HOLLYWOOD
“It certainly seems queer to be riding along the ground,” remarked
Linda, as she and Dot stepped into a bus for Hollywood the following
morning. “But we can see so much more.”
“And it’s only eleven miles,” Dot reminded her. “Oh, aren’t you
thrilled, Linda?”
“Of course I am. What girl wouldn’t be?”
“If they offer you the contract now, won’t you change your mind and go
into pictures?” inquired Dot.
“No,” replied the famous aviatrix, decidedly. “I love the movies, and of
course I’m keen to see the stars face to face, but I still haven’t the
slightest desire to act. I guess I’m too shy. I get so fussed.”
“But it’ll be kind of a mean trick to haul that girl out of the picture
after the Film Corporation have advertised it, and then not take her
place. The producer may lose a lot of money.”
“That’s his fault. They should have been more careful about looking up
her credentials.”
“Suppose you can’t convince them that you’re the real Linda Carlton?”
suggested Dot.
“I’ll have to stay there till I do. But I have my licenses with me. I
only wish I had my Distinguished Flying Cross, but unfortunately Daddy
put it away in his safe-deposit box.”
The bus was luxurious and the girls settled down in delighted comfort.
All the other passengers looked prosperous and well dressed; from their
appearance they might easily be moving-picture stars. But of course they
weren’t, the girls decided, for even the humblest star has her own car.
The country through which they were travelling was lovely, and as they
approached Hollywood, the girls noticed charming, well-kept bungalows
and homes of every description. As if everyone who lived there were
wealthy. The fresh green lawns, the tall palm trees shading the streets,
the vivid blue sky above formed a striking picture. No wonder most girls
were wild to go to Hollywood!
Linda and Dot went on to Culver City, where most of the studios were
located, and found the Apex Film Corporation, housed in a large and
imposing building. As they ascended the steps Linda became exceedingly
nervous, almost to the point of wishing that she hadn’t come.
“Suppose they take us for extras—applying for jobs—and throw us out!”
she whispered, fearfully.
“Don’t be silly, Linda! Your name would get you in anywhere!”
“I’m not so sure of that. We fliers aren’t much here, where they have a
world of their own and so many celebrities.”
The girls walked through a hall to a beautiful reception room, where a
“publicity” girl, who looked like an actress herself, took Linda’s card
and passed into an office to the right.
In a moment she returned with the information that the girls might go
into the office.
“Mr. Von Goss is out, but his secretary will see you,” she said. “Mr.
Leslie Sprague.”
“You do the talking, Dot,” begged Linda, as they left the room.
“Be yourself!” commanded her companion. “You can fly over the Atlantic
Ocean alone, and you’re afraid of an insignificant little secretary!”
Linda laughed. What would she ever do without Dot to restore her courage
whenever a fit of shyness overtook her? Holding her head high, she
marched into the office where the secretary was sitting.
The latter, a young man of medium height, with a blond moustache, stood
up as the girls entered. He opened his mouth to speak—but continued to
keep it open without saying anything for a moment.
“There’s some mistake,” he finally managed to stammer.
Linda laughed, quite at ease.
“There’s been a _big_ mistake,” she said. “And your director, Mr. Von
Goss, I believe his name is, has made it. I am the real Linda Carlton,
and he has signed up an impostor for the flying part in his picture!”
A slight sneer spread over the young man’s features.
“I suppose you have proof, Miss—er—?” he asked in a tone that plainly
showed that he did not suppose anything of the sort. How nasty he was,
not even to call Linda “Miss Carlton” and at least give her the benefit
of the doubt!
Dot’s chin shot up in the air.
“You don’t suppose we’d come here, without some proof, do you, Mr.
Sprague?” she demanded, haughtily. “Miss Carlton is a very busy person,
as you’d know if you read the newspapers.”
The man flushed at Dot’s high-handed manner; he was not used to being
rebuked by others. Little as she was, Dot Crowley had a masterful way of
driving straight at the mark.
Linda opened her handbag and held out her licenses.
“Just have these verified,” she said, calmly.
The young man stared at them.
“Where did you get hold of these?” he asked, slyly. “Find Miss Carlton’s
handbag?”
Linda made no reply, but turned her face aside in haughty disdain, as
Sprague rang a bell and summoned a young woman from another office, to
whom he made a slight explanation.
“And now,” he continued after the girl had left with the cards, “what do
you propose to do about it—if your identity should be established?”
“Simply have proof that you will remove my name from the pictures, and
print a statement saying that you had been misled.”
Mr. Sprague smiled sarcastically.
“You want the part yourself, I suppose?”
“I do not,” replied Linda, firmly. “I have neither time nor inclination
to go into the moving pictures. Your actress can play the part—under her
own name, whatever it is.”
