Original Sins

by Kim Krizan

  Phyllis’ Way

  Phyllis Dietrichson had Walter, the flirtatious insurance salesman who came right to her door, easy as pie. With a twist of her anklet-bearing gam she had him pinned to the mat, metaphorically speaking, ready to off her husband, rake in the insurance money, and run off into the sunset. All Walter had to do was strangle Phyllis’ husband, toss his body on the railroad track, and then impersonate him for a few minutes on the train. Then they’d be home free. Phyllis’ part in the crime? Chauffer duties. She didn’t even break a nail.

  Matty’s Way

  Matty, played by Kathleen Turner in “Body Heat,” had Ned, a sleazy lawyer who actually believed he’d discovered the gorgeous, shimmering, but terribly lonely Matty all on his own—poof!—out of thin air. Trouble was Matty was married. Oh well, what does that matter? Ned and Matty had a wild, passionate affair but Matty couldn’t stand it that her husband was in the way. Finally Ned and Matty came up with a plot to kill the man. Of course, Neddy-Ned took care of the logistics. Murder? Check. Cover-up? Check. All was hunky-dory in Ned’s world—that is until someone started passing incriminating evidence that implicated Ned to the prosecutor. Ned was in hot water. How sad. Except Matty didn’t seem that upset. In fact Matty took her dead husband’s money and ran off to some paradise island. Again, she didn’t have to dirty her hands with any of that nasty business.

  Neither Cora, Phyllis, nor Matty needed to call professional trouble boys, goons, or button men to help them solve their problems. They knew to prey on regular saps, rubes, and punks who would stupidly believe they’d been the victors merely by bagging the tomato. So blinded, so credulous were these dumbos that they’d pull off any crime—just to be alone with her.

  What to Avoid

  Dealing with the hammer and saws is no damn fun. Landing in the pokey, the clink, and under glass is a worst-case scenario. Having to get a lip or mouthpiece ranks right up there with having a root canal. A snooper, gum-shoe, op, or shamus is trouble. The Johns, coppers, and buttons could pinch the Fatale, put the screws on, try to make her sing and spill, and then hit her with a serious rap. Taken to the bitter end the Fatale could wind dance, fry, or even rot in jail, in which case she’d end up a stiff buried in a wooden kimono. For those reasons, she must never open her yap or tip her mitt. To take the fall for a skid rogue would be pure folly. Instead she must take the air, keep stringin’ the boys who show the tin, and be out of the picture for the big sting.

  Here are things the Fatale should avoid:

  •Splattering blood on her nice suit

  •Leaving fingerprints

  •Leaving evidence

  •Leaving the scene too late

  •Talking to the wrong people

  •Having sympathy for the wrong people

  •Returning to the scene of the crime

  •Letting romantic feelings get in the way

  •Leaving a money trail, and …

  •Letting down her guard

  The Spy Who Seemed to Love Me

  The femme fatale is the ultimate career woman driven to achieve her own fulfillment. Her efforts to maintain her freedom won’t always be obvious because the femme fatale seems to function in the real world—playing by its rules, using its symbols, having what appear to be “normal” relationships and “normal” feelings. Still, she knows she fights in what is a secret war for power. Instead of waiting for the “authorities” to give her that power she works behind the scenes in a clandestine manner, slowly moving toward her goal, extracting information, playing by her own rules, and harboring a secret agenda. She rarely shows her cards but instead slips across the battle-lines like a spy whose mission is a mystery, listening to the siren-call of a Machiavellian inner voice.

  The femme fatale knows that life is a kind of war—a battle for survival on one’s own terms, a battle between the sexes, a battle with one’s own sex, a battle between those who have the supposed authority and those who question that authority. The femme fatale knows that she ultimately can trust no one, that she must fight alone. Like a contestant in a brutal sport the femme fatale keeps her eyes on the prize, but for the Fatale the prize is not wealth, not love, but something even less tangible: her freedom and integrity, as she defines it. She’s willing to lie, cheat, and to betray anyone to reach her goal. And though she is often vanquished, she stays in the ring as long as she can. Thus, the legend of her defiance, bravery, and strength endures.

