{ title: 'The watchman. (Mattituck, N.Y.) 1937-1940, March 03, 1938, Page 12, Image 12', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn96083588/1938-03-03/ed-1/seq-12/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn96083588/1938-03-03/ed-1/seq-12.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn96083588/1938-03-03/ed-1/seq-12/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn96083588/1938-03-03/ed-1/seq-12/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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Mona visibly blossomed at the ovation. The announcer mentioned the gown, and Mona threw back her cape. I N HER office, s o small that i t belied her importance as head costume desigrner at Supreme Studios, Joan Martin sat sketching. Her •mall, brown-slippered feet were hooked around the legs of her high stool. Her lovely red hair was satiny in the sun from the one window. Her eyes, deeply blue, were bright with in- terest as she worked. A shadow fell across her drawing board. She started, and looked up. It was Brett. She smiled up at him. and he smiled back. But his luminous dark eyes were abstracted. It was always like that now. He automatically picked up one of her pencils, toyed with it. \Say. Joan, the big moguls seem to think Mona and I ought to appear together at the premiere. Seeing we're the stars, and everything. Publicity.\ Joan's smile died. Mona and Brett together at the premiere. No official of the studio had planned that. T!iat would be Mona's Idea. Mona liked to flaunt her troiVtfs She had been making u play for Brett siuce she h: • I ^t pjayed opposite him three pictures ago. To (lute Mona had never gone after a man without getting him. Her love affairs, carefully kept from the public, were the talk of Hollywood. She seemed to find a challenge in a man happily married; perhaps a man interested only in his own wife was something she couldn't understand. Slowly Brett had fallen beneath her spell. So far It had all been on the set. But there Brett had shown his feelings. Joan had noticed how impatiently he waited until Mona appeared, how his eyes lighted up when he saw her; how he gave her all the good shots in the pictures. Even if be hadn't been her husband, even if she heidn't loved him so much, Joan would have thought the thing ghastly. Brett was quiet, cultured. He loved his books, his home; hated night spots. He hated, too, the type of woman Mona was. But he didn't know what she really was like. She had shrewdly read his own nature, and pretended to be the kind he liked, quiet, unpresumptious, gracious. Actually she was vulgar, and something of a savage. J OAN had bad more than one experience with Mona 'a temper, llie woman was wild about clothes, and Joan was continually racking her brain to design the Brett knew nothing of that side of her. And Joan couldn't tell him. That would have made an issue between them, would have put him on Mona's side. No, she couldn't tell him. She could only say now: \It's not a bad idea, Brett. L'ublicity Is important.\ It was strange to be talking to Brett of the value of publicity, of having him interested in it; he who had always hated it. But, of course, it wasn't publicity he was interested in. He was making an excuse to him- self for wanting to take Mona to the premiere. \Good publicity is fine, Brett.\ Though her heart was bursting, Joan spoke in a judicial tone. \I think we had better take her with us. Shall I ask her?\ Brett looked imcomfortable. Joan waited anxiously for his answer. She understood well enough that Brett had not intended that she accompany them. If he insisted now on going alone with Mona, it would be a definite break. Mona would have all the advantage. With obvious reluctance, Brett said: \I'D ask her, Joan.\ When he had gone, Joan put her head do\\Ti on the board and cried. But not for long. She had never cried for things. Crying'was useless. Action was all that counted. And she would act. She dried her eyes. After dabbing on some powder, she left the office. A few minutes later she was talking earnestly to Mike Burton, top executive at Supreme. \It'd be good publicity,\ she was saying. \The gown is beautiful. You remember—the one in the big scene—the white satin with the crystal beads. Mona was heavenly in it. Remember?\ Burton scratched a baldish head. \I don't know much about clothes,\ he said, \^ut the idea sounds swell. If she wears it to the premiere, we can make a big point of it. The premiere broad- cast coupled with printed publicity on the govm ought to pack the women In, make the picture a big femme draw.\ He winked shrewdly. \Swell idea, Joan. It won't hurt you any as a designer, eh?\ \Do you think you can make Mona do it?\ \Sure. Her contract's almost up, and she's worry- ing if we'rtf gonna take up the option. She's .easy to handle just now.\ T HE NIGHT of the premiere she was seated next to Brett In their limousine; and Mona, beside Brett, looked more beautiful than Joan had ever seen her. Her black hair was done in a classic coiffure with a few lacquered curls outlining her lovely, sultry face. She was swathed in an elegant cape of mink, which fell open to reveal the white satin gown. It was a stvmning gown, smartly fitted to her rounded figure, the skirt a cascade of gleaming crystal beads. Joan felt plain beside the beautiful Mona. Her coat of plain velvet, tightly buttoned to her chin, seemed cheap and shabby compared to the luxurious mink cape. The motor rolled slowly east on Wllshlre, left Beverly Hills behind, approached the Qarthay Circle Theater. As the car approached the theater, it became embroiled in a tangle of traffic. There was the usual huge army of onlookers lining the street. \We pay for our previews.\ Mona observed. \If only we could go in by some secret entrance unseen.\ \Amen Brett said fervently. Joan bit her lip. She could scarcely keep back a •arcastic retort. Why was Brett unable to see through such transparent pretense? Presently they were starting down the block-long esplanade leading to the theater. Improvised bleachers along the way held massed, shouting fans. Players received ovations, but when Mona and Brett appeared, the cheering became deafening. Mona visibly blos- somed imder it, obviously delighted, as she swept along regally. Brett looked unhappy, seeming to shrink into himself. Almost at the entrance of the theater, the inevitable microphone made its demand. Mona stepped up graciously. The announcer mentioned the gown, which had already received publicity, and Mona threw back her cape. \Shall I take your cape, Mona?\ Joan stepped forward. \It's really warm enough without it.\ She began unbottoning her own coat. \My it really ia warm.\ She opened her coat, and Brett stepped to her side to help her off with it. Mona stared at her. A dull flush was creeping into her face, a blaze of sudden fury into her eyes. \Why you—you—I could kill you!\ Her voice rose to a scream. She started forward threateningly. •TTou—you—! You did it on purpose!\ The annoimcer hastily cut that hoarse, raging voice from the air. The beautiful Mona had suddenly be- come an ugly, vicious creature with no self-controL She seized Joan's coat, ripped at it, clawed at her. The fans crowded in. •DRETT, beside Joan, put his arm about her, shielded her from the pushing crowd, found an opening and dragged her through. On the street back of the theater they began walking. \Lord what a mess!\ Brett said. \What ailed that woman? What was the Idea, sailing Into you over nothing. You offered t o hold her coat, didn't you T She must be crazy. Nothing to make her mad In that.\ \No there isn't,\ Joan said demurely. \And yelling out like that so the whole town heard her! I didn't know she was like that! Common! Vulgar!\ He squeezed her hand. \I was proud ot you, darling. You showed your breeding!\ A moment later, he added: \I swear I don't know what got into that woman! I'll never know what ailed her.\ \Probably not, dear,\ Joan agreed. She was filled with happiness. WUh a secret smile, she looked down at her dress—lovely white satin with a tight fitting bodice, the skirt a cascade of crystal beads.
