BABY DOLL: There now! You wait out here! You just wait out here!
SILVA [grinning at the screen door]: Yes, ma’am. I will wait.
76] INTERIOR. DIMLY LIT ENTRANCE HALL OF MEIGHAN HOUSE.
Baby Doll turns from the screen door to the porch and stumbles along the vast and shadowy hall towards the dim light of the kitchen. As soon as she disappears, Vacarro is seen through the screen door. He jerks out a pocket knife and rips a hole in the screen.
Baby Doll calls anxiously, out of sight.
BABY DOLL [from kitchen]: What’s that?
77] THE PORCH.
Vacarro whistles loudly and casually on the porch. He now slips his fingers through the hole and lifts the latch.
78] INTERIOR. KITCHEN OF MEIGHAN HOUSE. FULL SHOT.
Large, old-fashioned room with antiquated, but very capacious, equipment—large ice-box, large sinks and draining boards, large stove converted to gas.
Baby Doll stands in the middle of the floor with an apprehensive expression, but as Vacarro continues whistling on the porch, her usual placidity returns. She notices a kettle of greens on the stove.
BABY DOLL: Stupid old thing—forgot to light the stove.
[She opens the ice-box for lemons.]
Git me a Frigidaire one of these days.
[The pan under the ice-box has overflowed and is swamping the floor.]
Got to empty that pan.
[Pulls it from under the ice-box with a grunt. A sound catches her ear, a sharp, slapping sound. She looks up anxiously, but the sound is not repeated. She takes out lemons, leaves the ice-box door hanging open. All her movements are fumbling and weak. She keeps rubbing her perspiring hands on her hips. She starts to cut a lemon, the knife slips and cuts her finger. She looks at the finger. It looks all right at first, then a drop of blood appears. She whimpers a little. The blood increases. She begins to cry like a baby.
[She makes a vague, anxious movement. Again the slapping sound followed by a soft human sound like a chuckle. She looks that way. Cocks her head. But the sound is not repeated. Still squeezing the cut finger she begins to wander toward the front of the house.]
CAMERA PANS WITH BABY DOLL AS SHE WANDERS THROUGH THE HOUSE.
[She passes through a bare huge room with a dusty chandelier. It was the dining room when the house belonged to the old plantation owners. She whimpers under her breath, squeezing the bleeding finger. Now the blood is running down the hand to the wrist and down the wrist to the forearm and trickling into the soft hollow of her elbow. She groans and whimpers at the sight of the great flight of stairs, but starts up them.
[Halfway up, at the landing, she hears the slapping sound again and the faunlike mocking laughter. She stops there and waits and listens—but the sound isn’t immediately repeated, so she goes on up.
[She goes into the bathroom and starts to bandage her cut finger.]
79] INTERIOR. HALL OF MEIGHAN HOUSE. VACARRO DISCOVERED. FULL SHOT.
Vacarro is grinning up at the staircase. He slaps the banisters viciously with his whip, then chuckles.
CAMERA PANS WITH VACARRO.
[He strolls into the kitchen, sees the ice-box door hanging open. Helps himself to the remains of a chicken, tearing it apart and gnawing the meat off it. He notices lemons and bloodspots—laughs.]
SILVA: Trail o’blood! Ha ha!
[He empties the flooded ice-pan over dirty dishes in sink.]
Filth! Disgusting!
[He slaps the wall with his whip and laughs.]
80] INTERIOR. THE MEIGHANS’ BEDROOM. BABY DOLL WANDERS IN FROM BATHROOM.
The finger is clumsily bandaged now, and she wanders across the room and examines herself in the mirror.
BABY DOLL: Look ’a’ me! Big mess. . . .
[There are dark stains of sweat on the watermelon pink dress. She lazily starts to remove it. Hears the slapping sound and laugh closer. Pauses, her mouth hanging open. Fumbling attempt to lock door. Key slips from her weak, nerveless fingers. She stoops, grunting, to pick it up.]
81] INTERIOR. KITCHEN. VACARRO SQUEEZING LEMONS AND HURLING THE RINDS SAVAGELY AWAY.
He finds gin bottle and sloshes gin into pitcher. Takes ice pick and chops off big hunk of ice. He seems to enjoy all these physical activities, grins tightly, exposing his teeth. Sticks ice pick into wall as if he were stabbing an enemy. Holds pitcher over his head whirling it rapidly so the drink sloshes over and ice rattles loudly, liquid running down his bare brown muscular arm. He drinks out of pitcher.
