Evening star. [volume], July 07, 1940, Page 8, Image 84

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
"You’re probably ready lor a new thrill now
and don't know it." She looked up provocatively
A Short Story Complete in This Issue
★ ★ ★
WE were breezing up Sunset Boule
vard. when Dutch laughed.
"What’s funny?” I asked.
"You are,” she said. "When you get behind
that wheel you’re so darned pleased with
yourself, you purr.”
“It’s a swell bus," I said. “I only wish it
were paid for. And if I can believe what I
read in my mail, it’s a wish that the finance
company shares with me.”
“If you’d kept your perfectly good coupe,
you wouldn’t have to bother about the finance
company.”
There she was, at it again. You’d think we
were already married, the way she was ready
to do my worrying for me. Sure, the car set
me back plenty, but it was front, and when
you’re a free-lance publicity agent in Holly
wood. front is what you need.
“Look,” I said. “It’s your birthday, we’re
going to have a swell party. Let’s not do any
crabbing. Let’s just have fun.”
‘Okay, said Dutch. Fun it is. She
gave me a perky little smile. She had on a
new black formal and her silver fox wrap,
and she looked slick.
The balmy night air felt good on my bare
head. The moonlight was thick as down on the
wide clean street. I reached over and patted
Dutch’s hand. “Pretty swell,” I said.
“What?”
"All this. Hollywood. Sunset Boulevard.
The night. You!”
“Not much like Chicago,” said Dutch.
“I read in the paper today they’re having a
blizzard back there.”
"Chicago! My gosh, do people still live
there’’’
“We lived there,” said Dutch. "And we had
some pretty good times, too.”
“We have better ones here,” I said.
“Remember the old gang at the Star?”
she asked. “And the midnight goulash parties
at Stockyard Mary’s? And will you ever for
get the comedy flat I had in that South Side
walk-up?”
“I’ll say I won’t! I climbed and climbed;
when I fell unconscious, that was your door.”
“Gee, w'hat a lot of laughs we had.”
“Yeah, but it was all pretty squalid."
We were in the County Strip now, and I
glanced up in passing at the mullioned win
dows of my office, and the sign that read.
“Hal Ward — Publicity." I never failed to
get a boot out of that sign. “Things are a bit
different now,” I said.
“Yes, they're different, all right."
I looked back over my shoulder to get
another look at the sign, and almost missed
the Club Rotunde. I swerved over to the curb
just in time. I always like to make an en
trance with Dutch. It gives me the same feel
ing as driving the best car on the fnarket,
having a ritzy office in the Strip.
For Dutch is definitely class. Funny, too.
Because she had that same Duchess of Wind
sor air when she was a wide-eyed cub reporter
on the Chicago Star at twenty per. And
people like her. too. Even out here in Holly
wood, where she’s just an advertising copy
writer and isn’t in a position to do anything
for anybody, no one snoots her.
We had a table for ten, and believe me
there wasn’t a nobody in the crowd. In my
game, it pays to be seen in the right places
with the right people. Bob Ferriss had his
band play Happy Birthday To You, and we
drank it in Heidsieck ’28.
The music was hot and the floor not too
crowded. The table talk was the usual thing
— what star was slipping, and what writer’s
option hadn’t been lifted, and the crack
Arthur Caesar made to Zanuck. Every time
someone pulled a good line it was topped.
Beth Boyd was telling about a story that
was going to break in her column when I
looked up and who should I see but the For
dyce gal sitting in a comer with Larry Mon
tague.
This Gwen Fordyce is a new client of mine.
She's a deb right out of the social register
and is making tests for Superior. She’s good
copy, too — a crack pilot, ace tennis star,
plays polo and raises prize-winning Bedling
tons —• the Number One glamor girl of the
Number Two set.
So I dash over to her table and drag her
and Larry back with me. I was just giving
Gwen a big build-up, and she was lapping it
up, when Louis barged in with the birthday
cake. He stopped at Dutch’s chair for her to
blow out the candles.
