{"id":1022,"date":"2019-03-27T03:30:06","date_gmt":"2019-03-27T03:30:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.sportsnewsforyou.com\/?p=1022"},"modified":"2019-03-27T03:30:06","modified_gmt":"2019-03-27T03:30:06","slug":"petticoat-empire-by-edith-embury","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/?p=1022","title":{"rendered":"\u201cPetticoat Empire\u201d by Edith Embury"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summer is for steamy romance. Our new series of classic fiction from the 1940s and \u201950s features sexy intrigue from the archives for all of your beach reading needs.\u00a0In \u201cPetticoat Empire,\u201d an advertising producer is over budget and under staffed, and she\u2019s falling for a know-it-all writer. This 1951 short story offers a glimpse into the glamorous atmosphere of midcentury advertising, romantic cajoling and all. <\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Little Gem Advertising Film Productions had one rebuilt 35-millimeter camera and a 30-by-50 portion of warehouse space called the studio. Little Gem also had two motion-picture directors who doubled as cameramen, and a producer. The producer was a brunette with bright brown eyes, and her name was Nathalie Wyman.<\/p>\n

Nathalie was no secondhand rebuilt. She was young and beautiful. What you could see of Nathalie was gorgeous and what you couldn\u2019t was provocatively covered by Hattie, Nettie and Sophie.<\/p>\n

Men made passes at Nathalie which she promptly passed by. Her master plan for traveling the road to success permitted no dalliance along seductive bypaths. Men were things to think about later after she had been called to Hollywood to produce extravaganzas in color. She expected, of course, when she got around to it, to take her pick from a whole herd of rich, dynamic captains of industry.<\/p>\n

In the meantime she looked in her office mirrors and told herself she was the best producer in the less glamorous side of motion pictures. Her production meetings went off like clockwork. Her shooting schedules never sagged into overtime. From script to negative to customer \u2014 one Little Gem production \u2014 all under budget.<\/p>\n

Nathalie\u2019s pet customer was Babyskin Lotion, and so the 10 o\u2019clock production meeting for Babyskin Theater Ad 27, with Nathalie Wyman presiding, should have gone off in the usual routine fashion.<\/p>\n

Director Al Kolski sat midway of the desk and read the script aloud. Carol Lee, secretary to Nathalie and plain stenographer to the rest of the staff, hung her pencil in the air and waited for Nathalie\u2019s comments. Doug Wilson, promoted to head writer since the hiring of an assistant, blinked and chain smoked.<\/p>\n

His new assistant, Joe Frane, sat with his chair tipped back against the wall. Joe\u2019s eyes were closed. His complete disregard for the presence of the producer was a sizzling fuse under his tilted chair. The fuse was attached.<\/p>\n

Her annoyance mounting by the minute, Nathalie stared holes in the wall over Joe Frane\u2019s head. Insolent boor. What was it Wilson had told her about him? Newspaper reporter who\u2019d worked on films in the Navy. Single, in his late twenties. Writers! Every day, litters of them could be crammed into weighted sacks and dropped in the river and no one would ever ask what happened.<\/p>\n

A strange word jerked her thoughts into line. Uxorious. What did that mean? Ferd Zwinnick, sales-promotion manager for Babyskin, wouldn\u2019t understand it. He\u2019d say, \u201cIf I don\u2019t understand it, the audience won\u2019t either.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kolski finished reading and passed the script to Nathalie. Joe\u2019s chair came down with a thud.<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn good,\u201d Joe said, sliding to his spine. \u201cThought I\u2019d gone stale on it, but it\u2019s better than I guessed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wilson darted his assistant an invisible ray designed to wither, but Joe, lost in admiration of his opus, remained healthfully ignorant. Kolski reverently turned his face to Mecca, and Wilson followed suit.<\/p>\n

