Tender Is the Night Read Online Free PDF

studio manager said,
“Hey, Earl—Miss Hoyt.”
    They
were meeting for the first time. Brady was quick and strenuous. As he took her
hand she saw him look her over from head to foot, a gesture she recognized and
that made her feel at home, but gave her always a faint feeling of superiority
to whoever made it. If her person was property she could exercise whatever
advantage was inherent in its ownership.
    “I thought
you’d be along any day now,” Brady said, in a voice that was just a little too
compelling for private life, and that trailed with it a faintly defiant cockney
accent. “Have a good trip?”
    “Yes,
but we’re glad to be going home.”
    “No-o-o!”
he protested. “Stay awhile—I want to talk to you. Let me tell you that was some
picture of yours—that ‘Daddy’s Girl.’ I saw it in
Paris
. I wired the coast right away to see if
you were signed.”
    “I just
had—I’m sorry.”
    “God, what a picture!”
    Not
wanting to smile in silly agreement Rosemary frowned.
    “Nobody
wants to be thought of forever for just one picture,” she said.
    “Sure—that’s
right. What’re your plans?”
    “Mother
thought I needed a rest. When I get back we’ll probably either sign up with
First National or keep on with Famous.”
    “ Who’s we?”
    “My mother. She decides business matters. I couldn’t do without her.”
    Again he
looked her over completely, and, as he did, something in Rosemary went out to
him. It was not liking , not at all the spontaneous
admiration she had felt for the man on the beach this morning. It was a click.
He desired her and, so far as her virginal emotions went, she contemplated a surrender with equanimity. Yet she knew she would forget
him half an hour after she left him—like an actor kissed in a picture.
    “Where
are you staying?” Brady asked. “Oh, yes, at Gausse’s .
Well, my plans are made for this year, too, but that letter I wrote you still stands . Rather make a picture with you than any girl since
Connie Talmadge was a kid.”
    “I feel
the same way. Why don’t you come back to
Hollywood
?”
    “I can’t
stand the damn place. I’m fine here. Wait till after this shot and I’ll show
you around.”
    Walking
onto the set he began to talk to the French actor in a low, quiet voice.
    Five
minutes passed—Brady talked on, while from time to time the Frenchman shifted
his feet and nodded. Abruptly, Brady broke off, calling something to the lights
that startled them into a humming glare.
Los
Angeles
was loud about Rosemary now. Unappalled she moved once more through the city of thin
partitions, wanting to be back there. But she did not want to see Brady in the
mood she sensed he would be in after he had finished and she left the lot with
a spell still upon her. The Mediterranean world was less silent now that she
knew the studio was there. She liked the people on the streets and bought
herself a pair of espadrilles on the way to the train.
    Her
mother was pleased that she had done so accurately what she was told to do, but
she still wanted to launch her out and away. Mrs. Speers was fresh in
appearance but she was tired; death beds make people tired indeed and she had
watched beside a couple.
    VI
    Feeling
good from the rosy wine at lunch, Nicole Diver folded her arms high enough for
the artificial camellia on her shoulder to touch her cheek, and went out into
her lovely grassless garden. The garden was bounded on one side by the house,
from which it flowed and into which it ran, on two sides by the old village,
and on the last by the cliff falling by ledges to the sea.
    Along
the walls on the village side all was dusty, the wriggling vines, the lemon and
eucalyptus trees, the casual wheel-barrow, left only a moment since, but
already grown into the path, atrophied and faintly rotten. Nicole was
invariably somewhat surprised that by turning in the other direction past a bed
of peonies she walked into an