  What Color is Your Alibi?

  • “What?! Marco–Jimmy–Nino–Frankie is dead?! Boo hoo hoo!”

  • “Why, I have no idea who killed him!”

  •“Why, I was out of town.”

  •“Why, I went to my place and stayed in for the night. You can ask the garage attendant. He saw me park my car and go up to my place.”

  •“Why, I was seeing a movie. I think I still have the ticket stub somewhere in my purse.”

  •“Why, I was at my mother’s house.”

  •“Why, I was visiting an old friend who was feeling down.”

  •“Why are you questioning me like this?! Can’t you see how upset I am?!

  •“Please, leave me alone! Boo hoo hoo!”

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Assassinating Someone in a Restaurant

  Short black sleeveless dress with crisscross straps in the back.

  Black jacket. Sheer black stockings and black pumps, pearls,

  well-applied make up and chic short haircut.

  (As worn by Nikita, played by Anne Parillaud

  in “La Femme Nikita.”)

  Running Over Her Accomplice as He Changes the Tire on Her Car

  Pale car coat over black dress. Black beret with two diamond broaches. Black gloves.

  Crucial detail: Black wedge heels with rhinestones.

  (As worn by Margo, played by Jean Gillie in “Decoy.”)

  Lying on the Stand in a Murder Trial

  Black dress with puffed sleeves and dainty collar. Full lace ascot with brooch.

  Large white hat with black band. White gloves. Hair rolled along neck.

  Touching detail: Hold a bag full of needlework.

  (As worn by Leslie, played by Bette Davis in “The Letter.”)

  Part Two

  The Flesh

  The Raw Materials

  How to Look Dangerous

  “It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.”

  —“Farewell, My Lovely,” by Raymond Chandler

  The truth of our rotten world is this: Much of the femme fatale’s success in life boils down to how she looks. Beauty is power, a currency as valuable as money, and so she manages hers like a Swiss banker.

  The Story of the Most Beautiful Woman Ever

  Amazingly enough, when Garbo first arrived in Hollywood as young Greta Gustafsson, the studio big-wigs were not impressed. Upon meeting the young actress at the insistence of a director, Louis B. Mayer ignored her for the entire meeting. Finally, at the meeting’s conclusion, Mayer said through a translator, “Tell her that in America men don’t like fat women.” (Let it be noted that Louis B. Mayer was less attractive than one’s average opossum.)

  Yes, even Garbo began as a pudgy “Swedish dumpling,” too big and sullen and frizzy and wide and overlapping to fall into the standard mode of 1920s starlets. In response to viewing one of her first Hollywood films, one journalist dutifully reported, “Miss Garbo is not beautiful.” Another journalist quipped, “[Garbo] is a peasant girl with big feet.” MGM’s publicists were singularly unimpressed, photographers threw up their hands, and the studio chiefs wondered if they hadn’t made a tactical error in bringing her to America and awarding her a $400 per week contract.

  But then the studio make-over machine started churning. Off came Garbo’s baby fat, sloppy eyebrows, and frizzy hair. On went the mascara and the soft-focus lighting. And it turned out that not only was the Swedish dumpling beautiful; she was, if her raw materials were properly mined, perha
ps the most beautiful woman in the world. Suddenly her face and figure were the ideal. She simply did not have a bad angle and went on to become MGM’s most valuable property, a gigantic star, and an international sensation—possessor of what is believed to this day to be the acme of physical perfection. In short, Garbo became a Hollywood cash cow if ever there was one, at which point she said to Louis Mayer, “I tank I go home now.”