Nathalie took the script by one corner, holding it away from her, shoulder high, like something lifted from a sewer. She wheeled from her chair and tossed it toward the wastebasket. In a coldly regal voice she exploded her bomb, \u201cIt stinks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe hit the floor. Six feet of him seemed to lean over the table all at once. Nathalie braced herself for a bellow, but what she heard was as quiet and smooth as steel drawn over velvet. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. \u201cIn just what spots would you say the odor is offensive?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have to be specific, Mr. \u2014 ah \u2014 Frame.\u201d There was a definite accent on the \u201cI.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrane. But call me Joe; it\u2019s chummier.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie ignored the offer. \u201cI want another script immediately, Wilson. We\u2019ll have to switch schedules, shoot Daisy Food Choppers tomorrow and put Babyskin over to the day after. Mr. Zwinnick is arriving sometime today, but I\u2019ll have to stall him off. And, Wilson, you\u2019d better do the rewrite yourself, so the formula will be followed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFormula!\u201d Joe\u2019s voice bled with anguish. \u201cThat\u2019s the trouble with your Babyskin ads. I ran the whole 26 yesterday, and every one is five minutes of commercial blah. People don\u2019t talk that way. Not real people.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie knew the signs. In another minute he\u2019d reach the shouting point. Deftly she applied the needle. \u201cAt Little Gem we give our customers what they want. That\u2019s Lesson One, Mr. Frane.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if they want castor oil straight, I suppose. Look, Nat. Did you ever try giving Zwinnick some orange juice along with it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not paid to waste my time arguing with writers!\u201d Her face was getting hot. \u201cIf you can\u2019t understand an advertising formula, you don\u2019t belong in the business. The script is no good. Wilson knows it. So does Kolski.\u201d<\/p>\n

As one man, Wilson and Kolski nodded agreement.<\/p>\n

Joe looked at them all in turn. Then he smiled and bowed from the waist.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Miss Wyman,\u201d he purred. \u201cThanks for the unbiased hearing. Even as a puppet show it wasn\u2019t worth the price of admission.\u201d<\/p>\n

He went out. Nathalie stomped to a window and stood there, her back to the room. The others slowly pushed their chairs aside and stole away.<\/p>\n

She sat down at her desk and put her face in her hands. She had lost her temper, and so she had lost the battle. A new script would be written, yes, but he\u2019d made her look petty and ridiculous with that easy way of his. He\u2019d drawn her in and then he\u2019d slapped her down with a bow and a Cheesy-cat grin. Puppets! Naturally, out of courtesy, Wilson and Kolski always waited for her opinion.<\/p>\n

She got up and looked in the mirror between the windows. Not a curl was out of place. She consulted the full-length mirror on the powder room door. She pulled down her girdle and straightened the topaz clip on her lapel. No one at Little Gem had ever called her \u201cNat.\u201d \u201cLook, Nat.\u201d There was an earnest warmth in the way he\u2019d said it. Sort of made you glow inside, even if it didn\u2019t mean anything personal. Maybe he would quit. Well, so what? The script wasn\u2019t any good. But if Wilson made a fuss she\u2019d better be sure of her facts.<\/p>\n

She pulled the script from the basket and returned to her desk. She read it over, word for word, and reluctantly conceded she had missed a few things while working herself into a state over Frane\u2019s lackadaisical attitude. Too many scenes, though. He must have thought Zwinnick was made of money.<\/p>\n

Look, Nat. Go on and patch it up. The guy knows how to write. Tell him why you can\u2019t produce it. Tell him the truth. <\/em><\/p>\n

She put on new lips and went upstairs, where she never went. Her own office was draped and carpeted, and people came to her. She never went to anyone as she was going now to Joe Frane.<\/p>\n

The staff room was a barren waste without benefit of partitions. A few battered desks were pushed into various positions to catch the light. Carol\u2019s was in the middle, and there she sat, pounding her typewriter and answering telephones. Wilson was out, and Nathalie wondered if he was already on the prowl for a new assistant. The farthest desk held the lower extremities of Joe Frane. He was on his spine again, his hands clasped behind his head.<\/p>\n

She found a kitchen chair and dragged it bumpety-bump across the floor. Joe heard the alarm and unfolded.<\/p>\n

She sat on the edge of the chair and handed him the script. \u201cI read this over after you left and It\u2019s all right \u2014 it\u2019s pretty good, in fact, but I \u2014 that is, we \u2014 \u201d She lost herself in the blue intentness of his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you can\u2019t produce it,\u201d he finished. \u201cSeems to me I heard that before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not to take personally anything that was said downstairs. We give our opinions, but they\u2019re impersonal, you understand.\u201d His hair was brown. He might have been a towhead when he was a kid. He had big-knuckled, outdoor hands \u2014 not white, womanish hands as so many writers had.<\/p>\n

\u201cImpersonal,\u201d he said. \u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt keeps us from getting our personalities mixed up with our work. I thought if I explained our policy, you wouldn\u2019t do anything hasty. I mean \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat topaz clip you\u2019re wearing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her hand went to the clip. \u201cI was going to say that by keeping everything impersonal we \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt matches your eyes. Is it Brazilian?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. I bought it at an auction. Is that good \u2014 Brazilian?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery good. Citrine quartz doesn\u2019t have that lively depth of color.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was silent before this vast display of knowledge. If he knew stones, there was no telling what other fascinating things were stored away in his mind.<\/p>\n

