The small eyes gave her a look that bored like a gimlet into her very soul. Had he guessed? Had she betrayed herself? She felt that her trembling knees would betray her. Too late now. She took a fresh start.
“It’s a truly beautiful story. All it lacks is contrast. When this mountain is done over it will do. We—we can shoot the indoor scenes in some fine home. I—I have rich friends.”
“Indoor scenes? Miss LeMar, there are no indoor scenes.”
“Oh, but Mr. Soloman!” In her eagerness Jeanne had her hand on the little man’s shoulder. “There must be indoor scenes. All this, this outside beauty and simplicity is fine, but there must be a palace, silks, gold, grandeur, just for contrast.
“When Zola, the little mountain girl, gets to Louisville in a box car she must be taken up by rich people who live in a grand house. They must dress her up in gowns, silk gowns and all that.”
Jeanne was running down like an eight-day alarm clock, but the little man did not appear to notice it. Before he caught up with her she was off again.
“These people!” She waved a hand at the half-filled stadium. “They come from everywhere. If they see a little bit of a feature picture shot, they’ll want to see the finished picture. That’s natural. Put up a big sign where they can see it. ‘The picture now being made is WHEN THE DOGWOOD IS IN BLOOM. See it in your home theater next month.’ And won’t they be there?”
“And how!” the little man muttered hoarsely, as he gripped her hand hard. “Miss LeMar, you are a vunder! A vunder! How did you ever get that vay?”
Not daring to utter another word, Jeanne fled precipitately from the spot.
As she rested in the shadow of the stadium, trying in vain to still her wildly beating heart, momentous questions crowded her brain. Had she gotten away with it? Had she truly? It seemed impossible.