Movie Shoes (15 page)

One day Miss Steiman told Bee that the shooting of
The Secret Garden
had reached the place where Mary came into the story. Jane would start working the next day. In the funny way things seemed to happen in California, it was a day when there was news for everybody. Rachel had a phone message from Posy Fossil. Manoff had said she might attend rehearsal. Everybody the Winters knew in England had written letters which arrived that day. A gentleman was taking an interest in Tim from the point of view of putting him on a radio show.

Peaseblossom had driven the Ford over to fetch Jane and Bee and knew none of the excitements. So when Jane strutted into the hall and announced, “They start filming me as Mary tomorrow,” her words were drowned. Rachel danced up to Bee and flung her arms around her.

“Imagine! Tomorrow Monsieur Manoff will let me watch a rehearsal. Isn’t it the most gorgeous thing that ever happened to anybody!”

Tim, who was playing his imaginary grand piano, stopped in the middle of a concerto. “I may be going to play a piano on the radio. A man’s coming to see Dad about it.”

The family gasped. On the radio! What a dream come true!

Aunt Cora clasped her head. “Radio! This is too much. You know, John, when I invited you all, I never thought of such things happening. I’m worn out with all this excitement.”

John laughed. “Don’t worry, old girl. You look upon us as you might upon a snowstorm-just a passing affair. When we’ve gone, you might miss us, you never know.”

The First Day’s Shooting

Mr. Hiram P. Sneltzworther, who wanted Tim to play on a radio program, came to call the next afternoon, and in Aunt Cora’s living room he did a lot of talking. Mr. Sneltzworther said he was a man who had made himself. He had started as a small boy selling newspapers, and today he was just about the most important dealer in secondhand cars. Surely John and Aunt Cora had heard of
Hiram’s Hour?
Luckily Aunt Cora had. John took refuge behind Aunt Cora's saying, “Why, of course. Everybody knows
Hiram’s Hour,”
and just grunted in a way which could have meant yes and could have meant no. Mr. Sneltzworther said he never let himself rest. There was never a moment day or night when he was not looking for something new for
Hiram’s Hour.
So when he ran out of cigarettes outside the Antonios’ store and happened to hear Tim play, he had a brain wave.

“I can see him, Mr. Winter. The hall packed with people. And Junior sitting at a great big piano, playing something catchy and perhaps cracking a few jokes with the announcer. You needn’t worry about the formalities. Approval has to come from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children; but it’s not a complicated matter, and the radio people will give you all the help you need.”

Aunt Cora was so pleased she was almost signing a contract for Tim when John stopped her. He said decisions of that sort he left to his children to decide, so he called Tim in.

John placed Tim between his knees so that he would not fidget and explained as clearly as he could what Mr. Sneltzworther wanted. When he finished, Tim thought for a minute and said nothing. Mr. Sneltzworther was afraid Tim might not be appreciating the wonderful opportunity he was being given.

“My announcer’s the funniest man. I’ve heard
folks say
they
laugh
more at him than Bob Hope. And just think of all you could buy with a few bucks …”

Tim swung around
to
face Mr. Sneltzworther.

“Enough bucks to rent a piano?”

“
If you
go over big enough, to rent two or three pianos.”

Tim s face was scarlet. How pleased
Bella would
be! Even she had not thought that the Lord
would
be sending more than one piano.

“I want only one piano but if there are enough bucks,
I
should like some music.”

John gave Tim an affectionate slap. “Excuse my offspring’s sounding mercenary. They all understood that while they are over here, any money they need for lessons and so on they’ve got to earn.”

Tim wanted to
tell Bella
about the piano. He said good-bye to Mr. Sneltzworther who looked admiringly after him.

“Quite a
kid!”

Rachel was having the day of her life. Manoff was working his company in a new ballet. It was very technical and
full
of lifts and was a pause in the rehearsal, the
final touch
was given to Rachel’s happiness. Monsieur Manoff himself spoke to her. He asked her how he found his ballet. Rachel was too shy to say much, but she did stammer that It was
lovely,
and Posy quite perfect. Manoff smiled at that and kissed his fingers toward Posy’s back.

