CHAPTER XXII BENEATH THE FLOODLIGHTS
This brief period of rest was the last Petite Jeanne was to enjoy formany days. The work on that little section of Big Black Mountainprogressed more rapidly than had been expected. In order that there-making of the scenario should progress quite as rapidly, Tom Tobinsecured a brief leave of absence from his newspaper work. He and Jeanne,together with Jensie when she could be spared from her beloved Tavern,were together at all hours of day and night.
So long as Tom was with her, Jeanne had no fear of Lorena LeMar's boyfriends. Her only fear was that they might discover that she was not MissLeMar at all, and end by betraying her secret.
"But what do you care!" Tom exploded one day. "You are as good as LorenaLeMar."
"Not in pictures!" Jeanne protested. "No, no! And then you know I havepromised. I said, 'Yes, I will be Lorena LeMar.' And Lorena LeMar I mustbe."
It was with grave misgiving that she approached the movie lot on thefirst day of actual work. "There is so much I do not know," she toldherself. "If it is necessary to explain much to me, what must thatsharp-eyed Mr. Soloman think?"
These fears vanished as she saw the rows on rows of faces packed in thestadium ready to witness the actual making of a movie feature, for it wasthis and nothing less that the keen Mr. Soloman had advertised in bigelectric words outside the gate.
"I must succeed! I must! I must!" She set her will to the task.
To her vast surprise she found that first day passing as serenely as ajourney down a country lane. The scenes were simple ones, the lines shortand easy. She came to it all with a simple naturalness that pleased bothSoloman and her audience.
But, as the days passed, it seemed to her that the whole affair was likea gigantic machine that gathers speed as its many wheels revolve.
Not three days had passed ere every person in the cast realized that herewas a real task, the making of a genuine feature in record time on animprovised stage. "Seldom has it been done," they were told. "All themore reason for succeeding," came their answer.
Powerful lights were hung over the mountain and long after the spectatorswere gone the cast of the play toiled on.
Important scenes were filmed not once or twice, but six, eight, tentimes. Each little detail must be right.
Those burning lights burned into Jeanne's very soul. What matter this?She must smile. She must weep. She must shout for pure joy when thescript said, smile, weep, shout.
And all this time she felt the small eyes of Soloman upon her. At timeshis eyes merely twinkled; at others his lips curled in a smile. Thenagain he seemed anxious.
When, on rare occasions, he broke the silence to murmur, "Beautiful!Beautiful!" she knew that the praise came from the very depths of hissoul and she was glad.
"Does he know that I am not Lorena LeMar?" she said to Tom one night. "Hemust!"
"N-no. Well, perhaps. I am sure he does not know who you are."
"And if he did?" Jeanne's heart stood still.
"If God found a human as perfect as you are mixed with the angels," Tomsmiled, "I think He would let that human remain with the angels."
"But Soloman is not God."
"He's no fool either."
They left it at that, but Jeanne did not cease, at times, to tremble.
There was no picture on the clouds these days. So weary was she when atlast each day was done, that she crept away to Lorena LeMar's sumptuousapartment to sleep the hours away.
The long-eared Chinaman, the three-bladed knife, the hearse and the twoblack horses, Rutledge Tavern, even the laundry bag checked in the littlehotel were for the moment crowded out of her life.
And then came the marvelous news that they were to board a special carand speed away to the real mountains.
So weary was Jeanne, by the time she reached that car, that she creptbeneath the blankets in her berth and did not awaken until the morningsun and the green hills of Kentucky greeted her eyes.
At noon of that same day Jeanne found herself seated on a great rock atthe foot of Big Black Mountain. She was dressed in boys' unionalls. Herfeet were bare. On her head, slouched down about her ears, she wore anold straw hat. Gripped in both hands was a fishing rod made from thebranch of a chestnut tree. She was fishing, fishing joyously for "greenperch." What mattered it that a movie camera was clicking across thestream, or that the villain of the movie tried in vain to talk to her oflove? All this was but play stuff. The fishing was real.
When the fishing was over she dived, clothes and all, into that deep,limpid pool to enjoy a glorious swim while the camera clicked on, andfrom time to time Ted Hunter, the director, shouted "Cut! Cut!"
"This," Jeanne whispered to Jensie when the day was over and they stoodbefore a spring dashing handfuls of clear, cool water over their faces,"This is not work! It is play."
And so it seemed to them all. Catching the spirit of the mountains, ofthe easy-going, beauty-loving, loyal people of the Cumberlands, theydreamed the hours away. Only Ted Hunter's sharp "No! No! Not that!" and"Yes! Yes! That's it!" made them realize that they were making a movingpicture.
As for the members of the company, in this mellow atmosphere Jeanne cameto love them all. Anthony Hope, the droll, handsome youth who in thefirst and last scenes of the movie made bashful love to her; ScottRamsey, the aged character actor; Pietro, the young Italian; and even thechubby villain came to have a safe little spot in Jeanne's generousheart.
There were hours off. And what could be more delightful than to don thoseboys' overalls once more and with Pietro as guard against bears, to climbfar up the side of Big Black Mountain?
Having climbed and climbed until they had lost their breath, they came atlast upon a lovely spot where the sunlight, sifting through the leafybower above, wove strange patterns in the moss.
There Pietro threw himself flat upon nature's soft bed to stare up at aneagle wheeling high in the sky. It was then that he spoke to her,sometimes calmly, sometimes passionately, of his hopes, his dreams andhis moments of black despair.
"You think I was born in Italy!" he exclaimed. "I was not, but inChicago. Not beautiful Chicago, but ugly Chicago, the near West Side.
"There are seven of us. Three boys. Four girls. I am the oldest.
"I studied hard. I graduated from High School. And then what? Nothing. Itramped the streets looking for work, any work. There was no work.
"One month, two, three, four, five months!" His voice took on a bitternote. "Six months I tramped the streets! No work.
"I said, 'I will get tough. I will join the 42 Gang.' I--"
"No! No! Never! You would not!" Jeanne's tone was deep with emotion.
"It was not so much that I would not." Pietro sat up. "It was that I_could_ not. My people were honest. I could not steal.
"And then--" His voice mellowed. "Then I met a fat little Jew. He said,'Come with me, my boy. I will give you a chance.'
"I did not wish to go. I said to myself, 'He is a Jew. A Jew!'
"But what was there to do?
"I went. He has taught me how to act in pictures, this little Jew, yourfriend, my friend, Mr. Soloman." There was a touch almost of reverence inhis voice. "And now, here I am," he concluded.
"And, Miss LeMar--" His eyes appeared to look into her very soul. So deepwas her feeling at that moment that she actually feared he was readingher true name from her very eyes. But he was not. "Miss LeMar," herepeated softly, "tell me that this picture, this 'Dogwood in Bloom'story, is to be a success, a real success!"
"Pietro," her hand was on his arm, "if you and I and all the rest canmake it a success, then it shall be--a grand, a very glorious success. Ican say no more."
"Good!"
Putting out a hand, solemn as a priest in a temple, he lifted her whitefingers to his lips and kissed them.
Then, as if a little ashamed, he sprang to his feet to lead the way backdown the mountain.