Photoplay/Volume 36/Issue 2/The Golden Fleecer

ELSA DELMAR felt a delightful sense of triumph as she entered her big bedroom. It was not quite dark outside but the maid had drawn the curtains, and the fire leaping in the grate lighted up the lacquered furniture and jade and gold cushions. Elsa was aware, too, that it lighted her face in a flattering way and made her look rather beautiful and youthful. But then, happiness has a way of lopping off several years from a woman's age. And Elsa was very happy indeed at that moment.

She tossed her silver fox scarf across a chair, pulled off the little white feather turban which had received so many compliments that afternoon, and rang for the maid to bring her a cocktail.

Life was really quite thrilling, thought Elsa, as she sank luxuriously into a low cushioned chair before the fire, lighted a gold-tipped cigarette and watched the little spirals of smoke. It seemed such a short time ago that she had been just an extra girl, trying to make a precarious seven-fifty or ten dollars a day cover her needs. And then, with the swiftness that is Hollywood, she had married George Delmar, who had become in the past two years one of the most sought after directors in the business.

Elsa had given up the screen. She knew she was not really beautiful. Pretty perhaps, if you didn't take her to pieces. But she had found that when you are looking for a job in pictures they have absolutely no scruples about taking you to pieces. So Elsa had wisely concluded that she would be much happier out of pictures. She had everything she wanted—this beautiful home in Beverly Hills, a foreign car and a chauffeur, charge accounts at all the smart shops, and people saying, "Yes, Mrs. Delmar"; a cottage at Malibu Beach, and the social prestige that goes with being the wife of an important picture director.

Of course she did not really have very much of George. His life was almost entirely absorbed by his work and while Elsa often suspected that he was not always at the studio on the nights when he was supposedly working, she was clever enough not to check up on him. Not that she believed ignorance is bliss, but rather that it is folly to know too much. Most husbands, she was aware, chiseled' a little bit, and as some wisecracker said, love's time-table in Hollywood is subject to change without notice.

GEORGE was always very discreet and he had a charming way of remembering to present her with exquisite gifts at frequent intervals. Once it had been a square-cut emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds, after he had been away on a location trip. ​Then there had been that lovely string of pearls when he returned from a week-end of tuna fishing. And when he had completed his first picture with that sultry Spanish star he had surprised Elsa by giving her a gorgeous ermine evening wrap.

There are women who would have suspected that these gifts were peace offerings for some amorous detour and would have spoiled everything by insisting upon explanations. Elsa merely kissed George and told him he was a perfect darling. That was probably why they got on so well together and why they were so often referred to as the ideal Hollywood couple.

IT was true that many of the women in Elsa's crowd did a little detouring too. Some of them discussed their new thrills quite frankly. Elsa herself was very careful. If she sometimes felt the primitive emotions which some of her friends confessed to rather proudly, she kept them carefully leashed. There were times of course when she indulged in perfectly harmless flirtations—what woman doesn't?—but she always stopped before they approached fever heat. A woman needs flirtations, she often said, to keep her young.

MEETING that perfectly charming Jason Castle at Gloria Kane's party that afternoon, for instance. had made her feel quite a different person. Apparently he was a newcomer to Hollywood. At least it was the first time Elsa had ever seen him. She had learned very little about him for he had paid her the subtle compliment of talking about her instead of about himself. He was rather young—about twenty-six she imagined—tall and blonde, and terribly good looking in a Viking sort of way.

The way he had devoted himself to her so exclusively had really been very amusing. It was a new experience for Elsa. She had become quite accustomed to the fact that wherever she went there would be women much more beautiful than she who would naturally occupy the center of the stage. This afternoon had been delightfully different. Even the soulful eyes of Donna Dalmores, who was the current Hollywood rave, had been unable to lure Jason away from Elsa's side, though they had very obviously tried. No wonder that Elsa felt a sense of triumph.

She reached for her bag and extracted a little slip of paper on which he had jotted his telephone number.

The next day when they were lunching together, not at the popular Montmartre where all the picture stars go to see and be seen, but at a charming, little hideaway tearoom. Jason said:

"You're the kind of woman I have dreamed about in lonely moments ​He seemed too young and too good looking to have known many lonely moments, but the youthful sincerity with which he said it gave Elsa an odd little thrill.

