Page 314 - tender-is-the-night

‘I don’t notice it.’
‘You wouldn’t! But I have.’
Nicotera in his leopard skin talked attentively to Rose-
mary while the electrician discussed something with the
director, meanwhile leaning on him. Finally the director
pushed his hand off roughly and wiped a sweating fore-
head, and Dick’s guide remarked: ‘He’s on the hop again,
and how!’
‘Who?’ asked Dick, but before the man could answer the
director walked swiftly over to them.
‘Who’s on the hop—you’re on the hop yourself.’ He spoke
vehemently to Dick, as if to a jury. ‘When he’s on the hop
he always thinks everybody else is, and how!’ He glared at
the guide a moment longer, then he clapped his hands: ‘All
right—everybody on the set.’
It was like visiting a great turbulent family. An actress
approached Dick and talked to him for five minutes under
the impression that he was an actor recently arrived from
London. Discovering her mistake she scuttled away in pan-
ic. The majority of the company felt either sharply superior
or sharply inferior to the world outside, but the former feel-
ing prevailed. They were people of bravery and industry;
they were risen to a position of prominence in a nation that
for a decade had wanted only to be entertained.
The session ended as the light grew misty—a fine light
for painters, but, for the camera, not to be compared with
the clear California air. Nicotera followed Rosemary to the
car and whispered something to her—she looked at him
without smiling as she said good-by.

314 Tender is the Night