Such a one is born not once in a century. Each day I wake singing because I have the privilege to work with her.”

Jane was having a horrible day. It started all right. She found she had a dear little dressing room with a yellow settee and yellow-painted furniture. It was the custom to send flowers to the leading artists on their first day in a new picture, and Mr. Bettelheimer had sent her a Victorian posy, and Mr. Browne a box of gardenias and a fat envelope. In the envelope was a typed list of dog foods. Every sort of delicacy a dog could fancy. Many of them were such grand things that Chewing-gum had never tasted them. On the bottom was written, “Please mark anything Chewing-gum would like and let me have his address.”

That was the end of the niceness of the day. Shooting had been going on for some time on
The Secret Garden.
It was turning out to be a difficult picture to make, but everybody who had seen the beginning part of it run through was excited about it and said very nice things about it to Jane’s-Mr. Browne. People had said, “If it goes on this way ... “

Mr. Browne had smiled and looked confident and answered, “Why not? We’ve David Doe and young Maurice Tuesday.”

All the important people had said, “That’s so,” and they had not said, what clearly they were thinking, “But you haven’t got Ursula Gidden.”

Jane’s-Mr. Browne had sighed and thought, “How right they are, I have not,” and he held his thumbs and said over and over again, “Jane will be all right. I know she’ll be all right.”

Jane, because she had felt unimportant and had made herself disliked ever since she had been at school on the studio lot, had counted more than anyone could have guessed on how wonderful life would be once she had started the part of Mary. It was an important part; everybody be bound to treat her with respect.

As Mr. Phelps led Jane by the hand onto the set, all the people who were making the picture-Jane’s-Mr. Browne, Mr. Phelps, who was the assistant director, Mr. Browne’s secretary, the camera crew, the lighting men, the electricians, the sound control man, the greens men, were in charge of special effects in the garden, the script girl, the men and women from the wardrobe department, hairdresser, and the still-camera man-looked at her. They had kind, friendly expressions but, of course, showed none of the respect Jane had hoped for because she had done nothing so far for them to respect. They were a hardworking team of men and women whose business was making films, and they were looking at an unknown little English girl and hoping for everybody’s sake that the big risk Mr. Bryan Browne had taken in letting her play the part of Mary going to prove worthwhile.

Jane found that when he was in the middle of making a picture, Her-Mr. Browne was quite a different person from the Mr. Browne
she had
seen sitting on
his porch.
People were import to
him
only when they were part of making a scene, and be forgot they were even alive when they were not part of a scene. When Mr. Phelps brought Jane onto the set, Mr. Browne wanted her, but he wanted her to be like a piece of Plasticine that he could make into any
shape
be liked. He put
his
arm around her and
showed
her the set. He explained it was a railway carriage, and
he
was just going to tell
her
exactly
how
he wanted her to feel when Jane interrupted
him.
She honestly thought she was
saving
him trouble by letting him know he was wasting
his
time telling her things
she knew already.

“I know
all
this.
I
sit there, and Mrs. Medlock sits there, and we eat our lunch out of a basket and she tell me about my uncle and I tell her about India.”

Mt Browne would have liked to take Jane by the shoulders and give her a good shake. However, Jane was not his to shake so instead he kept his temper and beckoned Mr. Phelps over and told him to introduce her to Annie and see if she knew her lines. He would take the run-through in a minute.

Mr. Phelps was young and energetic. His mother had come from Ireland, and Irish people never mind saying what they think. Mr. Phelps was very much like his mother. He had a lot of black hair, and
he
ran a hand through it and looked sternly at Jane. “Will you hold your tongue and do what I tell you?”

Jane was angry and hurt. This was not the way she had expected things to be. “Why’s My-Mr. Browne gone away? Why’s he looking so cross? I know what I’ve got to do, and I only told him so.”

“
Your
Mr. Browne, is it? Well if you want to please your Mr. Browne, you’ll not tell him anything. He’ll tell
you.
”

“But why shouldn’t I? I’m being Mary; it’s an important part.”