"Last night I couldn't sleep for thinking about you—Please' don't laugh at me," he begged, for Elsa's lips had curved in an unbelieving smile. "Oh, I know I shouldn't tell you this when I've only just met you but—"

And then he went on, impulsively, to say the things which every woman loves to hear and which Elsa had not heard for some time. While he was talking Elsa was thinking:

"This is really the most thrilling thing that has happened to me in ages. It's just what I've been needing, What a perfectly intriguing mouth he has. Such expressive eyes, too. I wonder if he has ever thought of going on the screen?"

Afterwards, when she dropped him off at the Spanish bungalow court where he lived, and he persuaded her to come in for just a moment, she learned that he had.

"You see I had a bit of success on the stage in London, and then came the war—" He paused and Elsa noticed a certain sadness, which she found very appealing, had crept into his blue eyes. "Afterwards, when I got out of a hospital, I couldn't seem to get a thing. I was awfully up against it—finally had to take a horrible dancing job in the south of France—" he shuddered at the recollection.

"YOU ought to be good in pictures," Elsa said sincerely.

"Do you think so?" he asked eagerly. "Tell me why, I would value your opinion so much."

"Well, for one thing, you're different. think people are getting tired of Latin types. She paused to insert a cigarette into a slender onyx holder. "Women would like you." She smiled knowingly. "And after all, isn't it women who measure the popularity of male stars? Look at Valentino."

"Oh, I say, if you could only help me! You've no idea how difficult it is to get a hearing when one is absolutely unknown."

For a moment Jason's eagerness, the flame of ambition which kindled in his eyes, put Elsa on her guard. "So," she said to herself, "it is not Elsa Delmar whose favor he courts―it is Mrs. George Delmar, the wife of the famous director." But as she raised her eyes again to meet his ardent look, she dismissed the thought as unworthy. He was so young and shy, and it was so plain that he adored her!

When Elsa said goodbye she had promised to speak to George about Jason as soon as he returned from location.

Now Elsa had no intention of letting this flirtation get out of bounds. She knew of course that it was playing with fire to go to Jason's bungalow so often (there had been several repetitions of her first visit) but then it had been a long time since Elsa had played with fire and it gave her a very delightful sense of warmth. Besides, she told herself, it was much safer to go there than to have him come to her. One could never be absolutely sure of one's servants. She was very careful to park her car some little distance from the entrance. But in spite of this precaution, each time she hurried along the hedge-bordered walk leading to Jason's door, she always had the feeling she was skirting a volcano.

THE cheaply furnished bungalow was a poor setting for Jason but it was the best he could afford, he told her. Elsa was tempted to suggest a quaint little Norman studio which she knew about, but men were odd about things like that and she could not be sure just how he would accept it. In fact, she had not been able to figure Jason at all. His restraint quite baffled her. It is true that she had held him off—at first. Still, flirtations always progressed toward something'. As a rule Elsa had had to apply the brakes long before this.

And then one night it happened.

Elsa was on her way to a party and had followed a sudden impulse—or perhaps it was feminine intuition—to stop in to see Jason. She found the room dark, except for the flickering of the candles which Jason had lighted. She slipped off her ermine wrap and stood revealed in evening dress—a shimmery, silvery dress, created by an artist, to tease the eye and ensnare the senses.

"I JUST came by for a minute to—" but she got no further than that, for looking up at Jason she saw that something had crept into his eyes which had never been there before. She drew back self-consciously, as though to reach for her wrap. But a little outslipped word which she had not meant to utter, a gesture which betrayed her, and in one swift second she was in Jason's arms.

"Please', Jason—you mustn't. There are eyes, ears—everywhere—"

Elsa knew her Hollywood—knew that it takes one small ounce of fact to make many pounds of fiction. She could hear them saying: "Have you heard the latest? Elsa Delmar is having an affair with that handsome young Jason Castle."

She tried weakly to push him away but his lips, so strong, so sweet, were pressed against hers.

"Oh, my darling," he whispered. "I need you so—"

In the end, it was his need of her that caused Elsa to throw caution out of the window.

