by Steve Fisher
These are the things publicity buys!
Vicky Lynn, black type, Hollywood columns … Vicky Lynn, syndicate ticker tape … Vicky Lynn, trade papers … Vicky Lynn, her first fan magazine break.
Lunch at the Brown Derby with Robin. Vicky being pushed through dramatic school. Open your mouth wide. Now say Ah. Ah … ah … ah. Put these stones in your mouth and talk. Scream, please. Cry, please, your heart is broken, cry. No, not that way!
Hurd Evans, his coat off, walking up and down in his shirt sleeves, sweating. Lanny Craig watching. Hurd: “No, Vicky, you’d come in a scene like this. You don’t give a damn, see? You pretend there isn’t any camera. It isn’t the stage. They can always shoot it again …”
Midnight lights. Dancing lessons. Singing instruction. Vicky in blue tights and a white jacket, tap dancing, worn out, but laughing. Vicky in Romanoff’s with Robin. At the Grove with Robin. At Dave Chasen’s with Robin.
Vicky: “Baby, you and I can’t be seen anywhere, don’t you see? If they thought this romance was a press build-up—they’re so sick of phony romances, and so suspicious!” Vicky: “No, baby. I didn’t kiss him. Except good-night. I kissed him good-night. That’s why my lipstick is smeared. I think he’s lovely, baby. But he’s not for me!”
Vicky: “Johnny Wismer says my press notices are ripe now and next week Max Epstein’s taking me around for studio interviews. Three studios have already called. They want to see me!”
Vicky: “Baby, tomorrow I get a screen test. A screen test!” I remember the night before the screen test. Everything was very quiet. It was the lull before the stardom. Vicky was different. She had all the glamour in the world. Four tired guys had worked day and night. They had hired the best flacks in the world. They had secured the best talent agent on the Sunset Strip. Everybody had worked. And now Vicky was a personality. She shone like the sun. She was beautiful like the moon. She was bright like the stars. I went up to her apartment and used the key she had given me and went in. I had been in and out so much I didn’t knock any more. She and Jill were there, sitting there. I still had on slacks and a sports jacket.
I said: “Vicky, cook us some dinner.”
She stared at me. Tomorrow she might never have to cook a dinner again. But I saw that she was pouting. I was kidding her, and she’d grown angry
So Jill and I started dinner. Vicky got feeling sheepish and came out and volunteered to help. But we wouldn’t let her. We treated her like Miss Rich Bitch, pulling back her chair at the table and helping her into it. But before the meal was over we’d laughed it off. I said I’d gotten my story treatment okayed and had somehow managed to finish the first rough draft of my screen play. I said I didn’t know how I’d done it, but it wasn’t bad.
After dinner we went for a drive. We took Jill. I drove down Wilshire to the beach. We saw the lawns and the still palms and the stars gaudy in the sky. It was October, and warm, an Indian summer, and I thought of Victor Herbert’s beautiful song. I was glad all the clamor of the build-up was over.
“If the screen test gets you a contract, you won’t have to see Robin any more, will you?” I said.
“Oh, it wouldn’t be right to break off so quickly.” She was sulky.
“No, I guess it—it wouldn’t be right.” I looked over at Jill. “Will you sing, Jill? It’s so quiet it would be nice.”
Jill sang. Her voice was soft and rich. She had gotten a job singing fifteen minute spots on the radio. But this was different and better. Pretty soon we were all singing, very soffly, and we drove along the Palisades, and down past the beach, the waves crashing on the sand, and the moon running across the water. We sang and we didn’t talk any more. But when we were driving back to town Vicky said:
“Haven’t you noticed, baby? Jill’s in love with you.” It was as though someone had hit Jill.
“Don’t be silly, Vicky,” I said. “You’re being childish.”
“No, really. I’ve known for a long time. She’s tried to cover it up. But I’ve known.”
“You’re jealous,” I said, “and silly. Besides, I don’t love Jill. I don’t love her at all.”
The silence was terrible. Jill just sat there and didn’t say anything. She tried to hum but she couldn’t. We were all very quiet, and the car seemed empty and dark, and the stars were white and naked, and there was no breeze in the palms at all.
