by George Baxt
He would never know how happy he made her
“Over here,” said Villon. He, Mallory, and Hazel were on a tier that was built more than halfway to the top of the flies. Villon indicated to them a gate in the protective railing. He looked down and could see the spot still chalked in where Fairweathers body had landed. “She fell from here.” He opened the gate in the railing.
“Don't!” cried Hazel with alarm.
“Don't what?”
“Don't open the gate! You might fall!”
Mallory instinctively moved closer to Villon to protect him in case he started to go over.
Villon told Hazel to be still and moved the gate back and forth, but with an effort “It doesn't move too easily Probably hasn't been oiled in months It was probably built for the easy loading and unloading of the heavy lighting equipment they needed for the silents.”
“You think the killer pushed her body through there?” asked Mallory
“She went through here, I think, although it would have been just as easy to drape her over the rail and then give her a little nudge Look.” He moved the gate back and forth It wasn't easy. “But put a weight across the gate, and very soon, the force of the weight will cause the gate to give, to start to open slowly And in the time it takes our killer to run back down and join the rest of the company, Fairweather's body, which he draped across the gate, caused the gate to open slowly, and down she went”
Hazel was quick to pick up on his deduction. “It would have to be someone who knew every square inch of this studio. Someone who between scene setups prowled around and explored all over the place The prop rooms, the carpentry stage, wardrobe …”
Villon took over, “Up here in the flies .
Mallory provided the coda “And was down there when someone yelled, ‘Here she comes now!' and heard the whoosh of her falling body “
Villon said to him, “Jim, I think we can close this one pretty quickly. We've got to locate that sound engineer Jack Darling was talking to when Fairweather was murdered. Maybe he's down there working with the others It looks like everybody's on overtime Come on.”
The three descended from the flies at a clip. Hazel's Cuban heels providing a castanet-like accompaniment, clicking on the cement steps.
“What are you mumbling, Mama?” Annamary Darling was tired and wanted hot soup and a hot bath. She sat between Marie and Jack in the backseat of their limousine making its way back to Annawill from the Diamond Studios.
“Nobatfumdcrlubdick.” At least that's what they thought Marie said. Annamary looked at her brother questioningly. He was staring out the window, lost in one of his private worlds where he frequently sought refuge. The chauffeur was staring at Marie through his rearview mirror. He always suspected her of being a private drinker.
Marie laughed.
“What's so funny?” asked Annamary. Then she heard a weird rattle coming from her mother's throat. “Mama? Mama, what is it?”
Marie's mouth had gone all funny. It was the left side of her mouth and, like the left side of her face, seemed to have found a life of its own. There was nothing wrong with the right side of her face and her mouth. But the left had become twisted, distorted, and ugly. The left side of the mouth was drooling. Her left hand was twisted about like that of a spastic, and the fingers were curled in an ugly pattern. She was slumped down, and though she would never be able to tell her children, her left leg was paralyzed, lifeless.
The chauffeur bore down on the accelerator. Through the rearview mirror he recognized Marie Darling was suffering a crippling stroke. Annamary had her arms around Marie, trying to prevent her from slipping to the floor of the car. Jack came back from his self-imposed limbo upon hearing Annamary's hysteria
“Mama! Mama!” he yelled “Mama, what's happening to you?”
“It’s a stroke!” cried Annamary. “Oh my God, it's a stroke!1'
Jack shrieked at the chauffeur to get them to a hospital, but the chauffeur was already heading toward one.
What's all the commotion, wondered Marie. Why is Annamary holding on to me like this? Why can't I speak? What’s wrong with my mouth? What's wrong with my left eye? I can't see through it. It's gone black. Who shut off the projector? Why's Jack screaming like a spoiled little girl? Jack Jack Jack you crazy boy you! Naughty Jack! Bad Jack! My beautiful little baby. Did you get it from my side of the family? No, not my side There were no loonies in my ancestry. Not that I heard of. But your father. It must be your father I wrote him a letter after you told me what you told me I wrote him to tell him to get off his ass and do something for you and I hurt. I hurt. I hurt and I'm going to die. I suppose death is hereditary.