Dutch took a prodigious breath, puffed
out her cheeks — and let fly. Seven little
flames flickered feebly and died. Everybody
laughed. “I had a birthday cake last week,”
said Gwen, “and I got ’em all. But then, 1
only had nineteen.”
Dutch looked at the twenty-seven candles
on her cake and smiled sweetly. "Nineteen!
What a lovely age!”
“I think so,” said Gwen complacently.
“That’s the age when we think we know it
all — we learn better later.” Dutch started
cutting the cake.
Before Gwen could crack the music started,
and 1 hauled her out on the floor.
“Who is this Dutch?” she asked.
“It’s just as well you asked before you
really got into action,” I told her. “Dutch,
as they say in the Victorian novels, is the
woman I love.”
★ A Modern Story of Young Moderns *
"You’re engaged to her?” she inquired.
"Yes.”
"How long?” A sly glance appraised me.
I started to figure. "Let’s see — it must
be for more than three years now.”
vjii, saiu vjwuii.
“One of those things."
“What things?”
“They usually just
peter out,” she said.
“This one won’t,” I
said with conviction. .
“You're probably
ready for a new thrill
right now and don’t
know it.” She looked
up at me provocative
ly. “Shall I try?”
“Why not?” After
all, she was my client.
“That’s a deal." She
laughed. “Tablestakes,
winner take all."
“All?”
"All,” she repeated
with emphasis.
1 wasn’t much im
pressed. It was just the
same old line. Didn’t
mean a thing. But her
dancing — that was’
something else again.
Her hard little body
was electric, disturb
ing. Everything about
her was alive —her
satiny red hair, her
enormous green eyes.
She had all the confi
dence and arrogance of
youth with none of its
pitiful qualities.
She broke the silence
with: “Hal, fly to New
York with me Friday.”
I laughed. "You’re
screwy," I said.
“I mean it. I want
you to go.”
“And my clients?”.
I asked. “My public?”
"Forget them. I m only going for a Satur
day night party. I'll get you back by Mon
day.”
"Can’t make it — I'm all tied up.”
“I know you are. But I'm going to change
all that.”
I ignored the inference. "If I didn't stick
right on the job how do you suppose I could
get you on the front pages three times a
week?” I said.
"Darling,” she said serenely, "I'm always
on the front page. That's where I live."
“Then what are you paying me for?”
"You’ll find out.” The music stopped, but
she stood there looking up at me. "It’s a
date for Friday,” she said.
"No, no, a thousand times no!” I steered
her back to the table.
There was a vacant seat beside Dutch,
and Gwen slid into it. "Don’t we make a
handsome couple?” she asked her.
I didn't hear Dutch answer, because I was
hoisting Larry out of the chair at her left.
But as I sat down, Gwen was saying:
“Hal's going to fly to New York with me.”
I saw Dutch's pupils contract. I said the
first thing that came into my head. “Not me!
I may be brave — but not foolhardy.”
“You’re not even brave,” said Gwen. “Is
he, Dutch?”
"That’s something you’ll have to find out
for yourself,” said Dutch, but the color came,
back to her cheeks, and she relaxed.
“Well,” said Gwen, rising, “time will tell.”
She called across the table to Larry: “Come
on, Big Shot. If we’re going to make that
brawl at the Bali — ”
After that the party didn’t go so well.
The sparkle had gone out of it. I, for one,
was relieved when the thing broke up.
Dutch was in the Little Girls’ Room as I
started to sign for the sum total. But Louis
came out of his office and stopped me.
“If you could give us a check for this
amount, Mr. Ward,” he said.
"What for?" I asked.
“Well, your account is over a thousand
right now.”
"So what? I'm good for it.”
“Sure, sure,” he answered. “We know that..
But it’s the policy of the house."
“It’s a darned peculiar policy,” I said. I
took out my fountain pen and wrote a check. +
“I regret this very much,” he said.
(Continued on page 11)
1-V_ Ji