“That’s that,” said the High Mandarin of the Movies, “and although worse than bad eggs, in other things you may stand a chance of realizing my genius for me in the soul-stirring, magnificent, marvelous, magnitudinous work of art I am on the brink of creating. Come—come—a little loud and prolonged applause—everybody please. I thank you.
“The next scene will call for you saying a tender farewell—keep remembering your sex, madame—with your lover under a tree. An apple tree in full bloom.”
“There aren’t apple trees on the desert,” Verbeena with simply idiotic indiscretion observed.
The director flung his hat on the sand, kicked it in the air, ran around the desert on all fours for a mile, then arose majestically.
“How dare you! Can’t you see that under one of those tall palm trees the shadows wouldn’t fall right on the picture? No blossoming apple trees on the desert, eh? I guess you don’t know me! Billy, an apple tree, full blossom!”
The man addressed obeyed swiftly. In a jiffy he had brought one from the property aeroplane and raised it in place.
“O, Good Lord,” again and again reverberated in the ears of Verbeena, “you squint so with that snub-nosed face of yours! You—gently—gently, gently into his arms. You’re not wrestling him—you’re loving him—you—not that sidelong glance—a big look into his eyes and now then—remember although we’ve only begun here, this is the end of the picture—the final close-up—now, extend lips in full, both—stick ’em way out—that’s it—now then, kiss—kiss—hold that—hold it—kiss, kiss, kiiiiiiiisssssssssss!”
“You know nothing of kissing! Nothing! And you’re supposed to have had Oriental training too! Here—come here—like THIS! Kiss—kiss—LIKE THIS!!”
A gleam of anger shot into Verbeena’s tired eyes but she was powerless. The compelling quality of this terrible creature, the force with which he held her, the exultant, horrible, heavy, hot, and, she could feel, relentless, half savagely cruel, indifferent way he was doing it to her!
