s a great film all right. Look here, Druce, old man, about this Combine. Why not cut out high-hatting the rest of us an’ come right in?’
‘I figured I’d made my views pretty clear at the meeting.’
‘Maybe—still, things has happened since then. Handsome’s toed the line this afternon—an’ I guess Hugo Schultzer’s wishing he’d done the same.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘That so? You’ll wish you were ’fore you’re through. Why not let us all get together, sink our differences an’ become friends—Trans-Continental Electric an’ Pacific Players ’ud soon shake down together. If you sign up Uncle Andy’ll come in with World Wide—an’ Issey Vandelstein with Mozarts—we won’t need the rest. There’s a packet in this thing for all of us.’
Barton Druce stood up. ‘See here, Hinckman, I just hate the thought of bein’ rude to you in your own theatre. But what I said the other day goes—every word of it—an’ I’ll tell you something else. I’m not standing by to see poor old Hugo done dirt, neither—you may’ve monkeyed with his executives, but his film’s going on. Meet Miss Avril Bamborough—she’s going to star for me—in Pacific Players.’
Hinckman twitched his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. ‘You don’t say…. Waal, I guess you’ve asked for yours.’ Without another word he left the box.
The big film was a marvellous spectacle, every advantage being taken of the scenic possibilities in Aldous Huxley’s novel This Brave New World. Giant sky-scrapers towered to the clouds, helicopters sailed about in every direction. Upon the dance hall the producer had let himself rip, in a riot of abandoned jazzing. The feelies had been demonstrated by the ingenious device of equipping the audience in the picture with electric wigs—whereby, when the hair of the hero in the film within a film stood up in horror, so also did that of his audience. Clever fakes of the incubating babies in various states of development were shown, and Hollywood had been combed for the most cherubic collection of toddlers that these might duly receive their electric shocks. The remarkable adventures of the lady who was carried off for a love feast in a balloon by a big buck nigger, and her later exploits with her rescuers had, needless to say, been suppressed, also the modern revival of an ancient religious festival when the participants worked themselves into a state of frenzy for the ultimate good of their health. Much had been made of the Native Reservation Scene, but not unnaturally, the Hollywood producer had felt Mexico to be totally inadequate. He preferred Africa, in order that he might more fittingly bring in lions, tigers, elephants, and every other animal that he could lay his hands on.
Much, too, had been made of the Delta minors who moved on all occasions in sinister gangs with downcast heads and shuffling feet, after the manner of the slaves in Metropolis. The death-bed scene had been cut out as entirely unsuitable, also that important portion of the book when the young man is scourged by the Mexican Priest. The Alpha plus damsels were the loveliest possible collection of cuties with india-rubber legs. A littler quiverful of soft-tipped arrows had been substituted for the malthusian belts, and these the cuties let fly with delicious abandon at the boy-friends of their choice. Unfortunately a theme song had been introduced for no particular reason, and the whole point of the book lost by the complete elimination of the interview with the Jewish World Controller and its original ending. Instead, the Hollywood editors had substituted a happy understanding with regard to legal union between the more resilient of the rubber-legged cuties and the handsome young savage—the latter being suitably injected with a strong dose of the ‘Oh King live for Ever’ serum. However, these little alterations were hardly a matter of serious concern since Ronnie Sheringham, Avril Bamborough, and Nelson Druce were probably the only people in the house who had actually read the book, and it is doubtful if more than half a dozen others had ever even heard of Mr. Huxley.
When the film was over Hinckman and the producer, Ring, together with the principal rubber-legged cutie in the flesh and the young savage, looking anything but masochistically inclined, received felicitations in the foyer.
Everybody pushed and shoved to get as near to them as possible and remain in their proximity as long as they were able. The film had definitely got over, but apart from that it was a matter of business policy on the part of each member of the crowd to see to it that the great man of Trans-Continental Electric should register their personal enthusiasm and admiration. From all sides there came a perpetual chorus.
‘Oh, Mr. Hinckman, I thought it just grand.’
‘Did yer ever see such sweets as all those kids a-playin’ with the flowers. I’ll certainly say it was a great show, Mr. Hinckman.’
‘An’ wasn’t Babe just “It” with her little bow an arrer. But I reckon that was your idea, Mr. Hinckman.’
‘Sure, it’s a mighty fine production, Mr. Hinckman. I’ll say you’ve given us the goods this time all right. But then, I guess, you always do.’
‘An’ them scenes in the jungle with the elephants—I figure you’re wise to the public taste all right, Mr. Hinckman. It sure is a hundred-per-cent box-office attraction—an’ then some!’
Barton Druce and his son managed to steer Avril and Vitelma through the crush and then step by step, down the broad staircase. Outside in the street a crowd of spectators blocked the sidewalk on each side of the entrance. Little murmurs of excitement went up as the more celebrated stars were ushered to their cars.
As the Druce limousine drew up before the entrance the crowd surged forward. Barton Druce ran neck to neck with Hinckman as the uncrowned King of Hollywood. In addition he had with him Vitelma Loveday, who was a popular favourite, and Avril, the new English star, in whom people were already becoming interested. Most of the commissionaires were some way away, hunting for other cars. The two or three police officers were quite inadequate to deal with the seething multitude. The crowd pressed in on all sides, Avril was nearly swept off her feet, but she clung to Barton Druce, who continued to force his way towards his car. Nelson and Vitelma were just behind, all four completely surrounded, jammed tight against each other in the crush. Avril caught sight of Angelo’s olive face, but he was not looking at her, he was on the other side of Barton Druce and his eyes were fixed on the elderly American with a curious exp
ression. Wedged in front of Avril was a tall, red-headed fellow with the long upper lip and blunt nose of the typical Irish peasant, she vaguely remembered having seen him in Hinckman’s company on the day of the garden party. His hard blue eyes were also fixed on Druce.
Suddenly there was a deafening report, then another and an-another. Avril felt Barton Druce’s arm twitch. Vitelma screamed, the crowd began to struggle wildly. A fist shot over Avril’s shoulder, catching the Irishman with terrific force behind the ear. His head flopped forward as though his neck were broken. Police whistles shrilled, women shrieked, men shouted, people began to run, terrified that there would be further shooting. Nelson Druce had forced his was to Avril’s side, his face white and set. He seized the Irishman by the collar just as he was about to slip down onto the pavement through the easing pressure of the crowd. Barton Druce’s head hung forward on his chest, his hat had fallen off. The police had begun to use their batons, reinforcements were arriving from every direction. The crowd melted. Avril felt a sudden tug as Barton Druce pitched forward on the pavement. Angelo had disappeared.
After that, to Avril, everything seemed to become a nightmare. The whole thing had been so sudden—so unexpected. A few moments before, this nice elderly American had been talking and laughing with her in the box—now he was stretched out on the pavement, unconscious and bleeding terribly. She saw his son kneeling beside him, shaking him by the arm, and repeating over and over again:
Such Power is Dangerous Page 7