Maysie_Greig_-_Professional_Lover

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Maysie Greig is an Englishwoman who came to America

when one of her novels was filmed. Here she met and

married Delano Ames. They are inveterate travelers and

"commute" between England and the United States.

MAYSIE GREIG

Professional Lover

Pocket Book 541

POCKET BOOKS, INC.

ROCKEFELLER CENTER, N.Y.

The Printing History of:Professional Lover

Doubleday edition published December, 1933

1st printing December, 1933

Triangle edition published January, 1944

1st printing January, 1944

2nd printing October, 1944

3rd printing May, 1945

Pocket Book edition published November, 1948

1st printing October, 1948

Starr Thayle knew she was going to dislike Rex Brandon even before she went to that party.

She said often and emphatically that the type of man he portrayed on the screen was anathema

to her: the professional-lover type. She wouldn't even admit his attraction. She asserted

continually that his tall, lean figure, his slightly crooked features, his laughing, mocking eyes

held no thrill for her. His style was the lovable cad who reformed gloriously before the fade-

out; the great lover of women finally conquered and made repentant by one sweet woman's

love. She didn't believe there were men like that. At least, if there were, she didn't believe they

ever reformed. And Rex Brandon played these rôles so convincingly she couldn't disassociate

them and the man himself.

Three years ago when Rex Brandon first dawned on the movie firmament he was invariably

cast as the villain. He was almost too attractive to play the rôle of the good, honest hero.

Directors felt that the fascinating cad was more his style. Those were the days before villains

went out of date. When they did, things looked black indeed for Rex Brandon. But Stephen

Desmond, most brilliant of all young English directors, had an inspiration. Why not turn this

lovable rake into the hero? Not so very novel in literature, but an innovation on the talkies.

Women ate it up. Rex became the rage. The wickeder he was in the early scenes the more they

adored his final repentance. Women in their secret hearts have little use for the perfect hero,

though it wasn't until the sensational success of Rex Brandon that talkie directors discovered

this.

Starr Thayle was an exception. She repeated emphatically that she didn't like that type of

man. "Lounge lizard," she scoffed. "What can women see in him? Besides, it's perfectly

apparent to me the man is simply eaten with conceit!"

Starr wrote interviews and studio gossip for a Los Angeles newspaper. It was through the

same Stephen Desmond she had procured the post. Once she had been his secretary. And she

looked back on those days as the happiest in her life. What fun it had been helping him build a

picture right from the very beginning. She had thought she loved the work more than anything

else in the world. Then, one day, she awoke with a jolt to discover that it wasn't the work she

loved, but the man.

She made this startling discovery on the day that Stephen announced his engagement to Rita

Crane, the daughter of Oswald Crane, the big financier. That night Starr sat for a long time at

her bedroom window, staring up at a vast dome of starless blackness, seeing nothing, her eyes

bright with tears she wouldn't let herself shed.

"This," she said over and over again to herself, "has got to stop." She couldn't go on loving a

man who was engaged to another woman. That wasn't in Starr's code. And it was impossible

to keep seeing him and not love him. She'd have to give up seeing him, that was all. Which

meant she would have to resign her position as his secretary.

Starr never shirked anything once she had set her mind to it. She told Stephen Desmond of

her decision the very next morning. The young director was surprised and distressed. She was

an excellent secretary; besides, he genuinely liked the pretty, red-haired, vivacious girl who for

the past eighteen months had made herself almost indispensable to him.

"Look here, Miss Thayle," he said, 'I'm most awfully sorry. I thought we worked splendidly

together. I hope nothing I've done has upset you?"

A slight annoying flush stained Starr's pale face suddenly. She turned her head sharply

aside. "Oh, no, Mr. Desmond, you've been most kind to me. I'd... I'd like you to know that I

appreciate you and everything you've done for me terribly."

She sounded so sincere and, at the same time, upset about it - though to Stephen's modest

masculine mind he didn't see why she should be - that he felt at a loss.

"If it's a question of salary..." he began diffidently.

She shook her head quickly. Her color was hot. "No, Mr. Desmond, you've been most

generous. It's... it's just that I think I'd like a change of work," she ended in a breathless rush.