It was not long before everybody was saying: "Doesn't Elsa Delmar look marvelous these days?"

To these compliments Elsa smiled wisely and said nothing. She could never remember having felt so absolutely alive'. Every hour she could steal was spent with Jason, and on the days when some important social engagement prevented their rendezvous she never failed to send him tender little notes. Jason loved those little notes, he told her.

Sometimes they drove to the beach in Elsa's car and sat for hours on the Palisades, watching the ships like tiny specks on the far distant horizon. Elsa liked best, when she could manage it, to drive to the beach at night, when the water shimmered like oiled silk, and she could lie in Jason's arms while he told her of places he had seen—Paris, Monte Carlo, Bucharest. Whenever their conversation turned to pictures, which it often did, for Jason was working occasionally, he would remind her of her promise to speak to her husband about him.

"JUST be patient, darling. I'll know when the right moment comes. George is broadminded but—" She left the sentence in mid-air for Jason himself to finish.

One night, when they were having their coffee, Elsa said to George, apropos of nothing at all:

"Isn't it odd that there are so few really attractive blond men on the screen?"

"I could use one in my next picture," said George, ashing his cigar in his coffee cup, a habit which always rather annoyed Elsa though she never mentioned it.

"For the lead?" she asked, trying to make her interest appear very casual.

"Yes opposite Dalmores."

Now it is often said of women drivers that you can never anticipate what their next move will be. The same is true of women in love. Elsa had begun the conversation with the intention of asking George to give Jason a chance, without, of course, hinting that she had any personal interest in him. She felt ​that Jason was really a potential star and once he was established it would be rather thrilling to have him referred to as "Elsa Delmar's discovery'." But with the mention of Donna Dalmores, that torrid importation who already had several Hollywood casualties chalked up to her credit, Elsa's question congealed on her lips.

SHE thought of Jason, her beautiful, blond Jason, playing opposite the sultry Donna. The way the Continental actress abandoned herself to love scenes was common gossip. It was a matter of professional pride with her that no man could resist her. "I have but to pout ze red mouth—so'," Donna had been heard to remark. Would Jason be able to resist her? Or rather, could she herself hold him, once be knew Donna?

No—she would not chance it. She knew her limitations. She heard George's voice from a long way off, for her mind had been back in the Spanish bungalow.

"Did you have somebody in mind?"

"No, darling." Elsa quickly lighted the cigarette which she had been idly twirling between her fingers. "I merely remarked that it is odd there are so few blond men in pictures."

Excuse for Elsa there may have been none. Morals, however, are often a matter of geography. Elsa, remember, was living in the emotional center of the world; in a fantastic community where love-making is looked upon as a legitimate business; where love dramas are manufactured for world consumption just as cars are manufactured in Detroit. It is only natural that private lives should be influenced by professional lives.

Elsa considered that her private life was no one's affair but her own. She confided in no one and congratulated herself that no breath of scandal had touched her. She felt that she had really been very clever about it. The trouble with most women was that they did not use their heads. Her greatest difficulty now was with Jason himself. He was becoming rather insistent that she persuade George to give him a part in his new picture.

"I HEAR they are looking for a leading man for Dalmores," he said. "I ought to be ideal for that."

Elsa admitted that he would be.

"But you see I have to handle George very carefully," she explained. "If he thought I was trying to sell him the idea of using you in a picture he might become suspicious. And we don't want that, do we, dear?"

Jason agreed that of course they didn't. He confided, however, that he was really awfully up against it and that he had to get something soon.

"Just trust me to know the right moment to speak to George about you," she tried to placate him. Elsa was thinking that perhaps when the Dalmores picture was finished' might be a very opportune time to speak to George about Jason. But a few days later something happened which caused her to change her mind about that.

She and George were at dinner.

"I saw your car parked on Argyle Street this afternoon," he said casually. "I thought you were going to Ona Munsell's party."

Elsa was engaged in spearing an oyster in her cocktail.

"I did—but I had to drop in at the dressmaker's," she quickly alibied herself, trying to remember whether any of the dressmaker's bills, giving her proper address, were on George's desk.

"That Rolls-Royce of yours is rather conspicuous you know," added George.

