Movie Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  Rachel tried to be thrilled at that little straw of hope, but she could tell that Posy did not believe in it really. She had an awful lump in her throat, and though she swallowed most of it, there was enough left to get in the way, and her voice came out in miserable-sounding squeaks. “Thank you so much for telephoning.”

  Even over the telephone Rachel could hear Posy’s feet dancing a sort of frustrated foot exercise.

  “Don’t sound like that. I tell you what, spend a Sunday with us soon. I’ll have made plans by then and my sister Pauline, who’s been making personal appearances, will be home. We’ll swim in the swimming pool. I’ll fetch you.”

  It was a lovely invitation, but Rachel was too downcast to be pleased about it. Too downcast to be thrilled at meeting Posy’s sister, who was a film star. Too downcast to be pleased about the swimming pool. So downcast that she could hardly say “thank you.” She put down the receiver and swallowed and blinked. It was silly to cry, but if only the film could have happened!

  While Rachel had been on the telephone, the front doorbell had rung, and Bella had shown somebody into the living room. Breathing heavily, because she hated stairs, she had fetched John.

  “There’s a gentleman who’s calling. I’ve put him in the living room.”

  John had been in the middle of a sentence and would ordinarily have hated to be interrupted; but he remembered his promise to Jane.

  “Quite right, Bella, thank you. I expect it’s the gentleman with the spaniel who’s going to start Jane on that dog walking career.

  As Rachel turned from the telephone fighting her tears, John was standing in the living-room door. His visitor’ voice came down the passage.

  “I’ve come to see if your daughter may come up to the studio for a film test.”

  Rachel’s lump disappeared. Her tears dried. The man had not forgotten her. He had chosen her for that child dancer. She could not wait for John to call her. She flew own the passage.

  “Dad, I heard! Here I am!”

  John put his arm around her. “Here’s the ballerina. This is Rachel.”

  The man looked at Rachel very kindly. His nice gray eyes were sorry.

  “But it’s not Rachel I’ve come about. Maybe the maid didn’t tell you my name. I’m Bryan J. Browne. I’ve called about Jane.”

  12

  Jane Chooses

  Jane was helping Peaseblossom clean their bedroom. She was so gloomy she could not bother even to grumble. What a situation! Here she was, slaving while Rachel and Tim were busy with their careers, and no one seemed to see how awful her life was. Well, this very afternoon she would send a note to that Mr. Bryan J. Browne. He owed her the job of taking Hyde Park for walks; he had offered her a reward of candy for bringing him home, and she hadn’t taken it. Not that she needed a reward for taking Hyde Park home, poor boy; all the same, Mr. Bryan J. Browne thought that she did, and he had to go on thinking it and engage her properly as a dog walker.

  Peaseblossom was using the electric polisher, and the noise it made cut out sounds from downstairs. Jane did not hear the chime of the front doorbell, or hear Bella call John, or John call Bee. The first inkling she had that anything unusual was going on was when Rachel came in and told her she was wanted in the living room.

  Jane, delighted, dropped the furniture polisher she was using on the floor. “Why?”

  Rachel said in a funny voice, “It’s your Mr. Bryan J. Browne.”

  Rachel was about to tell Jane to brush her hair as it was important that she look her best, but Jane did not wait. She shouted, “Galosh! Galoosh!” and ran down the stairs.

  Peaseblossom did not seem to notice that Jane had gone out of the room; her attention was centered on Rachel, who looked so wretched Peaseblossom’s sympathy went out to her.

  “What is it?”

  Rachel tried to answer, but she couldn’t. She felt she must get away somewhere by herself and cry and cry. She gave a gulp and ran out of the room and downstairs. In the hall she hesitated, looking around in a scared way as if she were a rabbit chased by dogs. Mr. Bryan J. Browne’s voice came from the living room; Bella’s voice, singing, came from the kitchen. Peaseblossom was in their bedroom. Where could she go to be alone? Her one chance was the porch. The table was pushed back to leave room for her dancing practice; nobody would look underneath it. Thankful for even that little privacy, Rachel crawled out of sight, turned over on her face, and cried dreadfully.

