Weâll have our faces in big, shining close-up! Big as giants! And weâll be in cinemas all over the world.â
âJust wait until Hitler begs for your autograph.â
Sallyâs eyes went wide. âOh, he might see me. I hadnât thought about that.â
âDonât worry. Iâm sure
This Midnight Realm
wonât play in downtown Berlin.â Beth put her arm around Sally to give her friend an affectionate squeeze. âIâm really pleased youâve got the part. And Iâm sorry that I wonât be with you in Whitby.â
âBut you will. Youâve signed the contract.â
âAnd Iâll be fired before I even get the script. Me and my big mouth, eh, kid? But Mr Big Guns Director there, Alec Reed, made me so angry. He shouldnât talk to us like weâre lazy no-gooders.â
Already the young actresses had formed a half circle in front of Alec, so they could vie to flatter him, laugh at his jokes, and beam winning smiles.
Beth said, âYou best make sure your face is seen down there by Mr Reed. Otherwise all the pretty girls will get the best parts.â She stood up.
âBeth, where are you going?â
âOh, Iâm going to get some air before he fires me.â
âBethââ
âSally, donât worry. Iâll stick around and look after you today. Men in film studios prowl round like hungry wolves when pretty young actresses are about. Later, Iâll play the big sister and give you a list of doâs and donâts before you go off to Whitby. Thereâs no need to fret about costumes and make-up; they have people to take care of that for you.â
âIâm scared, Beth. I donât know what to say to anyone.â
âYouâll be fine. Because youâre a golden-hearted sweetie, and everyone will recognize the good in you.â She stood up. âCiao.â
Two
Beth Layne relished her current sense of utter relief. A hothouse of thespian egos always oppressed her.
Donât get me wrong,
she thought.
I love the job of acting. Itâs just that some actors and actresses can be so damn annoying. Iâd love to see them in a big factory with clanking metal presses making turrets for tanks. Would they last the week? A day? No, I think not.
âNow Iâm being bitchy,â she murmured to herself, as she paused at a mirror by a studio door to adjust a lock of hair that hung down over her forehead. âAnd Iâm being as vain as they are.â Beth, an American by birth, had left the States to find work in the English film industry five years ago. She figured her American accent, and hair as golden as a Nebraskan cornfield, would win her lead roles. Also, she had served Cary Grant a cocktail in one of his Hollywood movies. That kind of gem on a résumé could get a girl decent acting parts in the old motherland. Only, the war had come along to complicate things.
Roaming wolf-packs of German submarines made Transatlantic crossings for civilians a near impossibility, so she couldnât return home to the US of A. Add to that, America had entered the war against Japan and Hitlerâs Germany just a matter of weeks ago. And, dear God in heaven, she did want to aid the war effort. If it wasnât for landing a role in
This Midnight Realm
, she would have presented herself at a munitions factory and begged to make bullets for allied soldiers. Beth told herself firmly,
One thing Iâm not afraid of is to get my hands dirty
.
She gazed into the mirror. Now she wanted to kick herself for lousing up this opportunity
. I must have been out of my mind to accuse the director of being a gin-sodden lush.
But the moment heâd opened his mouth heâd annoyed the hell out of her.
âFresh air,â she muttered. âGet fresh air and plenty of it.â
Beth headed down a long corridor. Doors off carried signs like
Edward Birks, Senior Producer
or
Kathleen Miller,