Hollywood Cavalcade Page #2

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Every Saturday Mr. Brady pays me $50.

Fifty dollars?

Why, lady, h-how do you keep

from starving to death?

I'll start you at a hundred.

A hundred-

A hundred dollars a week?

Why, sure!

Well, why didn't you say so

in the first place?

Well, l-

That's what I've been trying to do.

You sure there's no mistake,

no hitch to it?

Oh- Uh, Mr. Spingold,

have you got that contract?

- What?

- The contract! The contract!

- Oh.

- I had a contract drawn up, Miss Adair.

I knew you'd see reason eventually.

Go ahead and read it, will you?

- Uh- Uh-

- Here, I'll read it.

Uh, " For the sum of $100 per week,

plus transportation to California...

"Molly Adair herewith agrees

to give her services as an actress...

to Michael Linnett Connors

for one year from this date."

Sign right here on the dotted line.

Right there.

- Is it all right?

- Oh, of course it's all right.

Do you think I'd go

to all this trouble for nothing?

Right here. Write, please.

That's it. That's wonderful.

That is wonderful, wonderful!

Lady, this is the most important day of your life.

Mr. Connors, are you sure

you're not crazy?

I've got a strange feeling that any minute a

black wagon's gonna back up and take you away.

You got me on your side there, lady.

- [Buzzing]

- Come in.

Phew.

Gorgeous climate.

Cool ocean breezes.

[Sneezes]

Oh, I've got sand in my toothpaste,

in my food, in my throat.

What are you doing?

Writing a series of scenes for your

first picture, after you make your test.

- [Train Horn Blows]

- Test? What test?

Uh, just a photographic test, so the chief

of the studio can see what you look like.

But suppose he don't like the way I look.

That doesn't-That doesn't change

the fact that I've got a contract.

They can't back out now,

not after making me quit my job.

Oh, now, don't you worry.

Don't you worry about a thing.

I just want them to see you

the way I saw you.

I want them to get

the same bang out of you I got...

the same lift, the same feeling.

"Blinded by the snow, the runaway droshky

crashes over the precipice...

and she is hurtled down to"-

Oh, no. Not me. You're not gonna

hurtle me over any precipice.

- Oh, no. No, not me. No, sir. I don't go for-

- Listen.

- No, no. You're not gonna do that to me. No.

- Let me- Listen to this.

This is really great. Now, look.

You're in northern Russia, snowbound.

Your lover has been sent to Siberia.

Now your last chance

of seeing him alive is gone.

The fury of that snow blinds you.

The frozen blasts of that northern wind

bite into your very marrow.

You're hurt. You're suffering.

But sheer desperation

drives you on, on, on.

Now, finally, darkness has fallen.

In the distance you hear

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