'In that case-" he began stiffly. Then, suddenly, he paused. He held out his hand and smiled

down at her. "Look here, Miss Thayle, we're going to part friends anyway, aren't we? We'll

always remain friends, I hope."

Starr caught her breath sharply and looked up at him. Her eyes were slightly misty as she

gave him her small, hot hand. "I hope you will always regard me as a friend, Mr. Desmond."

He was distinctly embarrassed. And it annoyed him that he should be. "Would you let me

help you find another job?" he questioned. "If you're interested in journalism, an editor pal of

mine was only saying yesterday that he had an opening for a bright young girl to write studio

gossip."

"I'm sure I'd love that." She forced her enthusiasm.

He drew a deep breath, and a smile broke over his nice, good-looking face. "I'll see him

about it, then. Though, I must say, I hate losing you."

"I hate going," Starr whispered, a queer choked note in her voice. The next moment she had

gathered up her pad and pencil and left the room. Stephen Desmond stood beside his highly

polished mahogany desk looking after her. His brow was crinkled in a frown. What was it all

about? He knew he'd miss her. He had never had a more intelligent or conscientious secretary.

Besides, she was always so quick to pick up every detail, details he himself might have

overlooked. And she was a nice girl. No getting away from it. He was quite fond of her.

Indeed, had he never met Rita, it just occurred to him that... but he had met Rita. That was an

end to it. Marriage to Stephen Desmond was a very definite end to that sort of thing. A pity

Rita Crane didn't regard marriage in the same light.

That was a year ago. Now Starr was on her way to a preview party at the West East Studios.

That morning her editor had said to her, "Going to the West East show tonight, Miss Thayle?

A preview of Rex Brandon's latest picture, isn't it? See if you can't get an interview out of him.

It's just occurred to me that no one knows much about his private life. He's as close as a clam

in interviews, isn't he? But a pretty girl like you, Miss Thayle, ought to get him to talk. Find

out whom he's in love with - he must be in love with someone when several million women are

in love with him! Find out his views on marriage and why he hasn't already married. Is he the

professional lover in real life or is he really the most domesticated of men? Remember I'm

relying upon you for a good story, so don't let me down."

That, to Starr, was the challenge direct. That evening she dressed with particular care,

choosing a very pretty evening gown of pale green taffeta. She wondered, as she turned this

way and that way before the long hanging mirror, if it would be difficult getting Rex Brandon to

talk. "I don't suppose so," smiled slightly. "All I'll have to do is to flatter him a little. I'm sure

he's that type of man!"

She also wondered - but not for long because she was very stern with herself on this matter -

if Stephen Desmond would be there. She'd heard he hadn't been going about much lately. Too

busy, some said. Others said it was not much fun for him to go out and watch his wife flirt with

some other man. Starr was furious when she heard such gossip. "It's mean and malicious,"

she'd storm. "Besides, how could a woman married to Stephen Desmond help but love him?

He's so darling and decent in every way."

The preview was just about to begin when Starr arrived at the West East Studios. The long,

attractive reception room was gay with flowers and music an the bright hum of chatter. At one

end a band was playing the latest theme songs and musical-comedy hits. Starr gazed about her

with a little inward gasp of excitement. Though she'd been mixed up with the various studios

for some years now, she didn't feel in the least blasé about a party such as this. Incredible that

so many famous people should be crowded together in such a small space: stars whose names

blazed down at you in electric lights from every picture theatre; writers whose new books were

a sensation in the literary world; newspaper magnates; financiers who periodically shook world

finances. And the women! As though one vied with another in the style and splendor of her

gown. "I feel like someone's poor relation," Starr thought with a wry smile.

The one seat vacant was just by the entrance door. Having taken a quick glance around,

Starr subsided into it. She wouldn't admit she had been definitely looking for someone.

Anyhow, he wasn't there. She supposed Stephen Desmond was "too busy" again. Still,

considering he had directed this picture, his absence seemed strange.