He said, \u201cLet\u2019s forget the formula business. What\u2019s the real reason?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe formula is not acceptable,\u201d she snapped. Darn him anyway.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be budget, would it?\u201d<\/p>\n

He had drawn her in again. Budget was the truth, the truth she had come to tell him, only he\u2019d got her off on a detour by way of Brazil. She slapped the desk. \u201cYes, if you want to know! I\u2019ve never gone over budget on any picture yet, and I don\u2019t intend to. We can bill 500 dollars for Ad 27, and that\u2019s all. Your version would double that amount.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBabyskin spends a million a year on advertising. If you ask me, somebody\u2019s selling you short.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not asking you! I\u2019m very happy Mr. Zwinnick favors us at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFive hundred peanuts. And I thought this business was going to be fun.\u201d<\/p>\n

A phone rang. Carol answered it and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. \u201cMiss Wyman, Mr. Zwinnick is here, and he\u2019s down on the stage. He\u2019s getting in everybody\u2019s hair and they want to know what to do with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie looked from Carol to Joe and her eyes sparked with inspiration. Pulling Zwinnick away from his beloved playthings was a man-sized job. Zwinnick wouldn\u2019t stand for any trumped-up nonsense.<\/p>\n

She said, her voice dripping honey, \u201cMr. Frane, get Mr. Zwinnick out of the studio and into my office, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe ambled toward the door. \u201cYou want him vertical or horizontal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVertical, if you please. Little Gem doesn\u2019t insult its customers.\u201d<\/p>\n

Smiling as she had not smiled that morning, she stopped to dictate a memo to Carol. When she returned to her office, Zwinnick was sitting beside her desk, rosy and cherubic and meek as a lamb. Joe was nowhere to be seen.<\/p>\n

She had dinner with Zwinnick at his favorite bar. Zwinnick talked. He liked to talk and Nathalie played a customer\u2019s game. While he post-mortemed the speech he had made to the Flat Rock Sales Supervisors Club during the previous week, she nodded at appropriate intervals.<\/p>\n

She hadn\u2019t seen Joe all afternoon. Maybe he\u2019d gone home to work on another script. Maybe he\u2019d quit. Or been hit by a car while crossing a street. He might even now be lying in the police hospital, writhing in agony….<\/p>\n

There he was, striding into the bar! And he was all in one long piece. He waved to a couple of fellows and went over to stand between them. One of the fellows was Art Matthews, owner of Artcraft Film. Was Art offering him a job?<\/p>\n

She tried some frantic telepathy. Don\u2019t take it, Joe. Don\u2019t listen to him. Loyalty to Little Gem is our first principle. Or loyalty to the customer . . . or something. I\u2019m your conscience, Joe. Turn around, so you\u2019ll know I\u2019m here.<\/em><\/p>\n

But the air waves were clogged with static and Zwinnick. Joe finished his drink, gave Art a friendly pat and disappeared.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick ordered dessert \u2014 chocolate ice cream roll laced with marshmallow.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd before I give that speech again,\u201d he said, \u201cI might even improve it a little. Last night I had a stomachache and couldn\u2019t sleep, so I got to thinking. Listen to this, Nathalie. \u2018Salesmen are made, not born.\u2019 How\u2019s that for a punch title?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWonderful,\u201d Nathalie said. \u201cI think it\u2019s just wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n

She went home early, begging off from the movie he wanted to see. He would talk all through the picture. And later, over midnight coffee, he would tell her again that a widower\u2019s life was a mighty lonely one.<\/p>\n

She paced her apartment. She looked up \u201cuxorious\u201d in the dictionary and wished she hadn\u2019t. She took a shower, shined her hair with a hundred strokes and got into bed. She tossed and turned and punched her pillow into assorted lumps. She was in love. It wasn\u2019t romantic. It wasn\u2019t even mutual. She didn\u2019t want a writer and she didn\u2019t want to live on a writer\u2019s salary. She wanted her career, her annual bonus, and Hollywood and a captain of industry. And she wanted Joe Frane. She felt as if she\u2019d been hit by a dump truck.<\/p>\n

With a day to kill before Ad 27 got underway, Ferd Zwinnick tried to murder it for everyone but himself. He planted a chair in front of the Daisy Food Chopper set and ordered a light standard moved back six inches. Kolski, getting ready to move it forward, sweated and wiped his face. He ordered the standard moved back, and when Zwinnick bent over to pick some lint off his trousers, he signaled to have it moved forward a couple of feet.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick looked up and said, \u201cThat\u2019s better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPatsy ready?\u201d Kolski asked.<\/p>\n