The next day it rained and I wore my old gray suit to the studio. I didn’t wear that suit much any more—but today it felt good. Nothing was right. I sat and watched the rain. A block or so away Vicky was in another studio. She was on a sound stage. The cameras would be ready. They’d put a male stock player with her. Lanny Craig would be there and Hurd Evans to coach her if they’d let him, and Robin Ray would be there. Vicky wouldn’t be nervous. She was too well trained to be nervous now. She was smooth and polished. That studio was getting a break! I was tortured. I kept remembering last night. I was a little crazy. I had a hundred moods one after another. One was rage. I sat at the desk and scrawled a note to Vicky. I said that if she loved Robin I’d want to kill her. I said that she was my day and night obsession, that there wasn’t anything without her. But it was no good. I balled up the note and jammed it in my pocket. I tried typing her a gay little letter with a bitter undertone. But that didn’t come off, either. I walked around the office. I had turned in my script and it wasn’t likely the producer would can me on it today. I decided to go to my hotel. I left and stopped at a bar on the way. I got to the hotel late that night and slept and didn’t wake up until it was morning.
Vicky called then. “Baby, it was okay! I sign the contract in Max Epstein’s office at two o’clock this afternoon.”
“How much?”
“Well, there’re rising options, seven years of—”
“I know all about options.”
“Three hundred a week to start.”
“Swell,” I said, “you’re on your way now, kid!” I tried to hold my voice up. But it sagged all over the place. It’d be Vicky and Robin now. Goodbye, I thought. I wish to hell you were a secretary again.
“Honey, I’ve got so many things to do—meet me at the apartment at four.”
“All right. Gee, I’m happy for you, kid!”
She was excited on the phone. “I love you, baby,” she said.
I got to the apartment at six o’dock and used the key and went in. I remember it was quiet. Then I saw her. She was lying on the floor, one arm stretched out. She wore a light afternoon dress and her figure was beautiful. She was as white as marble but she looked lovely. Her hair was splayed out in fine strands of gold, and her lips were bright, rich red, and there was a green eye-shadow on her eyelids. You could see that because her eyes were closed and she was lying very still. She was lying still and she wasn’t breathing.
5
I DIDN’T FEEL anything. I moved slowly and numbly across the room, and I stood there, and then I knelt down, empty and trembling, my eyes dry and vacant. She was lovely. Christ, she was exquisite. I saw that somebody had hit her just behind the ear. I leaned forward. I kissed her on the lips.
She was cold!
I touched both of her shoulders. Dead. Dead! Dead!
It was like I’d gone crazy. Everything was turmoil. I began to talk to her. We could have had such fun, Vicky and me!
”Who did it, Vicky? What dirty son of a bitch did this? I’ll live until I tear the bleeding guts out of the killer!”
I began choking. I heard somebody at the door. What the hell did I care? I heard a key in the lock. I didn’t give a damn! All I wanted to do was run away with Vicky. I wanted to run over the roof tops with her and look down and laugh at all the bastards on an earth where there wasn’t any Vicky! I wanted to—.
”Peg!”
I straightened up. My back was stiff and full of electricity. My back was like the back of a cat. I sat there on my legs and didn’t move. I heard Jill coming across the room. But it was a room somewhere else. It was a hollow room made of metal. I
heard her footsteps. I heard her scream. She screamed again and I heard the echo. She was down on her knees. She was shaking Vicky. I crawled away. I didn’t get up; I crawled away. I crawled up to a chair and hung on to it and put my head in my arms.
A long time passed. Ten years passed. I heard Jill breathing. The room was quiet. It was quiet and dark. The windows off the fire escape were open and the wind was cold. The night was cold. Traffic swished by on Franklin Avenue. I heard Jill move. I heard her voice. I couldn’t see her.
“You killed her!”
I didn’t say anything. I sat there not crying and my heart beating and my head hot and cheeks hot and I didn’t say anything.
”You killed her!”