Mr. Phelps threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“And you are the living breathing image of Mary.” Then he stopped laughing and looked stern again. “Now, look, I’m your friend. I want to help you. You get any nonsense out of your head about the importance of your part. Young Ursula Gidden, who’s made more money for this company than you or I will ever see, is as mild a child as you would find in a walk I’ll tell you across the world. Remember that, and maybe in a week or two, if you come to me and ask me nicely, you’ll be glad to know.”

A stout elderly woman with black hair came onto the set. She wore a long full dress of purple, with a black cape trimmed with sequins and a black bonnet with strings under her chin. She came straight up to Jane.

“Hello,
my dear I’m Annie Street. I’m English, too, Yorkshire, what’s more.”

Jane
liked
the
look
of Annie Street. “Are you playing Mrs.
Medlock?”

“Yes, and you’ve got to hate me, so don’t smile like that.” Annie Street turned Mr.
Phelps.
“Can we have a run-through?”

Considering that she had never acted, Jane did not find the first day’s shooting very hard. Mary was a
child
who had been brought up in India, where in the days when
The Garden
was written, Indian servants spoiled English children abominably and
allowed
them to treat them in the rudest way. Jane’s-Mr. Browne having got over wanting to shake
Jane,
came back and worked hard on her. He was sure, from what he had seen of her that Jane could be made to play the scenes with Mrs.
Medlock just right. What he did not know was what a help Mr. Phelps was.
During a moment when Mr. Browne was
ta1ki
ng to Annie Street Phelps whispered, “Get it out of your head that that’s Annie Street. There must be somebody you’d like to snub.”

Jane thought of cool competent Mrs. Gates. Mrs. Gates in her white coat, looking at her as if she were
less
than a caterpillar.

“There is.”

“A he or a she?”

“A she.”

“Well, speak to her then, and you’ll do fine.”

Bee was, to her surprise finding that she liked her first day in the studio. She had been scared that she would feel awkward and in the way with the actors and actresses. Actually there were not many actresses and actors about, for they were not needed in the railway sequences. There was, however, somebody who made Bee feel at home at once.

Jane had a stand-in, a girl called Shirley Norstrum. Shirley was doing lessons when Jane came on the set. Shirley’s work was to sit or stand in the places where Jane would have to sit or stand when the shooting took place. Focusing on Shirley, the camera and lighting men got their correct positions. While Shirley stood in for Jane, Jane could have her clothes changed or finish her lessons. When she came onto the set, everything was ready for shooting. Stand-ins like Shirley saved time in picture making.

Like every other child who worked in pictures, Shirley had to have someone to look after her in the studio, and that person was her mother. Mrs. Norstrum was the perfect person for Bee to meet. There was nothing at all about studio life that Mrs. Norstrum did not know. Moreover, her life was much more like life as Bee knew it in England. Mrs. Norstrum had her housework and her shopping to do, and from what she said, shopping was hard work because many things to eat cost more than people like the Norstrums could afford to pay.

Listening to Mrs. Norstrum, Bee felt cozier and more at home than she had felt since she arrived.

“Oh, dear, I’m glad I met you! I was so scared of coming here. But you’ll tell me all the things I want to know and give me a hint if Jane isn’t doing the right things.”

Mrs. Norstrum liked Bee and smiled, but inside, she felt worried for her. Shirley, of course, went to the studio school. She had not spoken much to Jane, but she knew her, and she knew what everybody thought about her. What Shirley had said was “That Jane Winter is certainly a horrid girl.” So Mrs. Norstrum, wanting to help and liking Bee, dared give a hint. “If Jane does her best, and runs to her lessons when she’s called and plays quietly between shots with Shirley or Maurice or David and their stand-ins, she’ll do fine.”

At that moment there was a call for silence, as a scene was being shot. Then Jane’s voice could be heard answering Mrs. Medlock, “I shall not want to go poking about.”

Actually it was said exactly right, in a mixture of Jane’s worst black-doggish and being-grand moods. Although it was right, made Bee sigh. Somehow she could not see Jane running to her lessons and playing quietly with the other children, and she wondered more than ever if she and John had been right to let her act in
The Secret Garden.