Patsy entered the set in a calico house coat.<\/p>\n

\u201cQuiet, everybody,\u201d Kolski said. \u201cVoice recording.\u201d<\/p>\n

The silence bell sounded. The camera ground. Patsy plugged in her Daisy and began feeding it scraps of raw meat from a platter. She hummed a tune and looked starry-eyed as hamburger rolled into a bowl.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick sneezed.<\/p>\n

\u201cCut!\u201d Kolski bawled. He put his hands on his hips and glared at Zwinnick.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d Zwinnick said. \u201cI must have caught a cold last night.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kolski beckoned his chore boy. \u201cGet that guy Frane,\u201d he muttered. \u201cHe pulled that big baboon out of here yesterday, and he better do it now. I got to swallow him tomorrow, but today I\u2019m going to have a holiday.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie walked onto the set, a script in her hand. She looked at Patsy, did a double take and marched over to Kolski.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s Rita?\u201d she asked. \u201cI thought we agreed on Rita.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBeen hitting the gin and couldn\u2019t make it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe approved script calls for the motherly type.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, but we decided to knock it out and make it a bride.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie stamped her foot. Who did they think they were, assuming the producer\u2019s prerogatives? More than once she had canceled shooting on less provocation.<\/p>\n

\u201cCancel the schedule,\u201d she ordered. \u201cGet Wilson and come into my office.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe Frane went by. Kolski said, \u201cHi, Joe. Good girl you got, that Patsy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie followed Joe with doelike eyes. He hadn\u2019t quit. He was right on the job.<\/p>\n

Kolski\u2019s words broke through her adoration. She whirled angrily. \u201cJoe got this girl Patsy? Where?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, but she\u2019s something, isn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n

Something was right. She was the cutest model who had walked into the Little Gem studio in months . . . and Joe Frane had got her! His girlfriend, of course. His heavy date. Who else would be so accommodating in an emergency?<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe!\u201d she called. She\u2019d have to be smooth about this. Not lose her temper again. Keep it impersonal while letting him know he couldn\u2019t play fast and loose with a customer\u2019s script.<\/p>\n

Joe came over.<\/p>\n

She said carefully, \u201cDid you see the script? The Daisy people want a matron.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis will be better,\u201d Joe said. \u201cPatsy was a food demonstrator and she can really cook.\u201d<\/p>\n

Thoughts hammered each other around the ring of her mind: Cancel the schedule. You\u2019re the producer. Get it right. But Joe says. And Joe knows. <\/em>She said softly, \u201cYou think it will be all right, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

Kolski, bug-eyed, grabbed the cameraman and hung on. History was being made at Little Gem.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019ll be swell,\u201d Joe said. \u201cI\u2019ll guarantee the results.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right. . . . You can go ahead, Kolski. And, Joe \u2014 \u201d She maneuvered him into a neutral corner. \u201cWilson just gave me his rewrite. It isn\u2019t as good as your original.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe raised his eyebrows.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to produce yours if Mr. Zwinnick can be sold on a budget increase. What do you say the three of us have dinner tonight and talk it over?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTonight\u2019s a little late. If he agrees, we\u2019ve still got to round up a cast for tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t a spare minute today,\u201d she fibbed. \u201cWe\u2019ll make it dinner at my place. Get a tentative cast and tell them we\u2019ll let them know.\u201d<\/p>\n

She returned to her office on wings of surging hope. His Patsy girl wasn\u2019t the only one who could cook. Food was important in a man\u2019s life, but even more important was a story to its author.<\/p>\n

Her production meeting on Menu 1 for Joe Frane took most of the afternoon. She wrote, edited and rewrote without regard to budget. She left the office early to pick up the items and don a dimity apron.<\/p>\n

Her guests arrived at seven. Zwinnick, previously unsuccessful at getting his foot in the door, was charmed with the apartment. Joe was noncommittal, although he appeared lazily comfortable in the lounge chair that fitted his long frame without coaxing. Mentally Nathalie put on his slippers and asked him if he\u2019d had a hard day at the office.<\/p>\n

Her program called for no shop talk until after coffee. Then they would read and discuss the script, Zwinnick would grow mellow over the brandy and walnuts, and she would lay the money problem, oh so tactfully, in his well-upholstered lap.<\/p>\n

Everything was proceeding famously and … zingo! During the few moments it took her to remove the dinner plates and bring in the salad, her program was kicked out the window. Zwinnick announced he had read the script and the production price was too high.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s talk about it later,\u201d she said, but no one paid any attention.<\/p>\n

