  Despite the excitement of the premiere, Janet and Helen were up early. Mrs. Thorne, tired from the trip, decided to remain in bed until later and Helen’s father had already gone to the studio, but not before leaving a note directing them on where to find Billy Fenstow. Helen scanned a morning paper for an account of the premiere. “Here’s a paragraph about us,” she exclaimed. “Listen.” “I am,” said Janet. “Two of the most stunningly gowned girls seen at the Queen’s Court last night were Helen Thorne, daughter of Director Henry Thorne, and Janet Hardy, a friend from the midwest. It is rumored their gowns were special creations of Adoree. Both girls are to get film tests.” “I must clip the picture in last night’s paper and the story this morning and send them to dad and mother,” said Janet. While Janet clipped out the items she wanted, Helen telephoned for a taxi and they were soon speeding toward the studio. The driver looked at them a little suspiciously as he slowed down at the main gate of the studio. Evidently he had seen too many girls like Janet and Helen get turned away, but Helen produced a note from her father which gained them instant admission. They paid the cab driver and a boy was assigned to direct them to Billy Fenstow’s office. They found the director of the westerns at an office well to the back of the lot and he greeted them warmly. “We might just as well make a test the first thing,” he said. “I’ve got a camera crew over on stage nine where there’s an old interior that hasn’t been struck. You girls any lines you can go through?” “Only from our senior play,” confessed Helen. Billy Fenstow looked aghast. “That sounds pretty bad, but we’ll try it.” Stage nine was one of the smaller sound units on the Ace lot, but the director had a camera crew, the sound men and an electrician awaiting their arrival. He tested the lights quickly. “Just walk onto the set, do your lines and action, and forget about the rest of us,” he said. “We’ll take part of it, maybe.” Janet’s knees felt very weak and when she touched Helen’s hand it was damp with a chill perspiration. “This is awful,” whispered Janet. “I wish your Dad could be here.” “I’m glad he isn’t,” said Helen fervently. “Go ahead, girls,” urged the director, and Janet and Helen, who had already agreed on the scene, started their lines. The action and words were simple, but both of them were scared stiff and they acted like wooden people. “Wait a minute,” said Billy Fenstow. “I’m human. I won’t bite and I don’t expect you to be world beaters. Now try that over and loosen up.” Janet laughed a little and Helen found a handkerchief and wiped the palms of her hands. Both of them felt better. The lights brightened until it was impossible to see the camera crew; it was more like being on the stage of the gym with Miss Williams over in the wings with her prompt book in her hands. Both girls entered into the spirit of their bit the second time, talking and acting as they had the night of the class play. For the moment they forgot the camera crew and failed to hear the soft whirring of the camera as Billy Fenstow signaled the cameraman to pick up the sequence. They ran through the scene and the lights dimmed. Billy Fenstow stepped forward. “That was better. We shot it and I’ll have it put through at once. There’s a couple of others have a final word on the casting and they’ll want to see the test.” “When will it be ready?” asked Helen. “Tonight. Suppose you bring your father over at eight and we’ll send it through with rushes of other stuff that’s been taken today.” “We’ll be here,” promised Janet. On their way out they overheard several electricians talking. “One of the kids was Henry Thorne’s girl,” said one. “What did you think of her?” “She’s not bad looking, but their skit was lousy.” “Yeh, I thought so too.” Helen looked at Janet and for some reason or other, felt like laughing. Why hadn’t her Dad warned them about the test? He should have given them something to rehearse that would have been impressive. It was nearly noon when they reached home and after lunch Janet sat down and wrote in detail of the things that had transpired since they left Clarion. In the letter she enclosed the picture and the newspaper paragraph. In the late afternoon Henry Thorne came home, tired but elated. “I’m delighted with the first draft of the script for the new picture.” “Haven’t you seen Mr. Fenstow?” asked Helen. “No, why?” “I’m afraid it wasn’t so good.” “Nonsense. You made out well enough. What did he put you through?” “That’s just it,” explained Janet. “He had us do a scene from the high school play and we felt like awful nit-wits.” “I suppose so,” conceded Helen’s father. “When will the test be ready?” “Mr. Fenstow said to come over at eight. He said several others had to have a word about the casting.” “Sure. The supervisors always want the last word.” After dinner they drove to the studio, Mrs. Thorne accompanying them. Helen’s father took them directly to the projection room. Billy Fenstow was waiting and half a dozen others were in the room. Most of them spoke to Henry Thorne and he introduced several to Janet and Helen, but Janet couldn’t remember their names. Then the lights went out and they settled back into comfortable leather-upholstered chairs. Scenes from a number of pictures in production flashed before their eyes. Suddenly Janet and Helen saw themselves on the screen, moving and talking, and Janet dropped her eyes for a minute. To her it looked pretty terrible, but her voice was well modulated and pleasing. After that the lights came on and Henry Thorne went over to speak to Billy Fenstow. When he returned a few minutes later Janet couldn’t even guess what the decision had been. “The action was punk,” Helen’s father said frankly, “but the supervisors liked your voices. You’ve got good faces and figures. In other words you report Monday morning and both of you go into ‘Broad Valley,’ Billy’s next picture.” |
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