It was just a little thing, of course, and perhaps George's words carried no hidden meaning. Still, his remark had given Elsa a start.

The next day when Jason telephoned at the usual time the maid told him that Mrs. Delmar was not in.

"What did he say?" Elsa asked from the bathtub where she had been coaching the maid on the conversation.

"He says, Madame, that it is very important that he see you today," the maid answered without change of expression.

But Elsa did not see Jason that day nor the next. Two or three times she took up the telephone to call him, then changed her mind. What if George had heard something to arouse his suspicions? Suppose he were having her watched? She could not, she told herself, afford to take any chances. It had been a very pleasant interlude while it lasted but Elsa knew which side her bread was buttered on. She knew, too, that there were some things which George simply would not stand for. Newspaper notoriety, for instance. The time had come, she wisely decided, to ring down the curtain on Jason.

She failed, however, to take into consideration the fact that Jason might have some ideas on the matter himself. Consequently, when the butler announced one evening a week later that Mr. Castle was waiting in the drawing room, Elsa simply went cold all over. Whatever had possessed Jason to come to her? Her first impulse was to refuse to see him, but on second thought she decided it might be better to get it over with. She would be very sweet, very charming, but she would make it plain that everything was ended.

"BUT you can't end it—like this," Jason said when she had explained the matter to him.

"No?" Elsa lifted her finely arched brows. Something told her that Jason was going to be difficult. "Why not?" she asked.

"Perhaps you have forgotten, my dear Elsa, that you made a promise—a promise which you have not yet kept."

"I'm sorry about that, Jason—I really am—but you see George has heard something—about you and me, I mean. I wouldn't dare ask him now."

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "You love your husband then?"

"Of course I do."

"And you wouldn't want him to know that you had been—shall we say, indiscreet'?"

Elsa stared at him a little dazedly. This was a new Jason she was facing. What was he driving at? Her nervous fingers twisted the long string of jade beads which hung about her neck.

"Naturally, I wouldn't want him to know—" Elsa flushed a little. She wished he would not look at her like that. She glanced toward the mantel. The little ivory clock pointed to almost six. George might be coming any minute. She must get rid of Jason as quickly as possible.

"Then perhaps you would be willing to pay—to keep that knowledge from him."

"Why, what do you mean?" demanded Elsa, knowing of course exactly what he mcant.

"I mean, my dear, that foolish women sometimes have to pay for the foolish letters they write." He took from his pocket a little packet of letters. Elsa's heart seemed to do a nose dive toward her stomach as she caught sight of the tall vertical writing.

"YOU mean you are blackmailing me?" There was a little shiver in her voice.

Jason shrugged. "If you wish to call it that."

At that moment Elsa heard a car turn into the driveway.

"How much do you want?" she asked tensely.

"There are ten letters here." He fingered the packet as though to make sure. "I think a thousand dollars each would be only fair."

What price indiscretion! She had foolishly been thinking in terms of fifty of perhaps a hundred dollars, but ten thousand! She stared at him with unbelieving eyes. Could this coolly demanding person be the tender, adoring Jason she had known—the man in whose arms she had foolishly tarried—because he needed her so?

​A shaft of the afternoon sun fell upon his blond head and touched it with gold. Incongruously enough Elsa thought of that other Jason who had gone in search of the Golden Fleece. A gallant quest that. But times had indeed changed. This Jason was in quest of a fleece, too, but of a more modern variety.

TEN thousand dollars! Certainly an exorbitant price to pay for a packet of meaningless little notes. Still, it might be a small price to pay for safety. Suppose the thing should get into the papers. Excerpts from some of those notes paraded through Elsa's mind.

And the one where she quoted the popular song hit—

{{ppoem| "You will always be My necessity" (she remembered she had underlined that) "I'd be lost without you."

How perfectly awful it would be to see those letters on the front page of the morning paper. She could visualize the headlines—Actor Blackmails Wife of Celebrated Director. Hollywood Love Tryst Bared. George would never forgive her and Elsa certainly had no desire to relinquish her position as Mrs. George Delmar. Ten thousand was a lot of money—she would probably have to pawn her pearls—but at that moment Elsa wanted safety at any price.

She rose to her feet, trying to register utter contempt.

