His voice became serious. "Shoot."
She cleared her throat. "I went to St. Mary's College of Nursing on a scholarship and I was wondering if I could arrange with the studio to take something out of my pay check each week and send it to them the way they do with the Motion Picture Relief Fund. It would be sort of paying them back a little for all they did for me."
"That's easy." David laughed, a kind of relief in his voice. "Just send a note to my office tomorrow morning telling me how much you want taken off and we'll do the rest. Anything else?"
"No, that's all."
"Good. Now, you come to dinner like Rosa said."
"I will, David. Good-by."
She put down the telephone and looked at the letter again. She began to feel better. At least, even if she couldn't be there herself to help, her money would do some good. She put down the letter and picking up the manila envelope, ripped it open. She had been right. It was a script, a long one.
Curiously she read the title on the blue cover. Aphrodite; a screenplay based on a novel by Pierre Louys. She opened the script to the first page and a note fell out. It was brief and to the point.
Dear Miss Denton:
It has been a long time since you made a motion picture and I believe you were wise to wait for the proper script with which to follow up your tremendous success in The Sinner.
Aphrodite, I believe, is that script. It is the one property I have seen that has the scope and the quality to add luster to your career. I shall be most interested in your reaction.
Sincerely,
Dan Pierce
She folded the letter and put it back in the script. That Dan Pierce was a cutie. He knew better than to submit the script to the studio in the usual manner. She picked up the script and started upstairs to her room. She would read it in bed after dinner.
14
Dear Mr. Pierce:
Thank you for sending me the enclosed script of Aphrodite, which I am returning. It is a most interesting screenplay. However, it is not one that I should particularly care to do.
Jennie Denton
She wondered whether she had been right in so summarily dismissing the script. She had mixed feelings about it. At night, in bed, reading it for the first time, she could not put it down. There was a fascination about the story that brought to her mind Standhurst's description of the courtesan who helped rule the world. The screenplay seemed to capture the sensual imagery and poetry of the original work and yet bring it all within the limitations and confines of the Motion Picture Code. Yet, the more she read, the less enthusiastic she became.
There was not one single line or scene that could be found objectionable. On the surface. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an acute awareness of the erotic byplay that would subtly work on an audience's subconscious. By the time she reached the end of the screenplay, she felt this was the writer's only purpose.
She fell asleep, oddly disturbed, and awoke still disturbed. At the studio, the next morning, she'd sent to the library for a copy of the original novel, then spent all of that day and part of the next reading it. After that, she again read the screenplay. It was not until then that she realized how boldly the beauty and purpose of the story had been distorted.
Still, there was no doubt in her mind that it could be made into a great motion picture. And even less doubt that the actress who played Aphrodite would become the most talked about and important actress of that season. The Aphrodite of the script was truly the goddess and woman who was all things to all men.
But that was not enough. For, nowhere in the screenplay could she find the soul of Aphrodite, the one moment of spiritual love and contemplation that would lift her out of herself and make her one truly with the gods. She was beautiful and warm and clever and loving and even moral, according to her own concept. But she was a whore, no better than any since time immemorial, no better than any Jennie had known, no better than Jennie herself had been. And something inside Jennie was appalled by what she had read. For, in another time and another place, she saw herself – what she had been and what she still remained.
She put the envelope on the dressing table and pressed the button for a messenger just as the telephone rang. She picked it up. It was not until she heard his voice that she knew how much she'd missed him. "Jonas! Where are you? When did you get in?"
"I'm at the plant in Burbank. I want to see you."
"Oh, Jonas, I want to see you, too. It will seem like such a long day."
"Why wait until tonight? Can't you come over here for lunch?"
"You know I can."
"One o'clock?"
"I’ll be there," she said, putting down the telephone.
"You can leave it here, John," Jonas said. "We'll help ourselves."
"Yes, Mr. Cord." The porter looked at Jennie, then back at Jonas. "Would it," he began hesitantly, "would it be all right if I troubled Miss Denton for her autograph?"
Jonas laughed. "Ask her."
The porter looked inquiringly at Jennie. She smiled and nodded. He took a pencil and paper from his pocket and quickly she scrawled her name on it. "Thank you, Miss Denton."
Jennie laughed as the door closed behind him. "Signing my autograph always makes me feel like a queen." She looked around the office. "This is nice."
"It's not mine," Jonas said, pouring coffee into two cups. "It's Forrester's. I'm just using it while he's away."
"Oh," she said curiously. "Where is yours?"
"I don't have any, except the one that used to be my father's in the old plant in Nevada. I'm never in any one place long enough to really need one." He pulled a chair around near her and sat down. He drank his coffee and looked at her quietly.
She could feel an embarrassed blush creeping over her face. "Do I look all right? Is my make-up smeared or something?"
He shook his head and smiled. "No. You look fine."
She sipped at her coffee and an awkward silence came between them. "What have you been doing?" she asked.
"Thinking, mostly. About us," he answered, looking at her steadily. "You. Me. This last time I was away from you, for the first time in my life I was lonely. Nothing was right. I wanted to see no other girls. Only you."
Her heart seemed to swell, choking her. She felt, somehow, that if she tried to move, she would faint. Jonas put his hand in his pocket and came out with a small box, which he handed to her. She stared down at it dumbly. The small gold letters stared up at her. Van Cleef Arpels.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it. The beautifully cut heart-shaped diamond suddenly released its radiance. "I want to marry you," he said softly.
She felt the hot, grateful tears push their way into her eyes as she looked at him. Her lips trembled but she could not speak.
It was the headline and lead story in Louella's column the next day. The telephone had been ringing in her dressing room all morning, until finally she'd asked the switchboard to screen all her calls. The operator's voice had a new respect in it. As Jennie started to put the telephone down the operator said, "Miss Denton?"
"Yes."
"The girls on the switchboard all wish you the best of luck."
Jennie felt a sudden happy rush of warmth go through her. "Why, thank you."
Later in the afternoon, Rosa called. "I'm so happy for both of you."
"I'm in a daze," Jennie laughed, looking down at the diamond sparkling on her finger.
"You know that dinner invitation?"
"Yes."
"David and I were just thinking. How would you like to make it an engagement party? At Romanoff's with all the trimmings."
"I don't know." Jennie hesitated. "I’d better check with Jonas."
Rosa laughed. "Jonas? Who's he? Only the groom. Nobody ever asks the groom what he wants. It doesn't have to be a big party, if you don't want one."