Love Me Read Online Free Page B

as “no.” Maybe he’d just gotten the news about Dane first and didn’t want to wait until the full nominations were in. Or maybe Dane had hung up the phone in shock before Larry could finish talking. Maybe he was going to call back any minute.
Or maybe …
    “He doesn’t know I’m here!” Margo shouted, her face flushed. “He’s probably been trying to call the bungalow! He must have been calling for ages and wondering why he didn’t get an answer.”
    “The radio,” Dane said at once. “They announce the nominations on the radio.”
    “What time is it? Oh God, they’ve already started!”
    With a shriek, Margo leapt out of bed and ran out the door and down the long corridor to the kitchen. For reasons that had never quite been made clear to her, Dane insisted on keeping the only wireless in the house in the pantry “for George to listen to.” Dane padded behind her, still looking stunned as he pulled on his robe.
    George jumped in astonishment at the sight of the house’s nominal mistress bursting into the pantry unannounced in a transparent nightgown, her hair standing on end like a wild woman’s.
    “Marg … I mean, Miss … Is there something …”
    “The radio,” she croaked. “I need the radio.”
    She shoved him out of the way, wrenching the dial from the sedate breakfast program he liked to listen to in which a couple of British people bickered pleasantly over the merits of marmalade versus jam, until the static gave way to the familiar voice of Frank Capra, the director who was currently serving his final term as president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.
    “And now, for the acting nominations.”
    Mr. Capra’s voice was ebullient as usual, but it hit Margo like a splash of icy water to the face. She drew her breath in sharply.
    “For the Academy Award for Best Actor, the nominees are as follows,” he continued. “Spencer Tracy, for
Boys Town
. Charles Boyer, for
Algiers
. James Cagney, for
Angels with Dirty Faces
. Dane Forrest, for
The Nine Days’ Queen
.”
    “Mr. Forrest!” George jumped about three feet in the air. “My God! We have to celebrate! I’ll make a special breakfast; we’ll open a bottle of champagne—”
    “George! Be quiet!”
    The house manager’s face fell.
    “Sorry, pal,” Dane said in a loud stage whisper, shooting him an apologetic look. “The dame’s a little antsy, what can I tell you?”
    “I said, be quiet! That goes for you too.”
    “…  and Leslie Howard, for
Pygmalion
. And now, the nominees for the Best Actress award.”
    Margo felt her blood run hot and cold all at once, like a tornado was going to start swirling inside her. Dane reached for her hand, but she swatted him away.
    “Bette Davis, for
Jezebel
.”
No surprise there
. The whole town had been saying Davis was a shoo-in for a nomination, if not the big prize itself, for more than a year, since Margo was still mooning over movie magazines at the soda counter at Schwab’s.
    “Fay Bainter, for
White Banners
.” That was more unexpected. Bainter was a character actress with the kind of face, as studio bigwigs like to say, that had “Best Supporting” written all over it. Usually cast as kindly mothers and spinster aunts, she was hardly the kind of glamour puss for which the Academy liked to reserve its highest honor.
    “Wendy Hiller, for
Pygmalion
.”
    “That’s the British girl,” George chimed in knowledgeably. “I thought she made a spectacular Eliza Doolittle. She played the role on the West End as well—they talked all about it on
Breakfast with Irene and Roger
. Apparently, she’s a special protégée of the great Mr. Shaw himself.”
    Well, bully for Wendy Hiller
, Margo thought. Anyone could be swell in a part they’d already played before. And George Bernard Shaw might be the Greatest Living Writer in the EnglishLanguage, but after a grueling semester listening to Mr. Over-street, the frustrated former actor who taught English