"I haven't that much money now—but I'll bring it to you tomorrow," she promised recklessly.

"A check will do, my dear Elsa," he said suavely.

"But I can't do that. You'll have to trust me to—"

Before she finished the sentence George was in the doorway. Elsa, who had always congratulated herself that she used her head, knew that she was trapped.

"Hello, dear," he greeted her. Then, noticing Jason who was seated with his back to the door, he added: "Pardon me for bursting in like this—I didn't know you had company."

Elsa introduced them. She wondered if George noticed how odd her voice sounded. She could feel little beads of perspiration coming out on her lip, though a moment before she had been shivering. Jason, she noticed with considerable relief, had at least been considerate enough to slip the packet of letters into his coat pocket.

"Is this the young man you were telling me about, Elsa?" inquired George after he had rung for the butler to bring some cocktails.

"Why—I don't remember," she lied.

"That night we were talking about a blond man to play opposite Dalmores," he reminded her.

"Oh, yes." Elsa managed a sickly smile. She remembered distinctly that she had not mentioned any particular man. Was George just being subtle?

"MR. CASTLE would be a perfect contrast for Dalmores. Don't you think so?"

Elsa nodded. This wasn't a bit like George.

"Have you done any picture work?" he turned to Jason.

Elsa was left out of the conversation that followed. She sat there twisting and untwisting the jade beads while George outlined the story for the next Dalmores picture. While he talked, Elsa was thinking: "If George gives him that role opposite Dalmores he certainly ought to be decent enough to return those letters to me. I wonder if I ought to put in a good word for him so he'll know that I really meant to speak to George all the time." Two or three times she moistened her lips to speak, then changed her mind.

When Jason finally rose to go George had agreed to give him a screen test the following day. A week later the papers announced that Jason Castle, the Continental actor, would play opposite Donna Dalmores in the next George Delmar production.

Now this came as a complete surprise to Elsa, who had had a very uncomfortable week. George had said nothing whatever about the screen test and she thought it wiser not to ask him about it. Nor had she heard from Jason. She interpreted his silence as indicating that he meant to do nothing further about the letters. However, when George announced that the company was going to the mountains on location she felt considerably relieved. His absence would give her a chance to get hold of herself.

So she bought some smart new clothes which did a great deal toward restoring her self-confidence, found a new masseuse who was really a wonder, went on a lamb chop and pineapple died, and by the time George returned she felt better able to cope with the situation.

SO much so that when he came in to kiss her goodnight on his first evening at home she was able to say quite naturally:

"By the way, how did your new leading man turn out?"

"Splendid, my dear. I consider him one of my greatest discoveries."

Elsa mentally patted herself on the back. Funny how absolutely blind men were—particularly husbands.

"He should go far, that boy. He works in a rather unique way."

Elsa mentally added: "And how!"

"In fact, my dear, I feel so indebted to you for introducing him to me that I brought you a little gift as evidence of my appreciation."

"Oh, George, you are' a darling." Elsa slipped her arms about his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She hoped it was those emerald earrings she had been wanting.

"It's somewhat different from my former gifts." He paused for a second, then added: "But I hope it may prove even more valuable to you." Something about the way he was looking at her caused Elsa to feel oddly self-conscious.

He took from his pocket a tiny key and handed it to Elsa.

"I TOOK a safety deposit box for you at the bank today. This is the key."

She took it, puzzled. A safety deposit box'. What use could she have for one. Her jewels were well insured. She had nothing else of value. She knew that some women went in for bonds, but she never had.

"But, George—" she began.

"Yes, I know, my dear. You're wondering what you will keep in it." He handed her a small oblong package which he took from his inside pocket. "There are only two places where this will be absolutely safe. One' is in a safety box." His eyes twinkled with an oddly amused smile. "Good night, my dear—and sweet dreams."

Before Elsa could open the package he had left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Still puzzled, she ripped the covering from the package, and a crimson flush mounted her cheeks. Instantly she knew that the other safe place for such a package was the fire. Impulsively she flung it where the fire was hottest. Á flare shot up, revealing for one second a fragment on which was written ".... always be—my necessity." A slender flame curled over it and Elsa breathed a sigh of relief as it dropped into black ash.