She sighed and shut her eyes. Her body went limp. Annamary removed her arms from around her mother with a look of repulsion mixed with horror “Jack, I think she's dead.“
“Dead?” His eyes darted from his mother's distorted face to Annamary's ashen one “She can't be dead. She can’t be. Not now. I need her now She can't be dead.”
They had arrived at the emergency entrance to a private hospital that catered exclusively to Hollywood's elite. The chauffeur hurried into the emergency room crying the magic name, “Darling,” followed by “I think Mrs. Darling might be dead! She's suffered a stroke!”
The emergency room went into action. Staff was alerted over the Tannoy loudspeaker system. Two interns piloted a gurney down the ramp that led from the emergency room. They lifted Marie out of the back of the limousine and onto the gurney while Jack Darling tried to comfort his sobbing sister. A call had been put through to the Darlings' personal physician. Dr. Edgar Sibelius, who, upon hearing the news, rubbed his hands greedily and improvised plans in his head for a new wing for his already overwinged house.
Two nurses helped Annamary into the hospital waiting room and a third gave her a sedative Jack had his brother-in-law paged at Madam Blanche's house of ill repute.
Madam Blanche took the call and clucked her tongue in sympathy when Jack told her the news “I’ll get Mr. Loring dressed and to the hospital pronto.” She went upstairs to the Madame Pompadour suite where Willis Loring was doing the unspeakable to the unlovable, who sighed with relief when Willis excused himself hastily and went to the bathroom to tidy himself up before dressing.
Annamary had begun to pull herself together and prodded Jack into phoning their lawyer, Marcus Tender. Awakened from a deep sleep, the dull man groaned and grunted and coughed while his wife pulled the comforter around her ears and hoped she could resume doing with former heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey what they had been so deliciously doing in her dream before the phone rang.
In the waiting room, Jack kept asking Annamary, “Do you think Mama's really dead?”
“If she was, they would have told us.”
“She looked dead. She, she didn't look like herself.”
“Don't go on about it.”
“What’ll we do if she dies?”
“Bury her “
“How can you be so cold-blooded?”
“If she's dead, she's dead.” And she didn't add what she was tempted to add If she's dead, I'm free. No more nagging, no more browbeating, no more screams and shouts and obscene language. No more Mama and her schemes and her deals and her shenanigans and dear God in heaven! I can be rid of Willis! I’ll go live in Europe and he can go to hell! But what about you, Jack. What becomes of you? You're useless on your own. You're over thirty, but you've got the mind of a twelve-year-old. Mama's got your money tied up in knots and Christ knows how long it'll take to untangle it. You weren't as smart as me. I made sure Marais Tender set up my annuities, my beautiful, gorgeous, million dollars worth of annuities. And set up so Mama couldn't lay her fingers on them. I paid Marcus plenty to go behind her back and do this for me and bless Alex Roland for having helped me.
Alex. Someone must tell Alex. “Jack, do you know Alex's private number at home?” He didn't. “Wait. I think I have it in my address book “ She rummaged in her handbag, found her address book, and th
ere was Roland's private number at home. She crossed to a nurse at the desk and asked to use the phone
“Why, of course,” said the nurse dolefully, a middle-aged spinster who had entered the profession as a teenager because she adored watching people suffer. Poor thing, she thought as Annamary dialed the number, I read she's been so devoted to her mother all these years, they were like sisters together. She turned and stared at Jack, who was sniveling into his handkerchief. There's a weak link if ever I saw one I can't believe these two are really brother and sister. He's weak, she's strong. Look at how her chin juts out while his recedes. It takes all sorts to make a world, it really does.
Alex Roland held the phone and gasped, “Oh my God, nol”
Alarmed, Helen cried, “Who's dead?”