“Mr. Von Goss would never consent to that. The girl isn’t much of an
actress. He just engaged her for the value of the publicity. And, if she
should prove to be an impostor, I’m sure he wouldn’t want her.”
“Well, that’s not my affair,” concluded Linda, rising. “Please get my
licenses back for me now, Mr. Sprague, and when you have proof, Mr. Von
Goss can communicate with me at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.”
“Wait a minute—wait a minute,” cautioned Sprague, smugly. “We can’t
verify that license in five minutes. The other girl also had licenses in
the name of Miss Linda Carlton, and the two will have to be compared, in
order to find out which is a counterfeit!”
“Why, that’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Dot. “People can’t counterfeit U. S.
Government licenses!”
The secretary smiled in his superior manner.
“Real counterfeiters can counterfeit anything,” he informed them.
“Then let me have mine back until we can place them side by side with
this other girl’s,” demanded Linda.
Sprague shook his head.
“I’m sorry, madam, but it’s too late to do that now. They have already
been handed over to our private detective, I’m sure.”
“How soon will he give them back?” asked Dot.
“Tomorrow, probably.”
“Where is this double of mine?” questioned Linda, with astonishing
directness. “On the lot?”
“No. She’s at Spring City now—or rather, on her way to the coast. She’s
due here tomorrow afternoon, flying into the Los Angeles airport, to
begin her part in the rehearsals.”
“We’ll be there to meet her,” announced Linda, with determination. “What
time?”
“Three o’clock. I’ll—meet you.”
Reluctantly the girls left the building, for they hated to go without
the licenses, and walked out into the bright sunshine.
“What a pest that man is!” exclaimed Dot. “Of all the smug,
self-satisfied, little tin-gods, he’s the worst I ever met.”
“He was rather unpleasant,” agreed Linda. “But he probably likes the
false Linda, and believes in her. So he treats us as criminals.”
“I suppose that’s it. But he didn’t have to be so nasty about it. And
the ridiculous way he tried to trip you up, asking where you got hold of
Miss Carlton’s licenses. It made my blood boil.”
“He’s not worth getting excited over, Dot, for after all, it will be Mr.
Von Goss who will decide the thing. Let’s forget him now, and go to one
of these spiffy restaurants for lunch. Don’t you hope we see some of the
stars?”
They sauntered along leisurely, looking at the people they passed,
wondering whether they were actors and actresses. But it was confusing,
for every girl here seemed to be pretty, and every man handsome. Indeed,
the stenographers and waitresses were no doubt girls who had won beauty
contests at home, only to come to Hollywood to find that beauty was as
common as blades of grass, and that there was more to getting into the
films than that. But of course these girls with the jobs—any jobs—were
the lucky ones. Thousands of others must have returned home penniless.
The restaurant Linda and Dot selected was a charming one, not far from
several of the studios, and the girls entered it with subdued
excitement. Although it was crowded, the head waiter succeeded in
finding them a little table by the wall, where they could eat and watch
their fellow-diners.
For a few minutes, while they sipped their tomato cocktails, their eyes
wandered about the softly lighted room, recognizing nobody in
particular. Then, all of a sudden, Dot pinched Linda’s arm.
“That’s Joan Crawford!” she whispered.
“Where?”
“Over there—to the left.”
“That girl with glasses?”
“Yes. She wears them a lot in public, they say, so that people won’t
recognize her. But I’m sure it’s she. And there’s her husband, sitting
down beside her now. Anybody’d know him.”
Linda nodded, and feasted her eyes on one of Hollywood’s most celebrated
and charming couples.
“And here comes Marlene Dietrich!” exclaimed Linda. “With that director
she’s so fond of. She is pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, only I like our own actresses better than those foreigners. They
always seem so affected.”
“How about Claudette Colbert? You like her, don’t you?” asked Linda,
jealously. She had a great admiration for the French ever since her
delightful reception in Paris.
“Yes, of course.... Oh, look, Linda—there’s Dimples!”
“Dimples? You mean June Collyer?”
“No, Stupid! A masculine Dimples. Gable, of course.”
“So it is! Wouldn’t Sara Wheeler be thrilled if she were here? She’s
wild about him.”
“I heard he was getting a divorce. If you stayed around here, Linda, and
took that part, you might have a chance.”
Linda laughed.
“The last thing I’d ever want to do is marry a movie actor!”
“I guess you’re right at that,” agreed Dot, sensibly. “Their marriages
don’t often take.”
The girls made their lunch last as long as they could, and when they had
finished they decided to go to a movie. For although Hollywood is the
town where they make pictures, they also have many gorgeous picture
palaces. Both Linda and Dot felt proud to know that they were having
first chance at seeing a show which their friends in Spring City
probably could not view until many months later.