  Her Secret Job ( That Pays Big Dividends )

  Looking dangerously good calls for old school discipline. The current rage for laissez-faire sloppiness in all things leaves the femme fatale not only cold, but also looking a mess. In fact, sometimes the worst thing for a Fatale is to be born with extraordinary beauty because then she won’t be forced to develop a shred of self-control. And if a woman is naturally gorgeous she may—folly of follies—see her beauty as an impediment to people knowing she has talent or brains. Honey, that’s just dumb. Of course people don’t know she has talent or brains—that’s why she’s so dangerous. But if a woman hasn’t developed iron willpower, then after the flush of youth (that proverbial resort all must eventually depart for less pleasurable environs) she will lose her looks in one tragic slide. And that would be unthinkable, for the Fatale knows that attractiveness is one of the best weapons in the whole world.

  But here is the delicious caveat: Beauty and glamour can be an illusion, one that is created through the employment of good grooming, graceful deportment, great clothes, the proper accoutrements, and the right attitude. People (and especially dumbo men) often don’t see the reality of the matter—the bad feature, the imperfect skin, the thick waist—if the overall impression is one of dangerous attractiveness.

  Deportment and grooming are old-fashioned words, but for the Fatale they never go out of style. In Barry Paris’ biography Louise Brooks, he quotes Hollywood portrait photographer John Engstead who believed that both Marlene Dietrich and Louise Brooks were absolute masters of the elegant pose. Regarding Brooks, Engstead said, “her legs, her ankles, her hands, her body, the way she held her body, the way she walked, the way she dressed, furs over her shoulder, her hats … put anything on her and it was right. Dietrich can do that too if she wants.”

  The femme fatale understands that attractiveness does not preclude intelligence, nor does depth cancel a stunning visage. And therein lies the danger. No one expects a beautiful woman to be particularly bright, which is why the femme fatale so easily performs her bait’n’switch and thus gets what she wants from the world (and often without the world even knowing it). And indeed, since the pegleg of death will clomp up her staircase anyway, why should she not have it all now?

  Dietrich spent much of her time, energy, and money maintaining what she called “The Image.” Still, no one said Marlene Dietrich was anything less than an educated and intelligent woman, holding some of the best thinkers, artists, writers, and philosophers in her thrall. She was also so brave she insisted on performing her sexy chanteuse routine in active battle zones during World War II. Dietrich did not allow her looks and allure to take one iota from her depth as a person.

  Dangerous Curves

  From a distance it’s all about the femme fatale’s shape, but her exact size doesn’t particularly matter as long as her proportions are in line. She can be slim or robust, but her general visage must be pleasing to the eye—most importantly, hers.

  Priceless tip #1 is to embrace one’s natural shape as the ultimate in beauty. The way she is is the right way to be; everyone else is wrong. Priceless tip #2 is that the Fatale needn’t be completely beholden to nature. If her appetites and habits (or lack thereof) have loused up her figure, she has the discipline to make changes that will bring her body back in line.

  Fatale-ercise

  The femme fatale doesn’t just sit in piano bars drinking cocktails—she actually moves around. Chasing after enemies with gun in hand is always good, as is running away from the law or pursuing terrorized boyfriends, but the femme fatale must have other pleasant hobbies.

  Mata Hari performed Europe’s first cardio striptease, which was a dance that involved removing many layers of fabric while spinning across a stage. Garbo swam in the ocean and had a medicine ball and dumbbells at home. She also adored walking by the beach, rowing on mountain lakes, hiking in the country, and in later years was known to spend hours stalking the streets of Manhattan. Anaïs Nin studied flamenco dance and swam in her black swimming pool. Ava Gardner danced on tabletops, preferably in crowded nightclubs. Rita Hayworth liked playing Spanish albums and dancing alone in her bedroom. Crawford made a point of emerging victorious from swim races with her adopted daughter. And Elinor Glyn, the writer who invented the concept of “It,” advocated Charlestoning and fox-trotting every night.

  The femme fatale’s most secret exercise was practiced by women in India for thousands of years before some Westerner gave it the name “Kegel.” It requires the proud possessor of vaginal muscles to contract them, just as one might contract a thigh muscle. If done regularly this exercise is said to keep the girl appliance strong—and just think of the possibilities. (Man’s primal fear of woman didn’t prompt him to call her the “vagina dentata” for nothing.)