Joe pushed his salad aside and got busy with a pencil and notebook. \u201cSince you feel one thousand\u2019s too much, look at it this way, Mr. Zwinnick. We\u2019re featuring all your products that the housewife uses in her daily routine. Wall cleaner, beauty soap and kitchen soap have about 40 percent of the footage. Lotion has 60 percent. Divide a thousand that way and you come out six hundred dollars for Babyskin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but our other divisions have no appropriations for theater ads.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTheir television movies are theater ads. It\u2019s only the medium that\u2019s different.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe bored in. He tossed off television costs and theater advertising costs like an automatic calculator. He wrapped up a television-theatrical package and presented it over his untouched salad.<\/p>\n

\u201cStill too much money,\u201d Zwinnick said.<\/p>\n

Nathalie was crushed. Why hadn\u2019t Joe let her handle it in her own way? Perhaps it wasn\u2019t too late even now.<\/p>\n

She stretched her hand across the table. \u201cMr. Zwinnick,\u201d she said. \u201cFerd.\u201d<\/p>\n

Smiling his surprise, Zwinnick took her hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis picture could make you the biggest man in sales-promotion advertising. You\u2019ve always been a leader, but with a brand-new idea like this you\u2019d be the absolute top.\u201d<\/p>\n

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joe\u2019s face. It looked slightly sick.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick said, \u201cI know, my dear, but we\u2019ll have to do our regular version this time. I\u2019m going to think it over, though. It has possibilities.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe smiled. He slipped his notebook into his pocket. \u201cThat\u2019s good enough for me, Mr. Zwinnick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Men! Folding up and calling it quits before each and every expedient had been tried. She said pleadingly, \u201cWe want to do this one picture so very much. It will be a big feather in Joe\u2019s cap, and I want it too. It\u2019s real theater and I\u2019ve never had a chance to do anything like it before.\u201d<\/p>\n

Zwinnick gave her hand a quick squeeze. \u201cLet\u2019s do it, then! Anything you want, Nathalie, even if it takes money out of my own pocket! Sure, let\u2019s do it!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie turned triumphantly to Joe. What she saw was a frozen corpse, its eyes glassy, its jaws clamped in a mighty disapproval.<\/p>\n

The telephone rang and she answered it. \u201cFor you, Mr. Zwinnick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Zwinnick got up and went into the living room. He said loudly, \u201cZwinnick speaking. . . . Who? . . . J.B.? Where are you? . . . Oh, I get it. Over.\u201d It went on and on. It didn\u2019t make sense.<\/p>\n

She cleared the table and stacked the plates on the kitchen drain board. She heard a step behind her and felt an iron grip bearing down on her shoulders, spinning her around. She looked up into the flashing blue anger of Joe Frane\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cBar none,\u201d he said, \u201cthat was the cheapest trick I ever saw pulled anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

She patted his lapel. \u201cI got it for you, didn\u2019t I?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe backed away and her hand patted air. \u201cThe guy was sold! He doesn\u2019t have the authority or the money to do it now, but he\u2019d have done it next time sure as shootin\u2019. This isn\u2019t one picture; it\u2019s 20 or 30. And what the hell do I care about a feather in my bat? Looks like it\u2019s you who wants feathers, and at the risk of overselling your best customer!\u201d His arm swept the kitchen. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just stick to steak and salad?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her chin went up. \u201cWhat do you know about salad? You didn\u2019t eat any.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, for the love of Pete! I don\u2019t think you\u2019ve got the point yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

The swinging door made a fanning wake behind him.<\/p>\n

Numbly she went through the motions of placing coffee and dessert on a tray and carrying it to the table. The dining room was empty. She peered anxiously into the living room, brushed past Zwinnick and ran into the hall. Joe\u2019s hat and coat were gone. She returned to the table and slumped into her chair.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick came back, puffing with importance. \u201cThat was J.B. Conners, chairman of the board. Talking from an airplane. He may drop around tomorrow. Airplane. Imagine that!\u201d He gulped his coffee. \u201cWhere\u2019s Joe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWorking tonight,\u201d she replied with her eyes on her plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cNathalie, dear, this souffl\u00e9 is out of this world.\u201d<\/p>\n

In another minute he would tell her, a little more tenderly this time, about the widower\u2019s lot. And in half a minute, to keep him off the subject, she would have to suggest they catch a late movie. Which she did.<\/p>\n