82] INTERIOR. BEDROOM. BABY DOLL IN DAMP SLIP ROOTING IN CLOSET FOR A FRESH DRESS.
She hears ice rattling in pitcher. Pauses. Cocks head, listening apprehensively. Makes sure door is locked.
83] INTERIOR. MEIGHANS’ BEDROOM—A DIFFERENT ANGLE. BABY DOLL.
Her slip hangs half off one great globular breast, gleaming with sweat. She listens intently.
84] INTERIOR. HALL AND STAIRWAY OF MEIGHAN HOUSE. VACARRO SOFTLY CLIMBING STAIRS. CAMERA FOLLOWS VACARRO INTO ROOMS ACROSS HALL FROM BEDROOM—THEN INTO CHILD’S NURSERY—
Never used. Hobby horse, small fenced bed, Mother Goose pictures on wall. He sits astride wooden horse, lashes its rump with the whip and rocks on it.
85] INTERIOR. MEIGHANS’ BEDROOM. BABY DOLL SPRINGS UP FROM FLOOR.
Baby Doll unlocks the door and peers anxiously into ball. The noise stops.
BABY DOLL: Archie Lee! Is that you?
[Vacarro (out of sight) gives a soft wolf-whistle.]
BABY DOLL: Who’s that? Who’s in there?
[She crosses the ball into the nursery.]
86] INTERIOR. NURSERY. VACARRO SLIPPING INTO NEXT ROOM AS BABY DOLL ENTERS.
BABY DOLL [nervously]: Hey! What’s goin’ on?
[Whip slap and soft mocking laughter, barely audible.]
BABY DOLL: Mr. Vacarro? Are you in that room?
[She crosses fearfully and enters the next room, Vacarro slipping out just brfore her entrance. Now she is really frightened.]
87] INTERIOR. EMPTY ROOM ADJOINING NURSERY—FULL SHOT. BABY DOLL ENTERS FEARFULLY.
BABY DOLL: You! Git outa my house! You got no right to come in! Where are you?
[The door to the hall is locked. She hears the key turn in the lock. Gasps. Pounds door. Rushes back panting into nursery.]
88] INTERIOR. NURSERY. BABY DOLL RUSHES IN.
BABY DOLL: Mr. Vacarro, stop playing hide and seek!
[The soft mocking laughter comes from the ball.]
I know it’s you! You’re making me very nervous! Mr. Vacarro!! Mr. Vacarro. . . . Mr. Vacarro. . . .
[With each call she creeps forward a few steps. All of a sudden he springs at her, shouting—]
SILVA [sudden shout]: BOO!
[At this point the scene turns into a wild romp of children. She shrieks with laughter. He howls, shouts. She shrieks with terror. She giggles hysterically, running into the hall and starting down steps.
[He leaps upon banister and slides to foot of stairs. She turns on the stairs and runs through various rooms slamming doors, giggling hysterically as she runs. A spirit of abandon enters the flight and the pursuit. As he follows her into the bedroom, she throws a pillow at him. He does a comic pratfall, embracing the pillow.
[She shrieks with laughter. He lunges toward her, throwing the pillow at her fugitive figure.
[She is about to run downstairs, but he blocks the way. She screams and takes the steps to the attic.]
89] INTERIOR. ATTIC.
Dusty late afternoon beams of light through tiny peaked windows in gables and a jumble of discarded things that have the poetry of things once lived with by the no-longer living.
Baby Doll doesn’t stop to observe all this. She probably didn’t even expect to find herself in an attic. She rushes in, slams the door, discovers a rusty bolt and bolts it just as Vacarro arrives at the door.
Her panting laughter expires as he pushes the door. She suddenly realizes the full import of her situation; gasps and backs away.
SILVA: Open Sesame!!
BABY DOLL [in a low, serious voice]: The game is over. I’ve quit.
SILVA: That’s not fair, you’ve got to keep playing hide-and-seek till you’re it.
BABY DOLL: Mr. Vacarro, will you please go back downstairs so I can unlock the door of this attic and come out—because the floor is weak. . . . I don’t want to fall through. It’s crumbling under my feet. I had no idea—I never been up here before!—it was in such a weaken condition.
