“Thank you,” said the announcer. “And now, Miss Hardy, please.”
“I like all of the smiles,” said Janet simply, and a burst of applause came back from the crowd.
“Well done,” whispered Henry Thorne and they started down the long walk past the sea of faces.
Janet felt supremely confident, perhaps it was just knowing that her gown and accessories were perfection, and more than one compliment on her costume came from the packed masses.
In the grand foyer there were film stars on every hand, some of them stopping for a moment to talk, and as Helen’s father introduced the girls to all of these, Janet thought she detected several frankly unfriendly stares from some of the actresses, who seemed to be little if any older than they were.
Then the picture started. Actually Janet saw very little of it. She was too busy drinking in the beauty of the theater and straining to catch glimpses of stars who had arrived late.
When they left the theater, various groups congregated in the foyer for brief visits and Janet saw a tubby little man, looking ill at ease in his dinner suit and mopping his bald head, struggling to reach them. He kept his eyes quite frankly on Janet and Helen as he neared them, but there was nothing offensive in his stare. He grabbed Henry Thorne’s arm.
“Say, Henry, are these the girls?” he demanded.
“Hello, Billy. Sure. I want you to meet my daughter, Helen, and Janet Hardy.”
“Girls,” he explained, “you want to be nice to this scamp. He’s in charge of the western unit and it will be his decision on whether you get into the cast. In other words, meet Billy Fenstow.”