Olga Olson, professional model recently returned from a weekend in Louisville, studied the dirty wall and stepladder on the Babyskin set and trembled under her mink-dyed wombat. \u201cAh thought this was a beauty picksha. Ah\u2019m awf\u2019ly sorry, Mistah Kolski, but Ah just couldn\u2019t wash a wall.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe brought the news of Olga\u2019s departure to the front office, where Nathalie was dictating to Carol. Nathalie listened in frigid silence. This was the man who\u2019d walked out on her. Not once, but twice.<\/p>\n

When he finished, she said crisply, \u201cGet your girl Patsy. Let her do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe can\u2019t. She\u2019s busy this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Carol said, \u201cI hit the bottom when I called Olga.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not my problem,\u201d Nathalie said. \u201cGo worry somewhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe shrugged. \u201cConners and Zwinnick are sitting on the stage. Kolski\u2019s pulling his hair out and the picture\u2019s got to be in the can tonight. It\u2019s your baby, but it\u2019s not your problem. Okay.\u201d He started for the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait a minute,\u201d Nathalie said. \u201cThink hard. Someone who can do housework and look like Hedy Lamarr.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou,\u201d Joe said.<\/p>\n

Nathalie rose to her full height. \u201cI am not a model. I am a producer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d be wonderful, Miss Wyman,\u201d Carol said.<\/p>\n

Impatiently Nathalie turned away from them both. She caught herself in the mirror and adjusted an earring. Then she saw something else. She saw Joe looking at Carol. His whole expression had changed. He wasn\u2019t shrugging or not giving a hoot. His face was bleak with worry and his eyes were as tired as an old, old man\u2019s. Joe Frane, so easy and confident, was scared to death! Her heart stopped and went into reverse. This was serious. This was where you got in and pitched. Love and a man who kept walking out had nothing to do with it.<\/p>\n

She turned around, murmuring half to herself, \u201c. . . never acted in my life, but at least I\u2019d be no worse than Olga. If I thought I wouldn\u2019t ham it up \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

Joe snapped to attention with a broad grin. \u201cNow you\u2019re logging! I\u2019ll send in the duds and makeup!\u201d<\/p>\n

Ten minutes later she crossed the stage in blue jeans and an old shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Zwinnick put his arm around her and told Conners she was a little gem; ha ha, wasn\u2019t anything Nathalie couldn\u2019t do.<\/p>\n

She mounted the stepladder, and the chore boy hoisted two pails of water to the ladder platform. He placed the can of cleaner on the top step. When Kolski shouted \u201cCamera! \u201cshe put a spoonful of cleaner into one of the pails and began washing the dirty wall.<\/p>\n

She washed. She washed again. And again. The result was a tired arm and a faint light streak that refused to get lighter.<\/p>\n

\u201cCut,\u201d Kolski said in disgust.<\/p>\n

Joe called out, \u201cTake it once more. Rub harder.\u201d<\/p>\n

She said bitingly, \u201cYou can spray the dark part darker, you know. Or don\u2019t you condescend to the tricks of your trade?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnyone can trick a result,\u201d Joe replied. \u201cWe want to show the cleaner in action.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d Zwinnick nodded.<\/p>\n

She hated Joe. She hated Zwinnick and Conners. Slave drivers. Flesh peddlers.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo take it again,\u201d Joe said, \u201cand use some elbow grease.\u201d<\/p>\n

She took it four times, and four times Joe shook his head.<\/p>\n

Finally he said, \u201cMove the ladder to another place and try it again.\u201d<\/p>\n

The ladder was moved. Turning her back to the coaching staff, she emptied the rest of the cleaner into the pail. Then, with the camera grinding again, she gave the wall a vicious swipe, another, and another. Her hands burned with a crimson heat. Her arms weighed a dead ton. She rinsed the sponge in clear water and wiped the space clean. The wall was free from dirt . . . and paint too.<\/p>\n

\u201cCut,\u201d Kolski said briskly. \u201cNext setup.\u201d<\/p>\n

She got down and collapsed into a chair. Someone threw her a house dress of a hideous pattern and she staggered into her office to change.<\/p>\n

She came back to wash and dry a stack of dishes. She did the dishes five times, smiling. She scoured a sink eight times, still smiling. She got down on her knees to pray for deliverance and smilingly scrub a floor. Each time she finished she was certain it was right, and each time Joe said, \u201cOnce more,\u201d and she hated him all over again.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you say \u2018Once more\u2019 once more, I\u2019ll scream!\u201d she screamed.<\/p>\n

Joe caught the scrub brush aimed at his head. \u201cGet it out of your system and take it again,\u201d he said patiently.<\/p>\n

