  Janet and Helen found that by leaning close together they could converse but with the steady beat of the engines in their ears, a sense of drowsiness soon overtook the girls and they relaxed in their chairs. Janet dropped into a deep sleep that was not broken until their plane dropped down at Cheyenne well after midnight to change pilots and refuel. Here the stewardess offered them a selection of fruit and Janet ate several oranges with relish. Then they were off again, meeting the sunrise east of Salt Lake City with the most glorious panorama Janet had ever seen unfolding beneath her eyes. After that they swung southwest in an almost direct line for Los Angeles, climbing dizzily over the Sierras and then dropping down into lower California. Helen glanced at her watch and Janet, still unused to her own, followed suit. They would be at the Grand Central airport in less than half an hour. Helen, leaning back, cried, “We’re almost there,” and Janet nodded happily. It seemed almost on the echo of Helen’s words, although it was actually minutes later, when the plane wheeled and settled gently down on the runway of a huge airport. Janet, looking eagerly from the window, saw a group of cameramen standing at the gate which led to the field. There must be some celebrity on their own plane or on a ship due in soon. She scanned the passengers in their own cabin. None of them appeared unusually famous and she decided the cameramen were there to meet some other plane. A landing stage was rolled up the moment the plane stopped and the stewardess opened the door. “Take your time,” said Helen’s father. “We’ll all be a bit stiff after this long ride. You girls want to look your best.” Janet stood up and smoothed out her skirt. It had remained remarkably fresh and the heavy silk shirtwaist showed only a few wrinkles. Her jacket would cover that up and she got that garment down from the rack over her head. Helen, who had worn a brown silk suit, had fared almost as well, and after a hurried glance into the mirrors in their handbags, both girls pronounced themselves ready to see what Hollywood looked like. Helen’s father and mother were out of the plane first with the girls close behind them. A uniformed airport employee nodded to Mr. Thorne. “I’ve had your bags put in your car,” he said, and Janet saw the famous director hand over a bill. The cameramen were still clustered at the gate and instead of looking for the arrival of another plane, seemed to be watching them as they advanced. “Hi, Mr. Thorne,” greeted one of them, a chunky little fellow half hidden behind a huge camera. “Have a nice trip?” “Fine, Joey. Couldn’t have been better.” “Get any fish?” another one called. “You guess,” smiled Helen’s father. “That’s far enough,” said the photographer called Joey. “Just line up with the girls in the middle. What’s the idea trying to sneak in on us like this?” “What do you mean?” parried Mr. Thorne. “The Ace publicity office just tipped us off that you were coming in this noon with a couple of girls from the midwest and that you think they’re a couple of great film possibilities. I don’t call that playing very fair with us.” “So the office phoned and said I was bringing in a couple of new stars?” “That’s right. Now girls, smile a little. We won’t bite even if the cameras do look big.” Janet and Helen, more than a little perplexed by the sudden turn of events, couldn’t help smiling while the photographers clicked their machines. Then several reporters, who had remained in the background until the photographers were through, pushed ahead. “Give us the dope, Mr. Thorne—who they are, where you found them, what you have in mind for them? Do you really think they’re good?” “Good?” asked Henry Thorne slowly. “Good? They’re two of the finest possibilities that ever struck Hollywood. Boys, you don’t know how enthusiastic I am.” “Think they’ll be big box office?” one reporter asked. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re box office attractions right now and they are going to be under my personal management and supervision.” Janet chuckled quietly for she could see the trend of Henry Thorne’s conversation. “Sure, sure, we’ll admit they’re good,” said another reporter, “but who are they and where did you find them?” Henry Thorne paused a moment as though deciding a question of tremendous importance. “Well, gentlemen, of course I hadn’t expected the office would tip you off on my arrival. I’d rather planned on slipping in quietly and giving these girls a chance to get used to Hollywood, but I suppose I might as well tell you now. I want you to meet my daughter, Helen, and her friend, Janet Hardy.” Reporters and photographers stared. “You’re kidding us!” one of them protested. “I’m very serious,” replied Henry Thorne. “You boys let yourselves in for this. I’ve always played fair with you and you thought I was pulling a fast one on you so I let your imaginations run along for a while.” “Then they’re not new stars?” asked one photographer, who had taken unusual care to get some excellent shots. “I didn’t say they weren’t. Now here’s actually the story. The girls graduated from high school last week and this trip west is a present to them. Both of them have brains, better than average looks, and both of them can ride. Billy Fenstow is going to put them into his next western, but whether they’ll be any good is another question. I’m willing to bet that they will.” The photographer called Joey looked at Janet and Helen critically. “I’ll string along with you,” he decided. “Those girls look like winners to me.” “Thanks Joey. I’ll remember that.” “Any time you have a picture scoop,” Joey retorted. The Thornes and Janet went on to a waiting sedan where a driver was ready to whirl them to the home Henry Thorne maintained in Hollywood. “That was quite an experience,” grinned Helen. “We almost became celebrities.” “Just another fool stunt of the publicity office, but I guess it didn’t do any harm,” admitted Helen’s father. Half an hour’s ride took them to a comfortable, sprawling bungalow set well back on a side street. “I’ve been living in an apartment, but when I got the idea of bringing you back with me I leased this place,” Henry Thorne told his wife and daughter. “I’ve installed George, my negro cook, and there ought to be something in the way of lunch ready for us.” The bungalow was delightful with a tremendous living room clear across the front and two long wings to the rear, one housing the dining room, kitchen and servants’ quarters while the other contained a series of bedrooms with baths between. At the rear, flanked by a high hedge, was a medium sized swimming pool with a diving tower. “Dad, this is wonderful,” exclaimed Helen. “I don’t care now whether I ever get before a camera. I’ll be happy right here, spending my days in that pool.” Mrs. Thorne took charge, made instant friends of George, the smiling cook, and assigned the bedrooms, Janet and Helen sharing one large room with twin beds. It was at the very rear of the house with a door that almost opened onto the pool, which pleased the girls. “Clean up and we’ll have lunch. George informs me that it will be ready in fifteen minutes,” said Helen’s mother. “How about a swim?” asked Helen. “What in?” asked Janet. “The pool, silly.” “But I hear it’s even against California laws to go in a pool in your birthday suit.” “I forgot. Of course we’d put our suits in the trunk and I suppose it will be a couple of days before they arrive.” After a more prosaic shower, they felt tremendously refreshed and the luncheon which George had prepared was delicious. “See about a maid at once to do the housework, mother,” said Henry Thorne, “and with George to do the cooking you can have a little fun, too.” “But I want something to do,” protested Mrs. Thorne. “There’ll be plenty just keeping track of Janet and Helen.” “How would you like to attend a premiere of a new picture at the Queen’s Court tonight?” he asked. “Fine,” replied Helen, “but what’s the Queen Court?” “It’s the newest of the deluxe motion picture theaters here. You’ll see a lot of stars. What do you say now?” “Count us in,” declared Janet. “What’ll we wear? Our trunks aren’t here?” “Mother’ll take you shopping this afternoon,” promised Henry Thorne. “Or better, I’ll take you around to Roddy at the studio.” “I’m not a mind reader. Who’s Roddy?” Helen asked. Her father looked at her in astonishment. Then grinned. “Sure, you wouldn’t know Roddy. Well, he’s a thin little fellow, almost bald, but he creates the most sensational clothes worn by the stars at our studio. His credit line on the screen is always signed Adoree, but that’s just for publicity. Roddy wouldn’t be a good name for a creator of ultra fashions.” “You mean you’ll have Adoree do dresses for us for tonight?” asked Helen. “You’d better not call him Adoree or he’ll stick you full of pins. He’s just plain Roddy around the studio.” Janet’s throat suddenly felt dry. Here, on her first day in Hollywood, she was to have a gown created by a famous designer and attend a premiere at the Queen’s Court. |
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