It was her life warrant, rather.
She tried to read it as if she had signed dozens of contracts, but
she fooled nobody. She could not make head or tail of "the party of
the first part" and the terms exacted of movie actors. She understood
nothing but the salary. One hundred dollars a week! That bloomed like
a rose in the crabbed text. She would have signed almost anything
for that.
The deed was finally done. Her hundred-odd pounds of flesh belonged
to the Hyperfilm Company. The partners gave her their short, warm
hands. Ferriday wrung her palm with his long, lean fingers. Then he
caught her by the elbow and whisked her into his studio. He began
to describe her first scene in the big production. The backers had
insisted that she prove her ability as a minor character in a play
featuring another woman. Kedzie did not mind, especially when
Ferriday winked and whispered: "We'll make you make her look like
something the cat brought in. First of all, those gowns of yours--"
She had told him of her ill luck the day before in finding Lady
Powell-Carewe out. He sent her flying down again in his limousine.
She stepped into it now with assurance. It was beginning to be
her very own. At least she was beginning to own the owner.
She felt less excitement about the ride now that it was not her
first. She noticed that the upholstery was frayed in spots. Other
cars passed hers. The chauffeur was not so smart as some of the
drivers. And he was alone.
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