Limelight Page #6

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a stationary shop|where I bought music paper.

A very shy, reticent girl.

She seldom spoke.

But her smile was warm|and appealing.

I read many things into it.

I also was shy.|It was a bond between us.

She used to give me|extra music sheets,

and occasionally extra change.

Which, frankly, I accepted.|Hunger has no conscience.

The day after my symphony|played the Albert Hall,

I went back to the shop,

but she'd gone.|They said she'd left months ago.

You haven't seen her since?

Well, have I?

Yes, you have.

I know.

I lost my job giving you|those extra music sheets.

- You won't hold that against me?|- Of course not.

I was very young then.

You're very young now.

I don't know.|Soon I shall be an old married lady.

Then I wish you lots of happiness.

Thank you.

I wish that waitress would hurry.

Before we do the choreography,|I'll explain the story.

It's about Harlequinade.

Terry is Columbine.|She is dying in a London garret.

Harlequin, who is the lover,|and the clowns, are at her bedside.

She asks to be carried|to the window.

She wants to look upon the rooftops|one last time.

The clowns weep. She smiles.

Their clothes are not for sorrow|but for laughter.

She wants them to perform,|do their tricks.

The clowns can do their comedy.

- While she's dying?|- Yes.

Let me see, where am I?

As the clowns perform,|she becomes delirious.

Spirits of Columbines|dance before her.

Then she dies.|That's the first scene.

Next is the graveyard|where Columbine was buried.

Harlequin, her lover,|enters in the moonlight.

He tries to resurrect her|from the grave.

But he fails.

The spirits tell him not to grieve.

His love is not in the grave,|but everywhere.

Then Terry appears.

That's your solo, then the finale.

We'd better get a move on.|It's only 3 weeks to the opening.

Calvero!

What is it?

- How's it going?|- Wonderful. Thumbs up.

- I wish the dance was over.|- You've nothing to worry about.

I'm scared. Pray for me.

God helps those|who help themselves. Good luck.

- I can't go on!|- What?

My legs! I can't move!

It's nerves. Just move.

No, I can't move. I'm paralyzed!

Pure hysteria!|There's your cue, get on stage!

No, I'm falling!|It's my legs, they're paralyzed!

Get on that stage!

See? There's nothing wrong|with your legs.

Whoever you are, whatever it is,|just keep her going, that's all.

I've lost a button.

One of these.

It's all right.

Where's Calvero?|He told me to wait for him here.

I'll send the call boy|to look for him.

Supper is served.|You're sitting next to Mr. Postant.

Supper is now being served|in both lounges.

Come along, my dear.|You're next to me.

Bodalink, you're down there|my dear fellow.

Destiny must be a headwaitress.

Why?

She seats us together again.

She might be your nemesis.

I think I'll stand up|under the punishment.

However, my congratulations.|Tonight you were wonderful.

That's what they call|the old army game.

Neville, they tell me|the army's caught up with you.

You've joined the army?

On the contrary, the army joined me.|I was drafted.

That's awful!

I agree.|It's carrying the war too far.

However, there's the possibility|of joining up here.

Would you like to dance?

I appeal to your patriotism.|You can't refuse a soldier.

Governor, I remember|when you played Widow Twankey

at the Theatre Royal,|Birmingham, in 1890...

Go easy there laddie, go easy.

Let's have a drink.

Calvero, old boy,|how's the world treating you?

Rather aggressively at the moment.

You don't know me.

The fact is most gratifying.

Is that supposed to be funny?

My man, you will never know.|Have a little drink.

Only have it|at the other end of the bar.

Pardon me, Miss Thereza is waiting|for you in the dress circle.

What is it?

Miss Thereza is waiting for you|in the dress circle.

Will you kindly tell her not to worry,|I've gone home to bed.

Very well, sir.

What's happened to Calvero?

He left word that he was tired|and had gone home to rest.

I must go at once. Say good night|to Mr. Postant for me.

I'll get you a cab.

I'll walk home.

He must be asleep, poor dear.|Too much excitement for him.

I'm beginning|to feel the strain myself.

Then I'll be going.

Shall we see you|before you leave for camp?

I leave this morning.

Good bye, Terry.

No, don't!

Say you love me, just a little.

Please!

I've tried to fight it, but I can't.

Please, it's useless.

You're as helpless as I am.|We love each other.

I never said I loved you.

Every look, gesture says it!

No, don't say that!

I know how devoted|you are to Calvero,

but marrying him isn't right.|It isn't fair to you.

You're young, just beginning life.

This devotion is idealistic.|Your youth!

But it isn't love.

No, you're wrong.|I really love him.

You pity him.

It's more than pity.

It's something I've lived with,|grown to.

It's his soul, his sweetness,|his sadness...

Nothing will ever separate me|from that.

Good night, Terry.

Good bye.

Listen to this one:

"With ease, Thereza pirouetted|and flexed radiant authority.

"She was light,|quicksilver, efflorescing!

"A Diana spinning|wisps of beauty about her."

Very good.

Well, you've done it.

How's it feel to wake up famous?

That's right, have a good cry|and enjoy it. It only happens once.

Let's marry, soon.

If we could only get away.|That house in the country,

where we could have|peace and happiness.

Happiness.

The first time I've ever heard you|mention that word.

- I'm always happy with you.|- Are you?

Of course. I love you.

Wasted on an old man.

Love is never wasted.

Terry, you're like a nun, shutting|everything else out for my sake.

It isn't fair, wasting your youth.

You deserve more than this.

Let me go away.

What's come over you?

I can't help it!|If I only had the strength to leave!

But I stay on, tormenting myself.

The whole thing is false.

In the few years I have left,|I must have truth.

That's all I have left.

Truth.

That's all I want.

And if possible, a little dignity.

If you leave me, I'll kill myself.

I hate life!|The torment, the cruelty of it.

I couldn't go on without you!|Don't you understand, I love you!

- You want to love me.|- But I do, I do!

It's Neville you love.|I don't blame you.

That isn't true.

He's the composer|you knew at Sardou's.

Yes. I didn't tell you|because I thought it...

Inevitable.|I prophesized it, remember?

A balcony overlooking the Thames!

But it isn't true!

In the twilight|he will tell you he loves you.

And you will tell him|you've always loved him.

But I don't love him! I never did.

It was his music, his art.

He meant a world|that had been denied me.

You look so well together.

But I don't love him! I never did.

Please, you must believe me!|You must!

Dancing's excellent,|but the comedy's poor.

We'll have to get rid of that clown.

I've called Blackmore's Agency,|they're sending down another man.

You know who that clown is?

I don't care if it's Calvero himself.|He isn't funny.

- But that's who it is.|- What?

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