The Early Ayn Rand

This was what she said; what she wanted to say was: "You see?"

The telephone rang again before she had a chance to observe the effect.

"Hello?... Who?... About Heddy Leland?" Claire's face changed suddenly. Her round cheeks drew up with a jerk and swallowed her eyes, so that there were no violets left, but only two slits of black needles across her face, sticking out like iron lances lowered for battle; and no fan would have recognized the sweet, world-famous voice in the shrill barks showered suddenly upon the pink receiver which seemed to blush under the flow: "You dare ask me again?... No! I said, no!... I won't allow it! I never want to see that girl on my set again!... I don't give a damn about her excuses!... You heard me? I'm not accustomed to repeating twice!... And I hope, my dear Mr. Casting Director, that you won't bother me again for any five-dollar extra!"

She slammed the receiver down so hard that the crystal stand rang under it with a thin, musical whine. Then she noticed an expression, an actual expression in the eyes of Winston Ayers, the first she had seen in them: it was an expression of mocking astonishment. The look on her face did not quite suit the ideal of sweet maidenhood; she realized that.

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders impatiently. "An insolent extra," she tried to explain calmly. "Imagine, today, on the set, I was doing my best scene — oh, what a scene! I had had such a hard time getting into the mood of it — and I'm so sensitive to things like that — and just as I got it, right in the midst of it, that creature tumbled from the sidelines straight into me! Almost knocked me down! Of course, the scene was ruined. We had to retake it and I couldn't do it again! Because of an extra!"

"She did it on purpose, of course?" he asked lightly, and the tone of his voice answered his own question.

"I don't care! She said someone pushed her. It makes no difference. I told them I won't have her on my set again!" She took a cigarette, then broke it and flung the pieces away. "Let us return to our interesting subject, Mr. Ayers. You were saying..."

"I'll enter anyway!" a young, ringing voice exploded suddenly behind the door. The door flew open. Something wild, tall, disheveled burst in, slammed the door behind, and stood suddenly still.

The girl wore a tight little suit that ended abruptly above the knees of two strong, thin, exquisite legs. The legs seemed grown fast to the floor, straight and taut; the light from the pink lamp cut a thin, glittering line on each stocking, and they looked like two jets from a fountain, flung up and frozen. She seemed to be standing on tiptoe, but it was only her small, high-heeled pumps that made her seem so, the pumps and the tenseness of her slim body stopped abruptly in flight. Her short hair was thrown back in disorder, as it had been left after she had torn off her screen costume, and a thin line of greasepaint still showed at the edge of her forehead. Her face had odd, irregular lines, impish and solemn and somber all at once. Her eyes, immense, glittering, incredible, were dark and still.

Claire Nash jumped to her feet and stood looking at the intruder, her little mouth hanging open in amazement.

"Excuse me for entering like this, Miss Nash," said the girl. Her voice was unexpectedly steady, as if she had had time to pull some reins within her and to bring it under control.

"Why... Heddy Leland!" Claire stammered, incredulous and suffocated.

"Your secretary wouldn't let me enter," the girl said evenly, "but I had to enter. It was my last opportunity to see you. If they send me away tonight, I won't be able to get on the lot again."

"Miss Leland, I... I really fail to understand how..." Claire began grandly, and ended much more naturally, exploding, "Of all the brazen nerve...!”

“Please excuse me and listen to me, Miss Nash," the girl said quietly and firmly. "It was not my fault. I am very sorry. I ask your forgiveness. I promise you that it will never happen again."

Claire seated herself slowly on the chaise longue and draped the blue folds of the negligee carelessly and majestically about her. She was beginning to enjoy it. She said leisurely:

"No, it will never happen again. Haven't you understood that I do not want you back on my set?"

"Yes. I have. That's why I came. I thought that perhaps you hadn't understood what my work here meant to me. I was promised two weeks. Please, allow me to remain. I..." She hesitated for the first time. "I... need it very much."

"Really?" said Claire. "Were you under the impression that a studio is a charitable institution?"

The girl's lean, tanned cheeks blushed very slightly, so slightly that Winston Ayers was alone to notice it. She made an effort, as if forcing herself on against an overwhelming desire to say something quite different from what she actually said in her level, steady voice: