The Early Ayn Rand

"Forgive me. You are quite right. It was in very bad taste on my part to mention that. That doesn't matter. But, you see, I'm just starting in Hollywood. It's difficult to get an opening, even for extra work, to be seen. My whole career may depend on what I do in this picture."

"Your whole career?" said Claire sweetly. "But, my dear girl, what makes you think that you have a career before you?"

The girl hadn't expected it. She looked at Claire closely. Two soft, mocking dimples creased Claire's cheeks. She continued, shrugging, "There are thousands and thousands of girls like you in Hollywood and every one of them thinks she has a career waiting for her."

"But..."

"Let me give you some advice, Miss Leland. Friendly advice — really, I don't hold that little incident against you. Think of the thing you can do best — then go and do it. Forget the movies. I am more experienced than you are and I know the business: the screen is not for you."

"Miss Nash..."

"Oh, don't say it's heartbreaking and all that! Let me tell you the truth. You are not particularly pretty. Thousands of better-looking girls are starving here. You haven't a chance. It really doesn't matter whether you work here or not. You won't get far anyway. Go back home and try to marry some nice, respectable fellow. That would be the best thing for you."

Heddy Leland looked at her; looked at the man who sat silently watching them.

"Please excuse my intrusion, Miss Nash," she said as if she were reciting disjointed words without meaning, for her voice had no expression at all. She turned and walked out and closed the door evenly behind her. The soft curtains of peach velvet rustled and billowed slightly and fell back to immobility.

Claire lit a cigarette with magnificent disdain.

"Why did you give that advice to the girl?" Winston Ayers asked.

"Oh!" Wrinkles gathered on Claire's pretty little nose. "Oh, it makes me sick! When I see one of those girls who gets five bucks a day and wants to be a star! Everybody wants to be a star. They think that to be a star means nothing at all!"

"Precisely, Miss Nash. It means nothing at all"

Claire spilled ashes on her blue satin without noticing it. "You're saying that to me?" she breathed.

"I was under the impression," he answered, "that I had said it before. You were kind enough to inquire why I refuse to write for Hollywood. Perhaps I can make myself clear now. You see, I believe that screen actresses are not great artists, rare talents, exceptions. They are not one in a thousand, they are just one out of the thousand, chosen by..."

"By?"

"... chance."

Claire said nothing. No proper words would come to her.

"Look about you," he continued. "Thousands and thousands of girls struggle for a place in the movies. Some are as beautiful as you are, and some are more beautiful. All can act as you act. Have they a right to fame and stardom? Just as much or just as little as you have."

“Do you realize," said Claire, and her voice made funny little gurgling sounds in her throat, but she was past caring about her voice or what it said, "do you realize, Mr. Ayers, that you are speaking to a woman who is considered one of the world's geniuses?"

"The world," said Winston Ayers, "would never have seen that genius, if someone hadn't told it so — by chance."

"Really," Claire stammered, "I don't mean to be begging for compliments, Mr. Ayers, but..."

"Neither do I mean to be insulting, Miss Nash. But look at it objectively. There's no one in this business with an honest idea of what's good and what's bad. And there's no one who's not scared green of having such an idea for himself. They're all sitting around waiting for someone to tell them. Begging someone to tell them. Anyone, just so they won't have to take the awful responsibility of judging and valuing on their own. So merit doesn't exist here. What does exist is someone's ballyhoo which all the others are only too glad to follow. And the ballyhoo starts with less discrimination and from less respectable sources than the betting at a racetrack. Only this is more of a gamble, because at a track all the horses are at least given a chance to run."

Claire rose. "Most unusual, Mr. Ayers," she said, smiling icily. "I do wish we could continue this stimulating discussion. But I am so sorry, I do have an early call on the set tomorrow and..."

"Keep this, Miss Nash," he said, rising, "as a little memento of me. You have made your career. I do not ask how you made it. You are famous, great, admired. You are considered one of the world's geniuses. But you could not make a second career."

Claire stopped; looked at him; walked back to him.

"A second career? What do you mean?"

"Just that. If you were to start at the beginning now, you would see how easy it is to get your talent recognized. You'd see how many people would notice it. How many people would be eager to notice. How pleasant they would make it for you. How many of them would give a damn!"