Page 37 - tender-is-the-night

letter I wrote you still stands. Rather make a picture with
you than any girl since Connie Talmadge was a kid.’
‘I feel the same way. Why don’t you come back to Hol-
lywood?’
‘I can’t stand the damn place. I’m fine here. Wait till after
this shot and I’ll show you around.’
Walking onto the set he began to talk to the French actor
in a low, quiet voice.
Five minutes passed—Brady talked on, while from
time to time the Frenchman shifted his feet and nodded.
Abruptly, Brady broke off, calling something to the lights
that startled them into a humming glare. Los Angeles was
loud about Rosemary now. Unappalled she moved once
more through the city of thin partitions, wanting to be back
there. But she did not want to see Brady in the mood she
sensed he would be in after he had finished and she left the
lot with a spell still upon her. The Mediterranean world was
less silent now that she knew the studio was there. She liked
the people on the streets and bought herself a pair of espa-
drilles on the way to the train.
Her mother was pleased that she had done so accurately
what she was told to do, but she still wanted to launch her
out and away. Mrs. Speers was fresh in appearance but she
was tired; death beds make people tired indeed and she had
watched beside a couple.

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