[There is something appealing in her soft, pleasing voice.]
SILVA [whispering, mouth to crack]: I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in a falling-down attic any more than you’d dream of eatin’ a nut a man had cracked in his mouth. Don’t you realize that??
BABY DOLL [with sudden gathering panic]: Mr. Vacarro! I got to get out of here. Quick! Go! Go!—down! Quick, please!
SILVA: I can hear that old floor giving away fast. . . .
BABY DOLL: So can I, and I’m on it.
SILVA: Shall I call the fire department to come here with a net to catch you when you fall through?
BABY DOLL: Wouldn’t be time. No! Go!—then I can unlock the—
SILVA: No, I don’t suppose they’d get here on time or if they did the net would be rotten as those fire hoses last night when they came to put out the fire that burned down my gin!
[Suddenly, a piece of plaster falls beneath her feet. The rotten laths are exposed. She scrambles to another place, which is—or seems—equally shaky. She screams.]
SILVA: Are you being attacked by a ghost in there?
BABY DOLL: Please be kind! Go away!
SILVA: Why don’t you unlock the door so I can come to your rescue?
BABY DOLL: I—can’t because. . .
SILVA: Huh? Huh?
BABY DOLL [whisper]: YOU.
[Vacarro shoves door just a little with his shoulder. The bolt is not strong.]
You. . . so! Scare me!
SILVA: Scared of me??
BABY DOLL: Yeah, scared of you and your—whip.
SILVA: Why’re you scared of my whip? Huh? Do you think I might whip you? Huh? Scared I might whip you with it and
[He slaps his boots regularly with the riding crop.]
leave red marks on your—body, on your—creamy white silk—skin? Is that why’re scared, Mrs. Meighan?
[A murmur from her.]
You want me to go away—with my whip??
[Another murmur.]
All right. Tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna slip pencil and paper under this door and all I want is your signature on the paper. . . .
BABY DOLL: What paper?
SILVA: I guess that you would call it an affidavit, legally stating that Archie Lee Meighan burned down the Syndicate Gin. . . .
[Pause.]
Okay?
BABY DOLL: Mr. Vacarro, this whole floor’s about to collapse under me!
SILVA: What do you say?
BABY DOLL: Just leave the paper, leave it right out there and I’ll sign it and send it to you, I’ll. . .
SILVA: Mrs. Meighan, I am a Sicilian. They’re an old race of people, an ancient race, and ancient races aren’t trustful races by nature. I’ve got to have the signed paper now. Otherwise I’m going to break this door down. Do you hear me?
[A pause.]
Do you hear me?
[Silence.
[Whimpering, sobbing.]
I gather you don’t believe me.
[Suddenly, with a single eloquent gesture of his whole body he has pushed the door open and on the other side Baby Doll, in absolute panic, runs, runs away from the threatening man and whip and towards the darkest corner of the attic. A few steps, however, and the floor really gives way. There is a shower of plaster, a rising cloud of plaster dust.
[Vacarro’s face.
[The dust settles to reveal her, precariously perched across a beam. . .
[Vacarro calmly lights a cigarette.]
SILVA: Now you’re either going to agree to sign this thing, or I’m going to come out there after you and my additional weight will make the whole floor you know what!
BABY DOLL: OOOOOOH! What am I gonna do?
SILVA: Do what I tell you.
[He gingerly steps on a place. . . . A trickle of plaster.]
Awful bad shape.
[He reaches and picks up a 1 x 3 about twelve feet long. On the end of it he puts a pencil and piece of paper.]
BABY DOLL: O-o-o-o-h!
SILVA: What?
[Suddenly, he stamps on the plaster. There is a big fall of plaster; Baby Doll screams.]
BABY DOLL: All right, all right. —All right. . . . Hurry! Hurry!
SILVA: Hurry what?
BABY DOLL: I’ll do whatever you want—only hurry!!
SILVA: Here it comes. . . .
[He reaches out his little piece of paper and pencil, balanced on the 1 × 3. She grabs it, scribbles her name in frantic haste, panting, and puts the piece of paper back, fixing it on a nail on the end of the 1 × 3, and Vacarro pulls it back. He looks at her signature and throws back his head in a sudden wild laugh.]
SILVA: Thank you. You may come out now.
BABY DOLL: Not till I hear you! Going down those stairs. . . .