  Jane rushed into the living room. She was so pleased to see Mr. Bryan J. Browne that she forgot her manners and, without waiting to say, “How do you do?” exclaimed, “I’m glad you’ve come at last. Is Hyde Park better?”

  John was walking about, his hands in his pockets, looking worried. He came over to Jane and held her by the shoulders. His voice was serious, almost as if she had done something especially bad.

  “Mr. Browne hasn’t come about Hyde Park. He wants to test you for a part in a film.”

  Jane was so surprised her eyes grew as round as oranges and her mouth opened and stayed open.

  Mr. Browne was sitting in an armchair, smoking. He gave Jane a nod to show they were old friends. He said Hyde Park was fine and maybe Jane would take him walking in spite of the film. Then he said, “Mrs. Winter tells me you’ve read a book called The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, who wrote Little Lord Fauntleroy.”

  Jane was still feeling surprised, but she knew she had read of lot of books for a girl her age and felt that when you had as little to brag about as she had, it was a pity to let a chance slip.

  “Of course I have. I’ve read it lots of times. The first time was years and years ago.”

  Mr. Browne then explained. He was a director, and Mr. Benjamin Bettelheimer, whom she had met, was a producer. Mr. Benjamin Bettelheimer was the man who decided what movies people wanted to see, and bought the stories that were made into movies, and engaged the people to play in the movies. His company was called Bee Bee Films Incorporated, and Bee Bee Films, like every other movie corporation, had people who were under contract to act for them. This meant that they were paid money for so many years to act in the movies of that particular company. Bee Bee Films had three children under contract. David Doe-

  At that point Jane interrupted. The Winter children did not often go to the movies, but they had been to see one in August on Rachel’s birthday. It was about a circus, and David Doe had been the boy star.

  “He was the one who saved the life of that pony and trained him and made him a circus horse.”

  Mr. Bryan J. Browne nodded. “That boy’s something out of this world. He can imitate any accent, and he’s wonderful with animals and birds. “

  Then he told Jane about the other children. There was a British boy called Maurice Tuesday who was Jane’s age. He had been under contract for three years and was a big box office draw. Mr. Bryan J. Browne did not say so, but there was something about the way his eyes looked when he was explaining about Maurice Tuesday’s being a box-office draw which made Jane think he was surprised that people liked seeing the boy so much. The last child was Ursula Gidden, a wonderful little film star who had been under contract to Bee Bee Films Incorporated since she was four. With these three children in the leading parts, Mr. Benjamin Bettelheimer had planned to make a movie of The Secret Garden. Shooting should have started this next week.

  Jane frowned in a puzzled way. “Who’s to be shot?”

  Mr. Bryan J. Browne laughed and said that was the word for making the picture. You said “shooting it” instead of “photographing it.” Everything was set. The garden had been built. Then, on the very morning of the day Jane brought Hyde Park home, Ursula had been rushed off to a hospital with appendicitis. Mr. Bryan J. Browne turned to John.

  “I didn’t see it right off. It was Benjamin Bettelheimer who saw Jane’s possibilities. We had about decided to postpone production when in she walked. Chip on her shoulder, English accent, right age. Mistress Mary to the life.”

  Jane at last began to
understand. “Do you mean I’m going to be Mary in The Secret Garden?”

  “Maybe. We’ve got to test you first.”

  “Why didn’t you say so when I was there?”

  “Been waiting for a report on little Ursula. We’ve heard now she’s not to work for six months.”

