The Early Ayn Rand

Then the flood broke loose. From coast to coast, tragic articles sobbed over the terrible loss in miles of close-printed black columns. It was said that the screen had been deprived of its brightest luminary; that her name was written in the book of Immortality; that the whole world would feel her absence; that there never would be another Claire Nash; that Wonder-Pictures, Inc., had signed Lula Del Mio, the famous ingenue, for the starring part in Heart and Soul, which the unforgettable Claire Nash was to have made.

In her little hotel room, having come back from the city where her plane never landed, Claire Nash sat among an ocean of newspapers. No obituary notices had ever had such a happy reader. That, thought Claire joyously as she read, was that. This was what she meant to the world. They knew her true value, after all. What publicity and what buildup! What sensation to come, when the world would learn suddenly that its brightest luminary was still shining! She delayed her resurrection for a few days. The bright crop of glowing words that fell into her hands with each new paper was like wine to her battered, thirsty soul.

She frowned for the first time, though, when the producer's nephew, whom she had thoroughly forgotten, appeared in print with an article about their years-old divorce; a sad, gentle article which, however, brought out some intimate details of the matter that had better been kept hidden. No doubt, he had been well paid for it and a mangled corpse could not bring suit, but still, there were the Women's Clubs, and that sort of thing did not help a star's reputation.

She stopped smiling entirely when a featured player of smoldering Latin charm, long since unemployed, whose name she had trouble in recalling, published a lengthy confession of his love life with Miss Nash, the details of which she recalled only too well. And the Sunday supplements carried such stories, with snapshots and facsimiles of letters, that she decided the time had definitely come to stop it. What the country was beginning to whisper about Claire Nash was neither as sad nor as beautiful as the obituary notices.

"I really cannot understand, madam, how you can persist in that queer statement," said Mr. Bamburger to Claire Nash, a haggard, green-faced, wild-eyed Claire Nash who sat in his office after her long, desperate struggle to gain admittance.

"But, Jake..." she stammered. "But you... I... for God's sake, Jake, you can't make me think I'm crazy! You know me. You recognize me!"

"Really, madam, I have never seen you before in my life."

Mr. Bamburger's secretary left the room. Mr. Bamburger rose hastily and closed the door.

"Listen, Claire..."

She jumped to her feet, a radiant smile drying her gathering tears.

"Jake, you fool! What's the gag?"

"Listen, Claire. Of course, I recognize you. But I won't recognize you in public. Now, don't stare at me like that. I won't — for your own good."

She sat down again, for she was going to fall.

"I... I don't understand," she muttered.

"You understand," said Mr. Bamburger, "only too damn well. You've read those articles, haven't you? What producer do you think will want to touch you now with a ten-foot pole?"

"But I can..."

"No, you can't. You can't sue those fellows, because they'll prove it all. You know it and I know it. And we know also that the Women's Clubs and all the Moral Uplifters would boycott a studio off the face of the earth, if any of us were fool enough to star you again."

"But..."

"Where were you all this time, you nitwitted idiot? Why did you let all those obituaries go on? If that alone weren't enough! Do you think the public would love you for that kind of a publicity stunt? Capitalizing on a catastrophe! It would ruin all confidence in the picture business, if they knew! The day is past for cheap, fantastic press-agent tricks like these!"

"But I've explained it to you! I did it only because..."

"Oh, so you think you're going to confess the real story? Tell the world that you weren't on that plane because you were pulling a silly, lousy trick on the studios? And do you expect us producers to back you up in that and make ourselves look like a bunch of jackasses?"

"But... but... but I'm popular... I'm a great star... I'm a box-offi- "

"You were. You were also slipping. Oh, definitely slipping, my girl. Take a look at the reports on your last two pictures. The public's getting sick of ingenues. Besides, we have signed Lula Del Mio to take your place. We don't need two of a kind...