She hadn't seen Rex Brandon either. And his presence was important since she had to get

that interview. She murmured to the young man next to her, "Has Rex Brandon come yet?"

The young man was an extra and slightly embittered by the fact that he had been an extra for

three years now. In the beginning it had been easy to explain to his friends that he was merely

marking time till his "big chance" came. But each added year of marking time was becoming

increasingly difficult to explain away.

"No," he said rather crossly, "I don't believe he has. I suppose," - he couldn't resist the jibe -

"if he doesn't your evening will be a complete loss?"

Starr felt called upon to defend herself. "I haven't the slightest interest in Rex Brandon -

except professionally," she said coldly.

He laughed mockingly. "Then you're the first woman I've ever met who hasn't! I thought

every girl was in love with him!"

"I've never met him, but from the look of him I should think he was a conceited fool who

just lived on flattery," Starr said feelingly. "I wouldn't have asked you to point him out to me if

I hadn't wanted to interview him for my paper."

"Oh, you write for a paper, do you?" The young man was charming immediately. No doubt

but that his chance would come some day. When it did, the more of the press he was friendly

with the better. And while he talked glowingly of himself to the small red-haired girl with the

pretty slight body and impudent pixyish face, a tall thin man who had, in the semidarkness,

been standing immediately behind them moved away. He was very tall, very handsome, with

slightly crooked features. It was too dark just then to see whether or not the expression in his

eyes was mockingly cynical. But there was no doubt that, as he sat in a far corner, every now

and then he emitted a slight chuckle. Something he had recently overheard must have amused

him.

Starr was slightly disappointed in the picture. She tried not to be, but she had to face the fact

that it wasn't half so well drected as Stephen Desmond's pictures usually were. She couldn't put

her finger on just what was wrong. Rather a general looseness in the construction. Fiercely she

fought against admitting this. She had always been convinced that Stephen Desmond would go

on and on to greater triumphs. He must. It meant, somehow, a great deal to Starr. Having

worked with him in the past, she felt, in a way, that his career was her career. She couldn't bear

the thought that he might pass out of the picture as so many other young promising directors

had done.

Rex Brandon's acting was excellent. Dispassionately Starr felt she must admit this. He

might even, to certain women, be attractive. And his voice was certainly pleasant to listen to.

"Well," questioned the young man when the lights were bright again, "what do you think of

it?" There was a distinct challenge in his voice.

Loyalty to Stephen Desmond made Starr say promptly that she thought it an excellent

picture.

"I thought you didn't admire Rex Brandon," said the young man tartly.

He was smarting under the discovery that the scene he had been in - and it was the first time

he had ever done a bit by himself, too - had been cut.

"Rex Brandon isn't the whole picture," she pointed out.

"He is - from a box-office standpoint," he laughed. "He's the only one connected with the

picture the outside public is likely to hear about."

"That's unfair," she stormed. "After all, it's Stephen Desmond, the director, who is chiefly

responsible for its failure or success."

"Do you know Stephen Desmond?" he asked curiously.

"Slightly," she said noncommittally.

"I can't say whether or not he will put in an appearance tonight," the young man resumed.

"But I'm willing to bet Mrs. Stephen Desmond will come!"

His tone mystified Starr.

"Why should you say that?"

The young man shrugged. "Oh, it's common enough gossip around the studio. She's madly

in love with Rex Brandon. Follows him everywhere. Sends him expensive presents. Is usually

waiting for him when he comes off the set. Poor old Desmond must notice it. They say he's

taken to drinking rather heavily lately. If he keeps it up, his work is bound to suffer. Some say

it has already. Too bad - because it looked at one time as though he had a very brilliant career

ahead of him."

"But - they've only been married a year," Starr gasped, when she had recovered her voice.

The man laughed. "Women - especially married women with money - are quick workers

nowadays. But don't believe me if you don't want to. Just watch them together tonight." He

paused and added. "Are you coming into the supper room?"

Starr shook her head and continued sitting there. She felt too stunned just then to move.

