Free The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog by Marian Babson

believe,’ Evangeline said ‘Or possibly, his fourth. There were very messy divorce cases on both sides, as I recall. But then, there usually were.’
    Matilda had come by her world-weariness honestly. Gervaise was the sort who would age any woman rapidly.
    But, oh, that woman – any woman except his daughter – might have had a wonderful time. At first.
    No doubt about it, Gervaise Jordan had it all: the lean lithe body, the charm, the grace, the smothering intensity as he concentrated every fibre of his being upon his leading lady. You could understand why shopgirls had swooned in the aisles, while their less prepossessing escorts ground their teeth. And there couldn’t have been many men who were more prepossessing than Gervaise.
    Then the scene shifted and he was in top hat and tails, walking along the river promenade with his lady. No doubt about it, Gervaise Jordan had been the matinée idol’s Matinée Idol.
    â€˜Oh,’ I sighed, as the violins struck up. ‘They don’t make them like that any more.’
    â€˜Just as well,’ Evangeline said. ‘Look at that roving eye. He can’t keep it still for a moment.’
    Sure enough, Gervaise’s attention had strayed over his co-star’s shoulder to check out some little extra who was selling flowers, in the artless way they did in old films, nowhere near any place where she might find a steady flow of customers. She was just standing obligingly on the
path waiting for one pair of starry-eyed lovers. She was never going to make a living in the real world.
    Rather, her character wasn’t. She, as I seemed to recall, had caught the producer’s eye, as well as Gervaise’s, and more fruitfully.
    â€˜Didn’t she wind up as – ?’
    â€˜A star, a Lady and matriarch of a theatrical dynasty,’ Evangeline supplied. ‘Not necessarily in that order.’
    â€˜Oh, look!’ I pointed to a corner of the screen. ‘There he goes again! I saw him wink at the girl walking the dog. I’m sure that wasn’t in the script.’
    â€˜Randy old bastard.’ Evangeline frowned. ‘Easily discouraged, though. He even tried to get funny with me once – and I let him have it with the seltzer bottle. He was no trouble after that.’
    â€˜A faceful of seltzer water would discourage any man,’ I agreed.
    â€˜Who said anything about his face? I aimed it where he’d notice it most – and so would everyone else. He looked as though he’d had an embarrassing accident. He had to rush away and change before anyone saw him. He kept his distance after that – he was afraid of what I might do for an encore.’
    â€˜You could almost feel sorry for him,’ I laughed.
    â€˜No need. He took off shortly after that on a Triumphal Tour of the Antipodes where, rumour had it, he cut a wider swathe among the local female talent than even the late dear Duke of Windsor. He did so well he returned several times and did a lot of entertaining the troops in that region during the war and afterwards. I’ll wager he didn’t entertain them half so much as he entertained himself with the girls they left behind them.’
    â€˜â€™Twas ever thus,’ I sighed. Star-struck females were ripe for the plucking by an unscrupulous male – and not necessarily the star. Anyone in the entourage would do, if they thought it would get them closer to their goal.
    â€˜Oh, look …’ An organ grinder had strolled into the scene, playing the featured theme music. ‘I haven’t
seen him in years. I know his face, now what was his name …?’
    Half the fun of these old movies is spotting old friends, adversaries and acquaintances, all viewed now with the luxury of hindsight. Now we knew the anecdotes, scandals, stories and ultimate fates trailing in their wake, things we had not suspected at the time.
    We had a wonderful evening dissecting everyone and