He's coming over to see the test this afternoon. If he likes the girl, he'll do the picture."
"Good," I said.
That was the way it was with big directors.
The two hundred grand you paid them meant nothing; they could get that on any picture.
The important thing was the script. And the players.
Bonner walked to the door and stood there a moment, looking back at Jennie.
"So long," he said finally.
"Good-by, Mr. Bonner," Jennie said politely.
I nodded as he went out the door.
"Can I sit down now?" Jennie asked.
"Help yourself."
She sat down and watched silently as I ran through the papers on my desk. The preliminary budget. Set-construction estimates.
Bonner was right – this was going to cost money.
"Do I have to look like her?" Jennie asked softly.
I glanced up. "What?"
"Do I have to look like her?"
"Why do you ask?"
She shook her head. "I don't know.
I just feel funny, that's all. Like it's not me, any more. Like I'm a ghost." I didn't answer. "Is that all you saw in the test – Rina Marlowe?"
"She was the biggest thing ever to hit the screen."
"I know," she said slowly. "But I'm not her. I could never be."
I stared at her.
"For two thousand dollars a week," I said, "you'll be whatever I tell you to be." She didn't answer. Just looked at me. Her eyes were masked and somber and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. "You remember that," I said quietly. "A thousand girls like you come to Hollywood every year.
I could take my pick of any of them.
If you don't like it, go back to what you were doing before Bonner saw you at that party."
A kind of caution came into her eyes.
It wouldn't hurt to have her a little afraid of me. She was entirely too cocky.
"Bonner told you about me?"
"Not a word. He didn't have to. You told me all I needed to know.
Girls like you are always looking for a producer to impress.
Well, you were lucky – you got one.
Don't louse it up." She let her breath out slowly.
The cautious look had gone out of her eyes.
Suddenly, she smiled.
"O.K., massa, anything you say."
I walked around the desk, and pulled her up into my arms.
Her mouth was soft and warm and when I looked down, her eyes were closed.
And then the damn telephone rang.
I reached around behind her and picked it up.
It was McAllister, calling from New York.
"That agency located Winthrop for you," he said.
"Good.
Get in touch with him and tell him to get his ass out here."
"Their man says he won't come."
"Then call Monica and have her talk to him. He'll listen to her."
"I did," Mac said quickly. "But she's already left for California, on the Twentieth Century, this noon.
If you want him, you'd better do it yourself."
"I'm too busy to come running back to New York."
"You don't have to. Amos is in Chicago.
The agency office out there will tell you how to locate him."