That any woman should dare treat Stephen Desmond like that! Stephen Desmond who was

worth so much more than any other man in the world! Of course it might be mere gossip. She

determined to try and think so at least. But if it weren't... Her small white hands tightened in

her lap. The backs of her eyes felt hot and gritty behind, as though they had been rubbed with

sandpaper. She couldn't bear to think of Stephen Desmond humiliated by any woman, even

though she was his wife. And if he was humiliated, she told herself fiercely, she hated that

wife. But even more than the wife she felt she hated the man who was responsible - Rex

Brandon.

That reminded her of the interview. Springing to her feet, she made her way to the supper

room. The gay noise of laughter, the bright hum of chatter flowed out to her through the open

doors as a monster wave. A blue haze of cigarette smoke made the vivid scene seem strangely

unreal. Much more unreal, curiously, than those scenes she had just witnessed on the silver

screen. She looked about for Rex Brandon and saw him immediately. He was so much taller

than those who surrounded him; so much more vital somehow; so much more handsome. A

very pretty, very blonde girl was standing close to him. Much closer than she need have stood

despite the crowd about them. She was gazing up into his face and talking in a way that

somehow made everyone in the supper room seem prying spectators to an intimate scene. And,

as Starr stood there in the doorway watching them, the voice of the young man who had sat

beside her said in her ear, "There, what did I tell you? See them? Nothing like letting the

whole world share your love affair, is there? That is Mrs. Stephen Desmond with him, of

course!"

Suddenly Starr felt the whole atmosphere of the supper room stifling. Too, she was obsessed

by a sense of outrage. As though she had been let down instead of Stephen Desmond. Which

was absurd. With a murmured excuse to the young man, she pushed a long glass door open and

walked out onto a moon-whitened strip of lawn. The moon was bright and full tonight, like a

bride with her veils trailing the earth. The stars that clustered about it were so many eager,

bright-eyed, bridesmaids.

She walked across the lawn, her small silver-shod feet crunching the dew out of the grass.

But the beauty of tne night was lost upon her. Her mind was full of what she had just heard. It

was some moments before she realized that she wasn't alone on that sparkling strip of lawn. A

man was pacing restlessly up and down. As he turned, she saw a silhouette of his profile in the

white moonlight. Stephen Desmond.

Should she go back to the supper room or speak to him? Curiously she felt suddenly shy of

speaking to him. As though, meeting him alone in these circumstances, she were prying into

his inmost secrets. But a moment later she crushed this thought down. After all, he wasn't to

know she had heard the malicious gossip which coupled his wife's name with that of Rex

Brandon. And in a strange way she felt he needed someone to speak to him just then.

"I want to tell you how much I like your latest picture, Mr. Desmond," she said as she went

towards him.

He paused in his restless pacing. For a moment he seemed too preoccupied to recognize her.

Then with a start he said, "Oh - er - it's Miss Thayle. Thanks. But I guess I'm a little

disappointed in the picture myself." He smiled suddenly, that nice friendly smile of his, and

added, "What do you think of it honestly, Miss Thayle? You always were my most candid

critic."

Starr was embarrassed. She hated to hurt his feelings, yet was it fair to him to pretend it was

as good as the others when it wasn't?

"I see you agree with me," he murmured with a wry laugh in the pause. He shrugged and

added, "Anyhow, does it matter? After all, it isn't my picture, it's Brandon's. A director is very

small fry these days."

'Nonsense," Starr asserted angrily. "Mr. Brandon may have the looks and the limelight, but

he's merely a puppet. Everyone knows the director is the brains of the show."

He laughed again. Somehow that laugh. hurt Starr It was so bitter. She had never heard

Stephen Desmond laugh in that bitter way before.

"But the looks and limelight are all that matter to women, aren't they, Miss Thayle?"

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MaysieGreigisanEnglishwomanwhocametoAmericawhenoneofhernovelswasfilmed.HereshemetandmarriedDelanoAmes.Theyareinveteratetravelersand"commute"betweenEnglandandtheUnitedStates.MAYSIEGREIGProfessionalLoverPocketBook541POCKETBOOKS,INC.ROCKEFELLERCENTER,N.Y.ThePrintingHistoryof:ProfessionalLoverDoubledaye...

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