(We toasted her with champagne. We all stood there and toasted her, and Vicky was on the kitchenette table, and she said this was the happiest moment in all her life…)
”Peg, I’m going to kill you.”
(She looked up tenderly and she said, That’s funny, nobody ever bought me a white orchid before!)
”Do you hear me?”
“Yes—yes, and do you think for Christ’s sake that I—I could—” My voice choked off.
Jill was standing over me now. She was there and I could see the outline of her face in the light from the street. Then she was down beside me, pulling on my arm and crying. She was full of misery and pain and she was crying.
“Forgive me for even thinking it! Will you forgive me, Peg! I knew Vicky so well! I loved her so much! Can you ever forgive me!”
I could still hear the traffic, and now a night bird, a California night bird.
“Listen, Jill. Listen,” I said, “stay away from me. Just stay the hell away! I don’t want anybody around. I don’t want— will you take your hands off me!”
My face came up, bright and wet and hard, and I could see in the darkness. Jill took her hands away and sat on her legs, sobbing. We sat motionless and silent and the sodden sounds from the street crept up to us on an echo and chattered with the tick of the kitchen clock.
“You’d better call the cops,” I said.
The light was bright and hot and my eyes burned and there was sweat on my face and my tongue was thick and heavy. They kept smoking cigarettes and talking. They kept talking. I tried to make answers but my lips were parched and stuck together. I was thirsty and they picked up a spittoon and washed my face with the water in it. The water and the tobacco juice. I licked my lips with my dry tongue. I tried to see but I couldn’t. That light was like the sun. It was like the desert and the sun. Now they jerked me to my feet and took me out into the hall. The pupils of my eyes were dilating but I still couldn’t see anything. Somebody hit me. He smacked me right across the mouth. I felt the blood hot in between my teeth and I tried to suck it out and drink it. They hit me again. It felt like my jaw was broken. They hit me with fists. They took hold of my hair and bounced my head against the wall. They shook me up. They pulled me away from the wall and knocked me down. They picked me up and knocked me down again. I could feel the pain and the rising welts. All of my teeth were aching. That was the worst. All of my teeth kept aching at once. I had a mouth full of ache. My tongue was cut. My eyes were swollen. They knocked me down again and jerked me up. Some guy held me by the front of my shirt. My brown sports shirt. He pushed me backwards into the same room with the light. I choked on the smoke. I was bleeding like hell. They sat me down.
“You’re going to hang, mister.”
“Then for Christ’s sake hang me.”
“Make it easy on yourself. You’ll hang anyway. Why’d you kill her?”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“You didn’t mean to, did you? You didn’t mean to, we know that.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“Then you admit it?”
“No.” I spit up a mouthful of blood. It drooled over my chin, and it was thick and hot in my mouth, and I could scarcely get the words out, and I don’t know how they understood me, the thick, wet, blubbered words, but they did. “Tell us everything. Tell us what you did all day.”
“I—have. I’ve—told you.”
“Tell us again, mister. Sing it this time, hot shot. Ain’t you a pretty sight! Tell us again. Go on, tell us!”
“I woke. She telephoned. Prom—promised to see her— four o’clock. I started to go to work but I didn’t. I didn’t feel like it.”
“You didn’t feel like it because you thought she was in love with this actor. This Robin Ray.”
“Maybe.”
“Put that down. He was jealous of this actor. You didn’t know who else she was playing around with, either, did you?”
”Shuddup.”
“Go on. You didn’t go to work. Where did you go?”
“I walked. I walked out Sunset and took a bus back.”
“What time was it then?”
“I don’t know. I had lunch. A malted milk with two eggs in it and a bacon and tomato sandwich … After that I went to the newsreel theater on Hollywood Boulevard. I felt lousy and I wanted to kill time. The newsreel was about missiles and rockets. There was a reel about bathing beauties. There was a reel about fashion.”
“Never mind.”
“I came out. I didn’t know what time it was.”
“It didn’t occur to you to look? You had a date with the woman you loved. But it didn’t occur to you to look and see what time it was?”