“Marie's dead!” Helen's chin dropped “Wait! She's not dead! She's had a terrible stroke!” He was listening to Annamary at the other end and relaying the news to his wife like a sportscaster on the radio by remote control from a football game “Now calm yourself, Annamary. Of course you mustn't work tomorrow. Yes, yes, I understand. We'll postpone. No, no, my dear, I wouldn't dream of replacing you.”
“But you must,” insisted Annamary. “I know the trouble you're in and if Mama needs me, it may be weeks before I can return to work Please, Alex, I insist “
“But who can I get?” mourned Roland “There's nobody.” Helen was refreshing their brandies. Annamary made a suggestion and his face was a study “Annamary, let me handle this. Have someone call me if there's any change. And Annamary”— his voice softened—”my thoughts are with you.”
‘Thank you, Alex,” said Annamary. “I'd knew you'd understand “ She hung up and the nurse was offended by the aura of happiness that suddenly enshrouded the great star.
I'm free and I'm happy and I don't have to make any effing talker and I shall soon lose myself in the paradise of obscurity. She looked at her brother and said sharply, “Pull yourself together, Jack.”
“You sound just like Mama.”
Annamary sat next to him on the couch. “Stop sniveling It sounds ugly.”
“Why'd you say Mama was dead?”
“It was a slip. My nerves.”
“You don't care if she dies, do you?”
“I don't want to talk about it.”
“You know what happens to me if she dies? Alex Roland won’t go ahead with my talker. He'll cancel it. He was only doing it to get you for Alicia's picture.”
“Well … maybe There's always Sam Goldwyn.”
“No, I'm finished “ He sank back and his eyes met those of the nurse. She awarded him her standard smile of sympathy and he resisted the urge to stick out his tongue.
“Oh no, Alex. Not me!” Helen waved away Roland's request that she take over for Annamary Darling in The Bride Wore Sneakers. “I'm too old for the part, to begin with, And I can't stand the thought of acting with Arnold Holt. He's so boring “
“He has a good, deep baritone.”
“He has a good, deep, boring baritone. What is it, Reynolds? I thought you'd be in bed by now.”
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Roland, but this envelope came for Mr, Roland while you were out and I dozed off and forgot to give it to him.” The butler handed Alex the envelope. He asked Helen, “Can I get you anything?”
“No, nothing. Go to bed “ The butler thanked her and departed while Alex slit open the envelope with a desk knife.
The strange expression on Roland’s face as he read the letter alarmed Helen. She went to him and put her hand on his arm. Their eyes linked and he said, “Remember at dinner I said sometimes the past catches up and—”
“What's wrong? Who's the letter from?”
“It's from Marie Darling. She must have written it some hours ago It's on studio stationery It's about Jack.”
“Insisting he direct his first talker?”
“No, demanding I help him out of a jam he's in. And it's going to be very nasty. Sit down, Helen.” She sat in a Morris chair. “Sweetheart, I should have told you long ago. Jack Darling is my son.”
SIXTEEN
Word of Marie Darling's stroke was not yet public. It had therefore not reached soundstage 5 at the Diamond Studios where Villon, with Mallory and Hazel Dickson in attendance, was talking to the sound technician who had been engaged in discussion with Jack Darling earlier that day. The man's name was Ken Butts and he had been sent from the East several months earlier to supervise wiring the stages for sound.
“As a matter of fact,” Butts told Villon, “I’m working late because of a smart theory of Jack Darling's.”
“What's that?” Villon couldn't believe Jack could possess any technical knowledge this engineer might find useful.
“How to make the microphones movable. I've tested it and it works. I'm installing an apparatus, like a fishing pole, which can move the mikes with the actors. It's damn good, let me tell you.” His enthusiasm made him look boyish.
“Ken, was Jack with you up until the time the body fell from the flies?”
“All the time? No, not all the time. He excused himself and said something about having to find his mother. I didn't see him again until I noticed him talking to Rita Gerber “
“Any idea about how long after he left you that was?”
“Let me think. I can't say for sure. But I had a long session with my assistants about Jack's suggestions and that was at least half an hour.”
“At least half an hour,” repeated Villon. “Thanks a lot, Ken.”
“I’ll be here most of the night if you need me again.”