She was only dimly aware, two hours later, of the scene ending and Joe lifting her to her feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cShampoo scene,\u201d he said, shaking her into consciousness.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot me. I\u2019m starving.\u201d A nice lunch with Zwinnick and Conners would be good for customer relations. It would help her forget the indignities heaped upon her by Simon Legree Frane.<\/p>\n

\u201cShampoo scene,\u201d Joe repeated. \u201cDo it right and we\u2019ll knock off for lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

She did it right . . . or else Joe was going blind. She put in two pin curls and giggled into the mirror above the washbowl. Now she was getting silly.<\/p>\n

A hairdresser finished the curls and put her under a drier in her office. A few minutes later Carol appeared with a sandwich and a bottle of milk.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Frane sent these,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou may tell him for me,\u201d Nathalie returned, \u201cthat I always lunch with our customers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, they\u2019ve gone. Mr. Frane took them somewhere in a cab. He had me call Patsy to do the hand modeling. He said your hands weren\u2019t \u2014 well.\u201d<\/p>\n

Weren\u2019t what? Nathalie looked at her hands. Red. Swollen. Peeling like two scalded tomatoes. \u201cGive me that sandwich and the hand oil,\u201d she said savagely, \u201cand latch the door when you go out. I\u2019m in conference.\u201d<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t enough that he had kidnaped the customers for lunch. He had crowned his perfidy by calling in someone else to do the easy parts. He could have shot the hand scenes first, before she\u2019d got mixed up with scrub buckets and dish pans. But no. Oh, no! He\u2019d been saving the plums for Patsy all along.<\/p>\n

Under the hot breath of the drier, the sandwich tasted like cardboard. She chewed herself into a long, revengeful burn.<\/p>\n

They called her at half past three and she walked out to the set with mayhem in her heart. Patsy had gone, but her memory lingered on. Everyone, including Freshman Conners, was fiendish with ill-concealed delight.<\/p>\n

Kolski said, \u201cPatsy wrapped that up in a hurry. What a girl!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSwell, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d Joe said. \u201cOne more shot and it\u2019s in the can. Bedroom setup.\u201d He glanced at Nathalie and the anemic young man with the cleft chin who was to play the uxorious husband. \u201cYou two got your lines?\u201d<\/p>\n

They delivered, walking through their parts. Joe nodded approval, and shooting began.<\/p>\n

Near the end of a good performance she coughed and spoiled the take. Joe inquired if she needed a throat spray, and she replied sweetly that her throat was all right and she was terribly sorry.<\/p>\n

They took it again, and she hammed it to the skies, twisting her hips and making baby talk into the camera. It was so bad that Kolski didn\u2019t even comment.<\/p>\n

Nathalie leaned against the frame of the bedroom door and gloated. Joe got up and came over. He was looking worried \u2014 the way he\u2019d looked that morning.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a thing,\u201d she said innocently. \u201cI thought it was fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

They took it again. She kept her hips at home, but she topped the young man\u2019s lines. The result was a conversational rat race. It was beautiful.<\/p>\n

Joe paid her another visit. \u201cIf I didn\u2019t know you were a trooper, I\u2019d swear you were deliberately cue-biting. Your timing\u2019s all wrong. Look, Nat. When he says, \u2018Hi, dear,\u2019 count three before you answer, and when he \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t hear the rest. \u201cLook, Nat.\u201d Those words again. Those wonderful, wonderful words. Birds were singing madrigals inside her head and gaily colored flowers were springing up to cover the scars on her heart.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll go through it with you,\u201d he said, \u201cso you\u2019ll get what I\u2019m driving at.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe!\u201d Zwinnick called. \u201cWait a minute. I\u2019ve been thinking. The husband brings in the two presents, but he opens one, the bottle of Babyskin. The camera dollies to the bottle, the husband talks about it and we go on from there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe idea,\u201d Joe countered smoothly, \u201cis to bring in the Babyskin as a climax. It\u2019s more subtle, Mr. Zwinnick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nathalie folded her arms and waited. Joe was right. No he-man would plop a bottle of anything \u2014 nectar, wine or Babyskin \u2014 into the middle of a scene of connubial bliss and make like a radio announcer.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick shot his finger at Joe. \u201cI\u2019m not interested in climaxes. It\u2019s advertising I\u2019m after. The scene will play better my way.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe said, \u201cThen what do you say we shoot it both ways? You can see both versions and decide which you like best.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hurray for Joe,<\/em> Nathalie thought. Spoken like a gentleman and a salesman<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick turned red. His neck swelled. \u201cWe\u2019ll take the one version, and we\u2019ll take it the way I want it!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will not!\u201d Nathalie crossed the stage in three strides. \u201cYou listen to me, Ferd Zwinnick. That scene will be shot the way Joe wrote it or it won\u2019t be shot! You approved that script, so keep quiet and let us get on with it! If this job runs into overtime, you\u2019ll get a bill that will knock your hat off!\u201d<\/p>\n