I couldn’t see this guy that was talking but I felt him and I knew him. I knew him inside and out. I knew his name and all about him. In the hours these things had come to me. His name was Ed Cornell and he was a homicide detective. He was about thirty. He had red hair and thin white skin and red eyebrows and blue eyes. He looked sick. He looked like a corpse. His clothes didn’t fit him. He wore a derby. Nobody in California wears a derby but Ed Cornell wore one. He was a misfit. But the rest of them thought he was smart. He was frail, gray-faced and bitter. He was possessed with a macabre humor. His voice was nasal. You’d think he was crying. He might have had T.B. He looked like he couldn’t stand up in a wind. He was thin and his face was gaunt. He kept lighting cigarettes and flicking the lit matches in my face.
I said: “I didn’t know what time it was because I didn’t know if I would go and see her. When I first met her she wouldn’t give me a tumble until I pretended indifference. I thought I would see what she would do if I didn’t show up.”
“So you went to a bar.”
“I went to a bar.”
“You went to a bar on Hollywood Boulevard,” said Ed Cornell, “but the waiter doesn’t even remember seeing you.”
“Doesn’t he?”
“No. He doesn’t remember. We called him.”
“Well, it was a dark bar, and it was crowded, and I sat back in a corner.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I thought.”
“What did you think?”
“I thought today Vicky would be very happy and it would be a lousy trick for me not to show up and congratulate her.”
“In other words, you changed your mind?”
“Yes.”
“You decided you wouldn’t be indifferent, after all?”
“That’s what I decided.”
“You didn’t wait for her outside of her agent’s office on Sunset and pick her up at, say—three-thirty?”
“No.”
“You didn’t pick her up and take her to her apartment and kill her?”
“No.”
“Listen, mister. Some of the fur of her silver fox jacket was on the blue upholstery in the front seat of your car.”
“It got there yesterday.”
“You said you didn’t see her yesterday.”
“Then it was the day before.”
“Did you ever argue with her about Robin Ray?”
“Yes, plenty.”
“Did you ever threaten her?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her to stop seeing him?”
“Yes.”
/> “What did you hit her with this afternoon?”
I tried to look at him but I couldn’t see anything. “Why don’t you change the needle,” I said. He slapped me. He picked up my hand and put out the lighted end of his cigarette in the palm of it. I didn’t move.
“How much did you give Harry Williams?” he said.
“Who’s Harry Williams?”
“You don’t know him?”
“No.”
“Put that down.” To me: “Harry Williams worked on the switchboard in the apartment house.”
“Oh, him.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. He was a dope.”
“You don’t know anything else?”
“He had a crush on Vicky.”
“You say that.”
“Ask her sister,” I said.
“Why don’t you talk, mister?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You’re smooth but I know personally that you killed her. I don’t care what the rest of them think; I know what I know. I’ve never been wrong in my life. I’ve never failed to bring in a conviction. Sometimes it took me five or six years but I never fail. I live alone in a hotel room in Los Angeles. I stay there and think about these cases. I’m not married and I don’t chase. And I’m going to hang you, mister. Now or later I’m going to hang you. I’m going to build up an airtight case. I’m going to build up a jury proof case and hang you. I know how to do it. I have ways. Sometimes they aren’t nice ways. But they always look fine in court. I work when I’m off duty. I never stop working. One day I’ll die in bed and I’ll still be working. You’re such a smooth baby. But you’ll see. Ed Cornell will put a noose around your stinking neck. Open your eyes and listen to me! You’ll never get away. As long as you live you’ll never get away!”
I keeled over.
I woke up in the cell. It was damp and cold and some guys were shaking me. All of my teeth ached. I told them to stop shaking me. It was cold and the fog was coming in. The floor felt wet. My teeth kept aching. Somebody gave me a cigarette. They lit it for me and I puffed and inhaled. There were about four guys in the room and I thought they were going to beat me again. But they just stood around and waited for me to smoke a little. Then they gave me a drink of water and helped me to my feet. They took me down a long corridor and I saw cells on either side. They took me out some kind of a back exit and put me in a sedan. I was chattering with cold. My teeth kept aching.