“I don't think I will.” He said to Mallory, “Let's find Jack Darling.” Mallory and Hazel followed him out the studio's side door There they encountered Ethel Swift, arms laden with costumes. She told them the Darlings had left and were probably at home in their mansion by now. Villon phoned the mansion and it was Dakota McLeod who took the call on the kitchen extension. Hettie was at the table with a sober expression. Annamary had telephoned from the hospital and told them of Marie's grave condition.
Villon listened to Dakota's litany of the tragedy that had struck down and incapacitated that mountain of strength, Marie Darling Dakota told him the name of the hospital then said, “You're welcome,” and hung up.
“Dakota,” said Hettie with her Wurlitzer organ of a voice, “it's the end of an era The old lady ain't going to survive this one no how, and if she does, they'll condemn her for life to a nursing home. We better start making plans.”
“You're right, but let’s wait until the family comes home.”
“Honey, Annamary's been aching for ages to make tracks out of here, and once she does. I'm not staying on with that fruitcake son. No way, not me, not Hettie McLeod. Dakota, what do you think of rehearsing that old act of ours?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. It's been a long time ago, Hettie. Times has changed and so has tastes I don't think audiences today would go for that old coon act of ours. And anyway, we should move forward, not backward. I want some respect before I die.”
“I’ll get the coffee going It's going to be a long night.”
Helen was staggered by what her husband was telling her. It was incomprehensible to her that he had been Marie Darling's lover thirty years ago. Helen couldn't imagine that awful woman as ever having been attractive. And his eloquence astonished her. He was talking as though what he had shared with Marie had happened just a few days ago. When Roland courted her, was it because she reminded him of the Marie of his youth? Would she one day become a dragon breathing fire and dominating her children with an iron fist?
Children. Will I ever have children?
'We were so young,” Roland was saying “I was the juvenile in the company and Marie was the soubrette. Her husband was up the river in Sing Sing on a robbery and attempted murder charge. Annamary was living with Marie's mother. She was maybe five, six years old at the time. So precocious even then, always dancing around the living room like an enchanted fairy. Even then, Marie had ambitious plans for Anna
mary.”
“What about Jack? How did she explain Jack to her husband?”
“She didn't have to. He committed suicide before the boy was born. He hung himself.” He sipped brandy and then rtubbed his temples “I often thought Marie must have written and told him she was pregnant with another man's child.”
“Why didn't she try to abort?”
“She wanted the baby. She wanted my baby.”
So do I, Helen wanted to cry, so do I. But now, will I ever? Is it too late? You're twenty years older than I am, are you too old to be a father?
“Why didn't you marry her?”
“I did.” He had the decency to look shamefaced. “It seemed the honorable thing to do “
“Were you in love with her?”
“No And she wasn't in love with me.”
“But she called him Jack Darling, not Jack Roland. Why? If you married her, why didn't you insist he have your name?”
“You know Marie! You know what a scheming harridan she is! Why didn't I recognize the truth then, that's what you should be asking me. Early in Maries pregnancy, Annamary got her first job onstage It was a comedy She had a small but important role. She was a huge success. Marie had plans for her, big money plans. There was a very important producer after Marie and Marie intended for him to catch her and make a star of Annamary, so Marie dumped me.”
“Does Annamary know Jack is your son?”
“Yes”
“Does Jack?”
“If he does, he's never confronted me.”
“Perhaps he's been obeying Marie. Perhaps she told him to keep the subject in the family. After all, you made him a star of the silents. I suppose Marie dumped her Broadway producer when she realized how important you had become in the industry.”
“Not right away. She was smart enough to wait until Annamary was well into her teens. She groomed Annamary to rival Mary Pickford and Mary Miles Minter and Maude Adams, all of them spectacular hits in the same kind of roles. But Annamary had something different. She was more womanly than they. Her children were child-women. While playing the innocent naïf, Annamary subtly projected an erotic femininity that eluded her rivals. That's why I think now she could be an even greater star in the talkers But I don't think she wants that.”
