  Henry Thorne telephoned for an appointment with Roddy and then drove the girls to the studio. The Ace plant, one of the largest in Hollywood, was built in a rambling Spanish style. Where most automobiles were stopped at the main gate, Henry Thorne sent his car rolling right on through and the gatekeeper waved and smiled. He stopped at a small office and a boy hurried out. “Mr. Rexler wants to see you at once. It’s about your next picture.” Henry Thorne scowled a little as he said, “Tell him I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Turning to the girls, he explained, “Rexler is the general manager and I’ll have to see him, but I’ll take you to Roddy first.” The creator of famous styles had his office and workshop in a rambling, one story white stucco building. Roddy looked just as Henry Thorne had promised he would and Janet thought a good, strong wind might blow the little man away. But she liked him instantly, for his eyes twinkled when Henry Thorne explained his mission. “And you’d like to have them look like real stars tonight?” he smiled. “That’s the idea,” grinned Henry Thorne. “Maybe the publicity office wasn’t wrong in sending out the photographers and reporters this morning.” Roddy stepped back and surveyed Janet and Helen with cold, analytical eyes. “Nice hair, even features, not too heavy and not too thin, trim ankles,” he said, half to himself and half out loud. “I’ll leave them with you, Roddy. I’ve got to see Rexler.” “Another picture?” Henry Thorne nodded. “I hear they need another of your smash hits,” said the designer. “You mean smash up or smash down?” “Up. You never do flops.” “But I have.” “That was years ago when I was only a tailor. Go along now,” added Roddy. “I’ve work to do with these girls.” He took them back into his private fitting room and called for silks and satins by the bolt. “Something vivid for you,” he told Helen, taking a great bolt of crimson velvet and fashioning it around her with dexterous hands, pinning it here and there. Before Janet’s eyes he created a gown, stepped back, shook his head, changed a pin or two, and surveyed his handiwork again. “Not perfect, but it will do for a hurry up job,” conceded Roddy. Then, with a bolt of silver cloth, he quickly fashioned a waist length cape. “Not too much makeup tonight,” he told Helen. “Just a touch of color to take off the pallor.” Then he turned to Janet. “This will be a little harder,” he told her. “Brunettes are always easier to design for than blondes, but I am glad you are not an artificial blonde.” Janet smiled, but said nothing and Roddy called for various fabrics, finally deciding on a sheer, vivid blue and a cape of gold cloth. “For you,” he told Janet, “more color in your cheeks. It will be needed with this blue. Use a blue band to tie your hair, but do not curl it any more than the natural wave it now has. Both of you carry white gloves and it will be better without bags. I shall be proud of you.” Janet and Helen felt very much like fairy princesses as they left the designer’s office. In less than an hour they had seen stunning gowns created. True, they had to be put together, but they did not doubt that this would be done in time, for Roddy had a certain magic in his hands and his energy seemed to flow out to the others who worked with him. They waited for a time for Helen’s father to return and when he finally arrived there was new enthusiasm in his eyes. “I’ll bet you’re assigned to a new picture,” said Helen. “Right, dear. I start work on the script tomorrow. The first draft is ready, but I always like to sit in on the finishing touches.” “What’s it going to be?” asked Janet. “The kind of picture I’ve always wanted to do, an epic of the air, a story of the air mail, but on broader, more sweeping lines than anything else ever attempted. We need one more big picture to bolster up the production schedule for next year and I’ve drawn the assignment.” Helen’s father was as happy as a boy with a new bicycle, and he hummed to himself half the way home. Suddenly he burst out. “I forgot all about your dresses. How did you get along with Roddy?” “He’s grand, and we’re all fixed up. Mine is crimson velvet and Janet’s is some divine shade of blue. I have a silver cape and she has a cloth of gold cape. Oh, he planned everything for us, even telling us just how much makeup to use.” “That’s Roddy. He’s a fine friend.” They drove on in silence for a time before Helen’s father spoke again. “I must be getting absent minded,” he said as they turned into the drive at the bungalow. “I ran into Billy Fenstow at the administration building at the studio. He said to send you to see him tomorrow morning. He’s going to start shooting on a new western next week.” “Things,” said Janet, “are happening too fast. We only arrived this noon and have already been fitted for gowns. Tonight we go to a premiere and tomorrow we meet a director who may give us places in his next pictures.” “That’s Hollywood for you,” grinned Helen’s father. |
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