  The full meaning of what Mr. Bryan J. Browne was saying sank into Jane. He wanted her. The plain, ungifted one of the family. Not because he couldn’t have Rachel or Tim, but because he wanted her. Mary was about the most important person in the story. If she played the part of Mary, she would be a film star. Then another side of the glory that had come to her filled her mind. The thing she most wanted in the world was coming true. She would be the one who was important, who earned money. She would pay for dancing lessons for Rachel and piano lessons for Tim. She would buy clothes for them all so they wouldn’t look like poor relations at parties. Her eyes shone more and more as these thoughts pushed one another about in her head. Jane’s eyes could shine as if there were a candle in each of them, but they seldom did. In fact, neither Bee nor John had ever seen such shine in them before. John said, “I can see you like the idea.”

  Jane looked at him in scorn. “Like it! Who wouldn’t like to earn lots and lots of money and be a film star!”

  Bryan J. Browne laughed. “Not so fast, little pal. Playing a part in one picture mighty seldom makes a star. As for money, you won’t see much of that. Uncle Sam takes care of children in the movie business.”

  Bee, not knowing that money earning had been so discussed by the children, thought Jane sounded like a very mercenary child. If it had been Rachel, she would have wanted to know only about the work, and Tim would have asked questions about the piano; it was so like the general contrariness of Jane that she fixed on the two points that it would be hoped no child would mention.

  ‘‘There are a lot of things to think about, and money is the least important,” Bee now said.

  Jane felt her parents were making a very poor showing before nice Mr. Bryan J. Browne.

  “Mom! How can you say that!” She turned to Bryan J. Browne. “We aren’t allowed to criticize anything in America until we’ve been here long enough to know what we’re talking about, but if I could criticize, I would say that California seems to have fewer buses and streetcars than even a village in England has.”

  Bryan J. Browne looked surprised. “What would we use them for? Everybody has a car.”

  Jane knew John was on the verge of interrupting, so she hurried on.

  “We haven’t one Aunt Cora has, but she won’t act a chauffeur all over Los Angeles, so poor Rachel can’t got to dancing lessons on the far side of Sunset Boulevard.” Jane turned back to Bee. “And we do need clothes; you know we do. You were terribly pleased when Rachel told you she’s probably going to dance in that film, and it was because she would earn money. Now, because I’m the one who’s going to earn, you stop being pleased and say moneys unimportant.”

  John looked apologetically at Bryan J. Browne. “I’m afraid Jane’s inclined to speak her mind.”

  Mr. Bryan J Browne smiled “Go right on, Jane. Mistress Mary in The Secret Garden looked most times as you look right now.”

  John felt everything was going too fast. It was clear that Jane was only seeing the exciting rose-pink side of her chance. John had done some writing for English film studios and knew there was a sometimes a black side as well.

  Mr. Browne wants you along to his house this afternoon to go through the scenes you will have to learn for the test, for the test, which is to be tomorrow. Before we decide whether you’ll go for the test …”

  Jane gave an all-over bounce “Of course I m going.”

  John stopped her. “Not so fast. You’ve got to know what you’re letting yourself in for. Mr. Browne told you Uncle Sam looks after children in the film industry. Mr. Browne told Mom and me what that means. If you make this test and do play the part of Mary, you become somebody who is looked after not by Peaseblossom, Mom ,and me but by people who carry out the laws of the United States of America. You work eight hours a day, which includes three hours’ lessons either in the Bee Bee studio school or with a teacher hours, from that school in a room m the studio where The Secret Garden is being filmed. To get to the studio in time for lessons or work will mean you’ll have to leave here soon after eight o’clock each morning, and you won’t be home until your bedtime. No fun except on Sundays. You won’t see all the lovely things I hope Rachel and Tim will see, and I think you’re going to find it very hard work and very boring. It would be different if acting were something you wanted to do but you don’t.” He turned to Mr. Bryan J. Browne. “Jane hopes to be a dog trainer later on.”

  Mr. Bryan J. Browne stopped smoking. He held out a hand to Jane and asked her to come to him. He said that John was perfectly right, that it was hard work, and he could not pretend there was any future in it. Bee Bee Films would not want another girl under contract, as they had little Ursula. Nevertheless, he thought that Jane would enjoy working with David Doe. If she meant to be a dog trainer later on, David would teach her a lot; he could train any animal; he could probably train a gopher to jitterbug. Jane was just going to ask what a gopher was when Mr. Browne went on to say he could promise that if she played Mary, something would be done about transportation, for he could see that Santa Monica was an awkward place to live in if you had no car.

