The Early Ayn Rand

"Certainly, Mr. Ayers."

"I choose the director?"

"Yes, Mr. Ayers."

"And remember, Mr. Bamburger: I choose the cast."

"Yes, Mr. Ayers."

"Can't promise anything. But we might be using crowds later. Drop in next week."

Heddy Leland repeated to herself the words of the casting director in his short, indifferent voice. "Next week... for the sixth time," she added in her own voice, soft and tired.

She was walking home from the studio, from the seventh studio she had visited that day. The answers in the others had been the same. No, not quite the same. She had waited for two hours in one of them, only to be told that the casting director would see no one else today. In another, an assistant, a skinny boy with a dripping nose, had said: "Nothing today, sister," and when she had tried to remind him of his boss' promise, he had snapped: "Who's running this place? Get going, sister."

Six weeks without work. Forty-two days of getting up in the morning, dressing herself like a Parisian doll — while being careful that no one should notice the tears in her silk stockings, hidden by her pumps, the tears in her lace blouse, hidden by her trim jacket — walking into a casting office, asking the same question with the same smile and the same sinking of the heart; and hearing the same answer, always, each day, for all eternity-She reached the little hotel she was living in. "Did the Henry Jinx Films call me, Mrs. Johns?" she asked at the desk, her voice trembling a little.

"Miss Leland?... Let's see... the Henry Jinx Films — yes. They called. A message: they are sorry, but they have nothing right now. They hope that next week..."

Heddy was sitting on the bed, in her room, her elbows in the pillow and her chin in her hands, in a dark meditation, when the telephone rang, with a dry, sharp noise.

"Hello."

"Miss Leland?"

"Yes."

"This is Wonder Pictures. Mr. Bamburger wants to see you at once."

"Mr. Bamb -"

"Mr. Bamburger, yes. At once."

"Miss Leland — Mr. Ayers." Mr. Bamburger introduced them. Winston Ayers looked at her with his slow, cold, curious look. She looked at him with her calm, dark, resolute eyes. He opened his eyelids slightly wider. Hers remained motionless.

"I am very glad to meet you, Miss Leland," he said in his slow, charming voice, a smiling voice from serious lips, "and I am sure that I could not have found a better interpreter for my story."

"I am very grateful for your choice, Mr. Ayers," she answered evenly, "and I shall try to live up to it."

Winston Ayers looked at her again. He knew that only a few minutes ago, Mr. Bamburger had told this girl that the great author himself had chosen her for the part which Hollywood's biggest stars dreamed of playing. She seemed too calm, much too calm. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, his eyes narrowing indifferently, as Mr. Bamburger resumed his nervous, hurried speech; but he found himself looking again at the strange, thin profile, the long lashes, the hard, set mouth. It isn't indifference in her, he thought, it's something else. He wished suddenly to know the something else, even if he had to break the arrogant little creature to learn it.

The tips of her fingers pressed to the edge of Mr. Bamburger's desk, the only thing to keep her from swaying and falling before them, Heddy Leland had the strength to stand still, to listen, to hear Mr. Bamburger saying: "... for this one picture only... three hundred dollars a week... as a beginning... the future depends on your work..." Then Winston Ayers' slow voice: "You'll have the script at once, Miss Leland, and you can get acquainted with the part of Queen Lani."

Her round cheeks rouged delicately, her blond curls fluttering in the wind, under the brim of her cheapest little hat (she was being honest about it, for the hat had cost a mere thirty dollars and it was most becoming!), a huge round collar of blinding white lace billowing under her chin, Claire Nash was the very picture of sweet girlhood on its way to see the casting director of the Henry Jinx Film Company.

She had a hard time trying not to smile and she lowered her eyes modestly, to keep from looking at the passersby and from betraying in one laughing glance her whole mad adventure. She had been bored in Hollywood for so many months, and she did not remember such a thrilling morning for a long, long time.

She saw the Henry Jinx Studio rise before her, white, majestic, and royally welcoming, as she turned a corner. With her brisk, assured, graceful little step, she walked up the broad, polished steps to the glittering entrance. A sign stopped her. It was a dirty little cardboard sign with crooked letters drawn by hand: CASTING OFFICE AROUND THE CORNER. It hung there as a silent insult. She made a little grimace, shrugged gaily, and walked obediently around the corner.