SILVA [grinning and starting down]: Hear me? Hear my descending footsteps on the stairs. . . .
[Vacarro straddles the long spiraled banister and slides all the way down to the landing at the bottom with a leap that starts another minor cascade.
[Baby Doll utters a little cry and comes out of the attic door. Silence. Putt-putt-putt-putt of the gin. She leans over stair well and looks straight down into the grinning face of Vacarro. He gives her a quick, grinning nod or salute.]
SILVA: Okay, you’re “Home free”! And so am I! Bye-bye!
BABY DOLL: Where are you going??
SILVA: Back to my little gray Quonset home in the West! For a peaceful siesta. . . .
BABY DOLL: Wait, please!—I want to—
[She starts to come running down the stairs, her hair wild, panting, sweating, smeared with attic dust. Then halfway down she stops. . . .]
BABY DOLL [now stealing towards him]: I want to—
[But she can’t remember what she “wants to.” He waits quizzically with his cocky grin for her to complete her sentence but she doesn’t. Instead she looks up and down him and her eyelids flutter as if the image could not be quietly contained.
[He nods as if in agreement to something stated. He chuckles and then turns on his heels and starts briskly for the porch. She calls after him. . .]
BABY DOLL: Was that all you wanted. . .?
[He turns and looks at her.]
Me to confess that Archie Lee burnt down your gin?
SILVA: What else did you imagine?
[She turns away like a shy child, serious-faced; she sits down on the bottom step.]
SILVA [gently]: You’re a child, Mrs. Meighan. That’s why we played hide-and-seek, a game for children. . . .
BABY DOLL: You don’t have to go all the way to your place for a nap. You could take a nap here.
SILVA: But all the furniture’s been removed from the house.
BABY DOLL: Not the nursery stuff. They’s a small bed in there, a crib, you could curl up and—let the slats down. . . .
[An effect of two shy children trying to strike up a friendship. He continues to look at her. The windy afternoon has tossed a cloud over the sun, now declining. But it passes and his smile becomes as warm as sunlight. She isn’t looking into his face but down at the scuffed kid slipper. Abruptly he gives a short quick nod and says simply. . . .]
SILVA: I’m happy to accept the invitation.
Come up and sing me to sleep.
[Then he continues on up.
[Baby Doll is left alone, bewildered, sitting on the big staircase.]
BABY DOLL [to herself]: My daddy would turn in his grave.
[She starts up the stairs. . . .]
90] THE NURSERY.
Vaca
rro is on the crib, with the slats down. He is curled with his thumb in his mouth. She comes to view, stands in the doorway a moment, then goes and crouches beside the bed. Gently, she raises his head and bare throat, crooks an arm under and begins to sing: “Rock-a-Bye Baby.”
He sighs contentedly, removes the signed paper from his shirt pocket and tucks it under his belt for safer keeping.
Then he appears to fall asleep.
DISSOLVE.
91] IN A HOSPITAL ROOM.
Aunt Rose Comfort is sitting by a friend who is in her death coma. Aunt Rose eating chocolate cherries.
DISSOLVE.
92] SUPPLY STORE IN MEMPHIS. MEIGHAN AT COUNTER.
ARCHIE [to Clerk]: Godamighty man, I’m good for it.
[He reaches for the part he has come for. It’s wrapped and ready to go.]
CLERK: We have orders. No credit. Cash basis. Everything.
ARCHIE: I warn you. I’ll never come in this store again.
CLERK: Sorry.
ARCHIE: Look, I just happened to leave the place in my work clothes. My wallet ain’t on me!
CLERK: Cash only.
[Mr. Archie Lee Meighan suddenly turns and leaves in complete disgust.]
93] FRONT. ARCHIE LEE’S GIN.
It is several hours later and he has driven back from Memphis. He baits his motor with an exhausted grunt. He appears to have shrunk in size. He carries a sweat-drenched coat over his arm and the sweaty shirt clings to him. His chest heaves with unhealthy fast respiration, and he fingers the unbuttoned collar, as he takes in the situation: The gin is running again!!!—and without his O.K. —and how did they get the damned thing going again!!??
93A] INTERIOR. GIN.
He walks in and passes Rock.
ARCHIE: Hahaha! Looks like we’re back in business.
Baby Doll Tiger Tail: A Screenplay and Play by Tennessee Williams Page 6