  Jane listened first to John and then to Mr. Bryan J. Browne, and the more she listened, the more her eyes shone. As John was speaking, she imagined everybody talking at breakfast. “Jane, dear, have you everything you want? ... No, Tim, you must wait until Jane has helped herself; she’ll be leaving for the studio in half an hour.” People would run about. “Has anybody cleaned Jane’s sandals? ... Don’t bother Jane about anything; she must do just what she likes. She’s so important.” In the evening, when she came home, she could see in her mind’s eye everybody, including Aunt Cora and Bella, standing outside the house, looking humble and admiring. They all would ask questions, but she would not answer. She would just sweep in and say, “Don’t me now. Bring me my supper,” and everybody would about trying to be the first to wait on her. When Mr. Bryan Browne was talking, she imagined David Doe looking mysterious and whispering secrets to her, such terrific secrets that when she got back to London, she had only to have a day or two with Chewing-gum and he would be so marvelous a performer she could get him into Bertram Mills’s Circus the very next Christmas. As she heard the final words about transportation, she felt as Cinderella must have felt when she first saw her coach. The difference was that Jane saw not a coach but the largest car in the world, with a uniformed chauffeur and herself bowing out the window.

  John said, “Well, Jane? Do you want to try for the part? This is a matter entirely for you to decide. Remember, if you are engaged to play Mary and don’t like the work, there’s no going back. You’ll be slaving away at it practically all the time you’re out here.”

  Bee added, “Dad says we’ve always let you children plan your own careers, and we must let you have a chance at this if you want it. But do think carefully, darling. It’ll be terribly hard work, for you’ve never had an acting lesson in your life, and you’ll be shut up all day, missing this glorious sunshine and all the nice times the others will have.”

  Jane was still standing by Bryan J. Browne. She thought the talk about not playing Mary silly. Of course, she would play her. Of course, she would be good. She’d show them! She’d surprise them all. She laid a hand on Mr. Bryan J. Browne’s arm and said, “What time would you like me to come and see you this afternoon?”

  13

  The Other Mr. B.

  Jane felt so proud it showed all over her. It showed so much that Tim, who came rushing home from his piano practice at the moment when she was waving good-bye to Mr. Bryan J. Browne, noticed.

  “What’s up? Who’s that man?”

  Jane spoke as if Tim had in his ignorance not recognize a world celebrity.

&n
bsp; “That my boy, is the Mr. Browne.”

  “The Mr. Brown. That’s not the Mr. Brown. The Mr. Brown is my Mr. Brown. When anybody says Mr. Brown, they mean my Mr. Brown. That one is just Mr. Brown minor.”

  “You don’t know whom you’re talking about. Yours just teaches music, but mine is a director in the movie industry.”

  “Who cares! My Mr. Brown is a director in the piano industry.”

  Tim feeling he had crushed the argument, marched past Jane into the house.

  Jane could have stamped her foot. How tiresome of Tim to fuss about his old Mr. Brown instead of asking what her Mr. Browne had come about. She followed him into the house.

  “Would you like to know why he came?”

  “I’m not interested. Anyway, I know. You’ve talked and talked about Hyde Park and all the money you will earn taking him for walks.”

  Jane was so bursting to tell her news that she dropped her grand manner.

  “He didn’t come about Hyde Park. He came to see if I would be Mary in The Secret Garden in a film.”

  “The girl in that book Peaseblossom read me when I had mumps? The one who made that awful boy walk?”

  “That’s the one. Colin, he’s the awful boy, is being acted by an English boy called Maurice Tuesday, but Dickon, you remember the one who played a pipe and trained squirrels and things? Well, he’s being acted by David Doe. We saw him in that film on Rachel’s birthday. “