She found Joe beside her, and she put her hand on his arm to steady herself. Anger was fast giving way to sheer fright.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo we shoot it or don\u2019t we?\u201d she demanded.<\/p>\n

Zwinnick looked grim. Then, unaccountably, Conners threw back his head and brayed loudly. Laughing and choking, he said, \u201cI guess we shoot it, Ferd.\u201d<\/p>\n

Zwinnick\u2019s face puckered into a grudging smile. \u201cYes, J.B. Yes, sir. I guess we do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, Joe,\u201d Nathalie said, \u201cif you\u2019ll show me the way you want it \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood girl,\u201d Joe whispered. \u201cI\u2019ll be right with you.\u201d He went into a huddle with Kolski while Nathalie took her station behind the bedroom door. She heard him coming into the hall.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, dear!\u201d he called.<\/p>\n

She counted three and opened the door. \u201cDarling, you\u2019re home early. I\u2019ve been so busy all day I\u2019m not quite ready for the party.\u201d Spying the two packages: \u201cOh-h, presents!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do I get?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis.\u201d She came into the hall and kissed him, her arms going around his neck. His hold tightened and he returned her kiss with astonishing fervor.<\/p>\n

That second kiss. It wasn\u2019t in the script. But good. Uxorious. This was really rehearsing!<\/p>\n

He handed her the larger package. \u201cPut it on, will you? I want to see you in it . . . right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She disappeared into the bedroom to make a quick change. She opened the door and stood before him in a pleated chiffon neglig\u00e9e. He whistled as he walked into the bedroom, followed by the camera.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the other package?\u201d she said coyly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe best I could get.\u201d<\/p>\n

She unwrapped a bottle of Babyskin and flew into his arms. She must remember not to say \u201cuxorious.\u201d Zwinnick had changed it. \u201cBabyskin! Oh, darling, just what I wanted. You\u2019re the most . . . loving husband a girl ever had.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBabyskin, h\u2019m\u2019m\u2019m.\u201d He rubbed his cheek against hers. \u201cBabyskin is right.\u201d<\/p>\n

He kissed her again, and this time her lips were not surprised. They were waiting, eager. She leaned against him and sighed ecstatically. The camera came in to a close-up of the bottle she clutched behind his back. Rehearsal was over.<\/p>\n

\u201cSwell,\u201d he said, still holding on. \u201cAnd all so darned impersonal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWonderful,\u201d she said. \u201cOr would you rather rehearse with Patsy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s she got to do with it? She\u2019s my sister-in-law. With three kids, she can\u2019t always get a sitter.\u201d He squeezed her hard. \u201cShe couldn\u2019t take it the way you\u2019ve taken it today, believe me.\u201d<\/p>\n

A light went out. A wall of the bedroom started walking away. Dazed, she looked around.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re striking the set! Tell them to wait. I\u2019ve got to do it with that tailor\u2019s dummy.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s a take. He gets the money, but I get the gravy. After the way you handled Zwinnick, I knew you\u2019d be great.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll bet I\u2019m canned,\u201d she whispered, not caring at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cConners loves it. I corralled them for lunch, so I could get his blank check on the deal. He told Zwinnick he wouldn\u2019t allow him to spend a cent of his own money. You weren\u2019t sore, were you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a silly notion! As if I could be . . . with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet your clothes on and let\u2019s get out of here. I need a steak.\u201d<\/p>\n

She backed away from his unmistakable meaning. \u201cOh, no, you don\u2019t! I\u2019ve had a hard day. I\u2019ve scrubbed and slaved, and I\u2019m not cooking any steaks tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTomorrow night . . . if you haven\u2019t any other plans?\u201d<\/p>\n

She wanted to run to her mirror, to tell herself there were no other plans, not now. But she didn\u2019t move. The only mirror she needed was in his eyes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summer is for steamy romance. Our new series of classic fiction from the 1940s and \u201950s features sexy intrigue from the archives for all of your beach reading needs.\u00a0In \u201cPetticoat Empire,\u201d an advertising producer is over budget and under staffed, and she\u2019s falling for a know-it-all writer. This 1951 short story offers a glimpse into…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1022","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1022","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1022"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1022\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1022"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1022"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1022"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}