After the performance was over they took the bus back to Los Angeles and
went straight to their room to dress elaborately for dinner. They were
almost ready when the telephone on the tiny table between their beds
jingled impatiently.
It was Mr. Von Goss, the director of the Apex Film Corporation, the man
whom they had hoped to see instead of that unpleasant secretary.
“May I come over and see you right after dinner, Miss—er—Carlton?” he
asked. “Sprague has just told me the news, and I want to learn all I can
about it at once.”
“Certainly,” agreed Linda. “I shall be glad to see you as soon as
possible.”
Linda replaced the receiver and turned to Dot.
“You know what I’ve been thinking? This girl can’t look exactly like me,
or Mr. Sprague wouldn’t have noticed the difference at once. Instead,
he’d have greeted me more like a friend. But you remember—he opened his
mouth in surprise.”
“That’s right. Of course we couldn’t judge much from her picture, with
that helmet on. She was your build and your type, Linda. Light curly
hair, and the same kind of nose.”
“I’m dying to see her.”
“So am I. But we shall tomorrow.”
“Well,” continued Linda, “it’s going to be interesting to get Mr. Von
Goss’s reaction. At any rate, he was a lot more polite over the
telephone than his secretary.”
The man arrived about nine o’clock, and Linda heard herself being paged
just as she and Dot came out of the dining-room.
“Hadn’t I better slip off?” suggested the latter, in a whisper.
“No, indeed!” protested Linda. “I need your moral support.”
Mr. Von Goss was a stout man of past middle-age, heavy set, with a big
jaw and a pair of keen blue eyes—obviously a man of power in his own
field. Nevertheless, he looked thoroughly disturbed over the matter
which had just been brought to his attention by his secretary.
“You claim to be Miss Carlton?” he inquired, as Linda came up to him in
the hotel lobby.
“Yes,” replied Linda. “And this is my friend, Miss Crowley. Shall we go
into one of those little parlors where we can talk?”
The director nodded, and Linda led the way into a small room that was
unoccupied at the moment.
“Er—will you have a cigarette, Miss—er—Carlton?” he inquired.
“No, thank you,” answered Linda. “But you go ahead and smoke, Mr. Von
Goss.”
The man lighted a cigar.
“This is bad business,” he said. “If what you claim is true, and we have
signed up the wrong young lady.”
“You are satisfied with my proofs?” asked Linda, hoping that he had
brought back her licenses.
“Can’t tell yet. The other girl certainly looks like all the newspaper
pictures I’ve ever seen of the famous aviatrix. If she isn’t Linda
Carlton, she certainly fooled me—and my secretary, too.”
“Do I look like my pictures?” inquired Linda, demurely.
Mr. Von Goss surveyed her critically.
“Not so much as the other girl,” he replied, with a smile. “But of
course you’re in evening dress, and the other girl always wears flying
suits.”
“She would,” put in Dot, cryptically.
“And, as Mr. Sprague suggested,” added Mr. Von Goss, “there’s the
possibility that the real Miss Carlton’s licenses were stolen—and that
by you—or anyone else!”
“Oh, that Mr. Sprague!” exclaimed Dot, with the utmost disdain.
“There are two things to do,” announced Linda, who had already come to a
definite conclusion. “Get the two of us together, and have some one who
knows us in aviation pick out the real Linda Carlton—or—”
“But Mr. Sprague, and some fliers he knows, have already identified our
Miss Carlton,” interrupted the director. “It was Sprague who looked her
up, and brought her into the production.”
“Then we’ll have to resort to the only other suggestion I have, if you
can’t decide on our license cards.... It so happens that I am the only
woman in the United States to hold an airplane mechanic’s license....
Now, my cards could be stolen, but not my knowledge. So my idea is this:
Have some good airplane mechanic give us both an examination, and only
the real Linda Carlton will pass.”
The director smiled broadly at the suggestion. It was an ingenious plan,
and it appealed to his sense of the dramatic.
“I believe you, Miss Carlton. I think you must be the right girl, or you
would never make such a suggestion. We’ll try the thing out tomorrow.
When the other girl arrives at two o’clock, as she wired, I’ll take you
to the airport to meet her.”
“Two o’clock?” repeated Linda. “But Mr. Sprague said ‘Three’!”
“He must have made a mistake. He told me two.... Now, how would you
girls like to go to a reception with me? One of the stars is giving a
house-warming at her new place at Beverly Hills, and I think I can ring
you in on it, if you’d care about it.”
“We’d love it!” cried Dot, jumping up excitedly. “But please wait until
we put on our very best dresses, Mr. Von Goss.”