"It's fine," called Menzies, and the word was relayed. "Keep rolling till we have no more flames."

People cheered and Selznick turned, his face red from the heat of the still-burning set.

I turned to look at Varney but he was a few dozen yards away now, his back to me, walking away with sagging shoulders. I took a step toward him. A man and woman brushed past Varney, almost bumping into him. The man and woman were headed straight for Selznick. I nudged Wally, who turned.

"Selznick's brother, Myron, the agent," he said. "Looks like he's had a few under his belt tonight."

"He supposed to be on the set?" I asked.

"You wanna tell him to go away? Step in and make a mistake and you'll be looking for short-order work in Topeka," Wally said.

I moved closer to Selznick just in case. Varney had now disappeared.

David O. Selznick didn't see his brother and the girl for an instant. He had turned back to light a cigarette and watch the flames consume what was left of the Atlanta set.

"David," Myron said.

"Went without a hitch, Myron. Without a hitch," Selznick said with a sigh, turning to face his brother. "Did you see?"

"David," Myron said, looking in the flickering light like a Freddy March about to turn into Mr. Hyde. "I'd like you to meet Scarlett O'Hara."

Selznick turned now and looked down at the young woman. He took her hand and grinned at his brother, probably more happy with having the scene successfully in the can than with the prospect of Myron having discovered a last-minute Scarlett after two years of searching and screen tests of every actress in Hollywood, with the possible exception of Mae West.

"Vivien Leigh," said Myron, and Vivien Leigh, her small, pale hand in David Selznick's large one, smiled.

"Hear that?" Wally said at my side.

There was noise all around. Fire trucks. Cranes, trucks, the voices of people congratulating each other.