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Dancing for All of Baghdad

  Choli-style midriff-baring top with flowing circle skirt. Jeweled headdress, large hoop earrings, necklace dripping with coins, jeweled belt, bracelets, and veils.

  Hair should be short and side-parted into a plume of waves around the face.

  Heavily darkened eyes and lips.

  (As worn by The Dancer, played by Pola Negri

  in “One Arabian Night.”)

  Starvation in Its Various Forms

  But before the concept of regular, intentional exercise really took hold, Hollywood studios sought successful means to quickly slim their less-than-svelte starlets. And so began the reign of terror waged by a mysterious “woman in the Valley” who placed her charges on one hell of a diet. It consisted of two eggs and a half a grapefruit in the morning, two eggs and half a grapefruit and a tomato for lunch, and two eggs plus a half grapefruit and a tomato for dinner. In addition, three cups of coffee and/or water were allowed per day. That was it. This torture was to last for four days, which was enough time for the water weight fall off—and then the Fatale was ready for action.

  It seems that most Fatales of yesteryear sidestepped the issue of sweat altogether by exercising steely self-discipline when it came to eating. After riding in on a train and being deposited in a crappy hotel in Culver City, chubby taxi dancer Lucille LeSueur was advised by the experts at Metro to eat salads and steaks to transform herself into the slinky Joan Crawford—and by Jove it worked. Crawford apparently lived on an early version of the Atkins diet, even substituting little homemade meatballs in the scene in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” in which she ate chocolates from a box. Here, in a letter dated 1961, is her priceless diet advice to a fan (published in Joan Crawford: Her Life in Letters by Michelle Vogel):

  My dear Jim,

  Thank you so much for your letter .... Now why don’t you try doing something—why don’t you try eating, in the morning, two eggs, soft boiled, four pieces of bacon, and if you drink coffee, only one cup, without cream or sugar, and one half grapefruit.

  For lunch, have one small steak or two single lamb chops, spinach, either cooked or raw, one cup of coffee or tea, without cream or sugar, and one half grapefruit.

  For dinner, if you have had steak for lunch, then eat two single lamb chops. But if you did have the lamb chops for lunch, then have steak for dinner. You might prefer chicken. But don’t eat dumplings, spaghetti or potatoes. Have spinach or carrots or another green vegetable, and one half grapefruit. Don’t eat bread, butter or desserts, and leave the table hungry. Don’t eat in between meals either. Try it for two months and see what happens. Just try it for me, would you please. It’s going to be tough for the first week. After that, I don’t think you’ll mind it… .


  — Joan Crawford

  Dietrich, a reputedly fantastic cook, took it a step further and often fasted for a full day. Here is her advice taken from her book Marlene Dietrich’s ABC:

  You must have an important reason to be able to fast. If you don’t, you must make an oath to yourself, an oath important enough to take the place of an important reason. Vanity is not enough of a reason. Health isn’t either, as long as you feel well. Make a time limit for the fasting. A day, for instance. It is easier to fast one day entirely than to eat a little for a week. It is very healthy to do that. Don’t think you are going to collapse in the street. Drink water and go to bed early.

  Indeed, femme fatales have used a variety of methods to achieve their ideal shape. Garbo—who dieted constantly—followed the advice of her health guru, which was to eat her regular favorites but to divide them into half-portions. Marilyn Monroe, after seeing her zaftig countenance on the big screen in “Some Like It Hot,” reportedly asked her cook to serve her only veggies and fruit until the weight came off. Curvaceous Ava Gardner simply went on the wagon in the weeks before her 60th birthday so she could fit into a new red dress. And after seductive goddess Joan Collins lost post-baby pounds, she swore to herself that she’d never again allow her weight to go beyond a certain number and made it a habit to step on the scale every day.