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Show FICTIOM I no mm is lost la pyf By ' S- M0NTAYNE JLMj TARIO went through the cool, x cloistered half light of the living liv-ing room in Edna's Amarillo Canyon Can-yon bungalow and sat down before her baby grand piano in the workroom work-room where the shade of the trees outside lay in thick, green dusk. He swept aside a heap of Edna's penciled pen-ciled manuscript, smiling a little superciliously, for her eomposing efforts invariably amused him, and let his thin, nervous fingers roam the keys. Usually melody soothed away any inner disturbance. But this afternoon, after-noon, his talk with Hammond at the studio lingered unpleasantly. He found himself playing the elusive, fragmentary tune that had been in his mind for some days. He had thought it might be pointed up, ' eyes were mysteriously enigmatic, her full lips parted. At that moment mo-ment Mario decided again that she was lovely lovely enough to excite romance, to thrill and inspire him. He wondered, abstractly, while he lighted a cigarette, why he wasn't in love with her. Perhaps it was that strange superiority he felt the constant knowledge that he had come to Hollywood from the concert stage, that the music he wrote was good, so much better than the banal, tinkling tunes Edna laboriously ground out. It was true she had earned a great deal of money and fame of a sort from the full length cartoon comedy she had set to music. But he reminded himself, him-self, men like Hammond weren't contracting for her to write arias eyes on the open doors, listening, She was playing the same tune he had toyed with when she had come in. But this time the melody had a meaning, a significance. It buill itself in a melodic tone picture thai gripped him and held him fasoi-nated. fasoi-nated. The middle part that had hung suspended, escaping him completely, com-pletely, was now a bridge that carried car-ried the burden of the theme surely across to its exquisite climax. "Something like that?" Edna came back through the cloying gloom. Mario stoid, his young face earnest and intent, his hands trembling. , "Yes, something like that." "Go in and write it down before you forget it." She spoke casually. "Pencil and score sheets on top of the piano. Help yourself." "But" She pushed him away, gently, decidedly. de-cidedly. "Hurry, before it goes." Brennan, who was doing the lyrics, put words to the melody the next morning in Mario's hotel room. At noon Hammond heard the song, approved, and took Mario out to lunch. "Funny how a little urging can get you artistic guys underway," he grunted. "Frankly, I don't like highbrow musicians. I'd rather work with the Tin Pan Alley variety vari-ety people like Edna Sheridan, Tommy Dorlon. But that's a good tune. Sounds like a natural." It was after five when Mario's taxi took him to Amarillo Canyon. The Great Dane barked ominously when he opened the iron gate, but the dog was chained and Mario went on to the letter-box and key Edna left for him. There was a note saying say-ing she'd be back in an hour, on the living room table, an open manuscript manu-script on the piano rack. Mario saw its title, "No Song Is Lost," when he switched on the shaded light and sat down to play. It"' ' , Yi But he reminded himself, men like Hammond weren't contracting for her to write arias and spot hit numbers for the type of picture, and this operatic star, on which he had been at work. hammered into a production number num-ber that could be played straight or used to satisfy the jittery inhibitions inhibi-tions of the swing-minded. Hammond Ham-mond had set a deadline for the thing he wanted. He had been very decided when he told Mario the song, words and music, must be in by the next afternoon. Mario was embroidering the theme, trying to give it substance and body, when he heard Edna's car outside. Her Great Dane barked joyfully, the iron gate banged shut, her heels clicked rhythmically on the polished floor. "I thought I heard you playing. Been here long?" Her slim hand sKpped into his. "I looked for you at the studio. Hammond said you left at one." Her hair seemed to glimmer in th light and shadow; her long, oval and spot hit numbers for the type of picture, and the operatic star, on which he had been at work. They dined on the terrace. The moon swung up across the canyon and the stars came out, one by one. Mario, lounging in the candlelight, told her his troubles. "Tomorrow afternoon . . . am I an automaton to have a crank turned . . . and music come out? That song I was playing" He gestured with his thin, artistic hands. "It is what Hammond wants, I know that, but" "It fades into nothing," Edna interpolated in-terpolated softly. He nodded, deep in thought, hardly conscious she had gotten up and gone into the bungalow. He lifted his brooding gaze when he heard the ripple of the piano. He jerked his head sharply left, his CHE had raided a Los Angeles deli- catessen. When she put her car in the garage, she called for him to help her with the packages. Mario carried them in to the glistening porcelain table in the model kitchen. He looked deep into the enigmatic eyes Edna lifted. He tried to answer her smile, but his lips were stiffly serious. She frowned, watching his expression change dramatically. "What did Pete Hammond think of the number? Why do you look at me like that, Mario?' What's the matter? Something gone wrong?" "Very wrong!" He was trembling oddly, the blood was pounding through him, his mind was confused. con-fused. Only one thing had any clarity, any Tision. "Why, Edna?" he heard himself asking in a strange voice. "Why what?" His hands closed about her shoulders. shoul-ders. He was drawing her to him, hardly aware of what he did. "That song," Mario said all at once. "No wonder it was elusive haunting! I must have heard it here the first night I eamel It must have hidden in some far corner of my memory! you did for that cartoon nonsense so good you took it out, shelved itl Why, Edna?" He broke off. She was close to him now and quite naturally, simply, her arms linked themselves about his neck. And she was smiling, smil-ing, not enigmaticaDy, but happily. "What is the theme of all music, of all life?" she asked, unsteadily. Mario laughed. "Love, of course!" he told her, before he put his own arms around her and leaned to kiss the warm red of her curved, glowing glow-ing mouth. |