The blonde returned. She looked disappointed. The secretary shouted, ‘Next,’ and another woman left the room. She was a spectacularly lovely brunette even younger than the blonde. It struck Olive that the auditions were taking a very short time. There’d been about twenty girls there when she’d arrived. She’d hardly been there thirty minutes and half had gone. Another five had come since.
The secretary flashed Olive another smile. She smiled back. It was prudent to keep in people’s good books. The woman might do her a favour one day. She was tall and silver-haired, smartly dressed in trousers and a white blouse. Olive wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t had acting aspirations herself at one time.
Perhaps it was getting old, but these days Olive yearned for a place of her own. The smallest apartment would do, as long as it had a balcony so she could sit outside in the sun. Mind you, a garden - a yard - would be even better. She was fed up sharing a kitchen and bathroom with six other women. They even had a communal lounge. There’d be a fight over what to watch on television almost every night. The idea of having a bathroom to herself was sheer bliss.
To achieve this, she’d need more than the occasional movie part with temporary jobs in between. She’d need regular work. She might take a course and become a beautician or a hairdresser. It would be a big disappointment, but there was a limit to how long and how hard she could aim for the top - or even halfway there.
The brunette returned and another blonde went in her place. Yet again, the secretary smiled at Olive. The blonde came back and it was the turn of a beautiful, willowy redhead. The girls seemed to be going in and out like figures on one of those foreign clocks. When it came to Olive’s turn, the secretary went with her to the door.
‘What this movie’s about, honey,’ she said in a low voice, ‘is the male lead discovers he has a twin sister in England. They were separated at birth. As he’s going on for forty, the audience would have a big laugh if his twin turned out to be half his age. I told the agencies we wanted older women, but they insist on sending us the kids in the hope we’ll be so impressed we’ll change our minds.’ She gave Olive another smile; an encouraging one this time. ‘It’s a really important part and you’d be perfect for it, though you’ll probably have to dye your hair blonde same as your twin.’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’ She’d dye her hair blue if it meant getting an important part. Excitement began to course through her veins. It was a long time since that had happened. Neverending rejections, snubs, insults, and indifference had worn her down. Without her realizing, a streak of hopelessness had set in.
The secretary squeezed her hand and murmured, ‘Good luck, honey.’
Olive entered the vast studio. The remains of what had been a Roman temple covered half the space. Three guys were sitting by one of the plaster pillars. They were chatting together and didn’t look up. A bored-looking woman wearing a man’s white trilby sat at an ancient grand piano.
Olive handed over her music. ‘Play it once slow, and once again fast,’ she instructed. ‘Thank you,’ she added, remembering to smile. An uncooperative pianist could kill an audition if the mood took them.
She coughed and, in her best English accent, gave her name and announced she was about to sing and dance to ‘I’m Old Fashioned’ from the movie
You Were Never Lovelier
. The men looked up and one, a little tubby guy, nodded for her to begin.
So Olive began to sing. After a few notes, she just knew that she didn’t want to become a beautician or a hairdresser. She’d wanted to make it in show business for as long as she could remember. The thought had given her heart when she was still a kid and already selling herself on the London streets. The same thought spurred her on now, giving strength to her voice and possibly a touch of desperation.
It was the same when she danced. She’d kept herself fit and still attended dance practice once a fortnight. She found herself smiling as she twirled to a halt after a couple of perfect cartwheels. After twenty years in the business she didn’t think she’d ever danced so well.
She bowed, only slightly out of breath, and said, ‘Thank you.’ It was odd, but right then she didn’t care whether she got the part or not. There’d be plenty of others she could try for. One of these days she’d make it, she could feel it in her bones.
The little tubby guy said, ‘Thank
you
, Miss Raines. Wait there just a minute.’ He turned to the other men. Olive hadn’t looked at them properly before. The blond-haired handsome guy looked familiar. She’d seen him before a long time ago - it must have been in New York. Then the tubby one stood up and came towards, his face bearing a wide grin and his hand extended to shake hers.
She’d got it! And of course she cared. She cared more than she’d cared about anything before. Her head swam and she had a horrible feeling she was going to faint.
‘Welcome aboard, Miss Raines.’ They shook hands. The other two guys strolled towards her. One introduced himself as Abe Collins and said he would be directing
Smiles Apart
. The blonde-haired one looked even more handsome close up: like Olive, he had a few crinkles around his eyes. She remembered then who he was.
‘Hi, Rosalind.’ He shook her hand. Olive had read about people going weak at the knees, but it had never happened to her. As she told him much, much later, she’d fallen in love with him there and then. ‘I’m Herbie Blinker,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure we’re going to get along just fine.’