'Not very much.' Twinkle shrugged. 'It was awfully childish.'
'Yeah,' Morris said. 'I'll bet Harold Robbins is more in your line.'
There was a tap on the dressing-room door and Mr Herkimer burst into the room, preventing another flare-up. 'That was great!' he exulted. 'Now we're really humming. If we can keep on like that, we'll bring this picture in under the budget.'
'If,' a dry voice said behind him. Tor Torrington had followed him into the room. It had obviously been Mr Torrington who had thought to knock.
'If,' he said again. Tor Torrington, Frances remembered suddenly, was the 'money man' of the production company. And money men had never been famous for taking an optimistic view of
anything.
'But it's going well,' Mr Herkimer defended hastily. 'You've got to admit it's going well.'
'Perhaps.' Tor Torrington frowned. It was a warning frown, such as a concerned adult might give to another - more careless - adult who was in danger of lapsing into profanity in the presence of the children. 'But it doesn't do to start counting your chickens before - '
'All right, all right - ' Mr Herkimer waved his hands in defeat. 'So, we'll hatch them now and count them later.' He nearly knocked over Twinkle's ever-present glass of milk and moved away from the dressing-table before continuing stubbornly, 'But I still say, if we can keep going like this, we're in business.'
'We're in business right now,' Tor Torrington reminded him. 'The trick is to ensure that we stay in business.' He turned a stern face towards Twinkle.
'You said it!' Twinkle was not to be intimidated. 'This is such a cheap outfit, I'm only surprised you're not doing back-to-back shooting.'
'We might be - ' She had met her match in Tor Torrington. 'If we could have found two stories calling for a child star. Scripts are few and far between, you know. You're just a few short steps from being a drug on the market.'
'You're a liar!' Twinkle blanched. 'I'm a Star!'
'Today you're a star,' Tor said heavily. 'Tomorrow -' He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to.
'No!' Twinkle looked ready to hit out. 'No! You're only trying to frighten me!'
And succeeding, Frances thought, noting the pale face, the fists clenched to strike in self-defence. Tor Torrington was certainly no expert in psychology to upset his star just when the filming had begun going so well.
'Tor - ' Mr Herkimer apparently felt the same, he tugged at his partner's arm. 'Tor, why don't you go and play with a trial balance, or something? The artistes are my province, remember?'
'Yes, yes.' Tor dismissed Twinkle from his attention. 'But I'm waiting to speak to you, remember? We must have a conference - '
'In a minute.' Mr Herkimer waved him away. 'First, I must congratulate our little star on a magnificent performance, then I must congratulate our scriptwriter on a magnificently-written scene, then I must congratulate our director - ' He looked about, abruptly realizing that part of the cast was missing.
'He's outside,' Twinkle said, a curious note of triumph in her voice. 'He's with Ilse Carlsson. He's with Ilse a lot.'
'Is he?' Mr Herkimer sent her a look which contained considerably less enthusiasm than the look he had previously bestowed on her. 'Isn't that nice ?'
'I guess he thinks so,' Twinkle said smugly. 'Do you want to have him paged ?'
'I think maybe' - Mr Herkimer said thoughtfully -'it's time you had a little rest before the next scene.
We wouldn't want to tire you out.'
'I'm not tired,' Twinkle said.
'Rest, just rest,' Mr Herkimer said. 'The Regulations say you've got to. So, don't argue -just rest.'
'English rules are stupid!' Unexpectedly, Twinkle whirled on Frances, who was unprepared for battle.
'Perhaps that's because they're framed for English children,' Frances defended as best she could.
'English children aren't so precocious. They are still children, and not -'
She liked to think that she would have stopped there anyway, even if Twinkle's face had not abruptly crumpled. But, before Frances could apologize, Twinkle's mood changed.
'No, no, NO !' she shrieked. The hairbrush hit Frances on the temple before she could duck. In rapid succession, it was followed by the hand mirror, the comb, a jar of cold cream -
Half-crouched, arms upflung to protect her head, Frances was dimly aware of the uproar as the others closed in to subdue Twinkle.
'It's all right.' Mr Herkimer had her by the elbow and was gently urging her to her feet. 'It's all right.'
'I'm sorry,' she apologized. 'I didn't mean to set her off like that - '
'If it wasn't you, it would be something else,' Mr Herkimer said resignedly. 'It doesn't take much.'
Somehow, Mr Herkimer's arm had insinuated itself around her shoulders. She found that she was leaning against him in a way she had never intended, and recognized that he had pulled her off-balance.
'Why don't we take you home now?' There was no doubt that 'we' meant 'I'.
'No, really,' Frances wrenched herself away. 'It was the suddenness of it - that's all. I can carry on - '
'Of course, you can,' he soothed. He seemed to have grown another hand. It was patting her -
'I'm quite all right,' she said firmly, putting some distance between them, and wondering whether she ought to cross the room and attempt to comfort Twinkle now that her temperamental fit had passed.
Twinkle was sobbing quietly, supported by Continuity on one side and Ilse Carlsson on the other. Dick Brouder, too, had made his appearance somewhere along the way and was conversing earnestly with Tor Torrington in a corner.
The dressing-table was swept bare, except for the glass of milk which stood there untouched and untasted. Was it because of Twinkle's repugnance, or simply a natural caution about ruining her costume, which had spared the milk?
Twinkle's face was puffed and streaked with tears, her make-up ruined. Mr Herkimer surveyed her and sighed heavily.
'Bathe her face with cold water,' he directed Frances. 'See if you can get her back into photographic shape.' He was obviously accustomed to dealing with the ravages of temperament. 'Meanwhile, we'll shoot around her.'
'I need some close-ups of Cecile.' Dick Brouder came forward. 'We can go ahead with those.'
'You ought to be taking close-ups of me.' Twinkle pushed her comforters away and faced him. 'You can't give anybody more close-ups man me - it's in my contract.'
'You're in no shape for close-ups at the moment.' Dick Brouder eyed her without favour. 'Let Frances wash your face. Then drink up your milk and have a little nap. We'll see what you look like in a couple of hours.'
'I hate you!' Twinkle said.
'We've been over that before.' His voice was heavy with patience.
'And you hate me, too!' There was something sly and mocking in Twinkle's eyes. 'And you can go on hating me, because you're never going to get what you want. Never, never, never!'
'Let's go,' Dick Brouder said to the others. 'She needs her rest, but she's obviously going to keep on performing as long as she has an audience. I'd prefer her acting on-camera.'
They left, following Dick Brouder without a backward glance at Twinkle, who watched them go, her face impassive. Only when Continuity started to leave did she move.
'Wait a minute.' She caught Continuity by the arm, pulling her back. 'You promised.' She gestured towards the glass of milk.
'Oh, very well.' Continuity looked around; the others had all gone, the dressing-room door closed behind them. It was obvious that she did not wish to linger. She caught up the glass of milk, drained it at a gulp, grimaced and hurried out.
'She hates me, too.' Twinkle stared after her. 'They all hate me.'
'Well, you must admit you haven't been at your most lovable best today.' For want of something to do instead of meeting Twinkle's eyes, Frances took up the milk glass and rinsed it absently in the hand basin.
Silently, Twinkle shouldered her aside and began dabbing at her face with the wash clo
th. Frances moved away and sat down in the armchair, not offering to help. Twinkle had a great deal to think about and was best left to herself for a while.
Twinkle finished at the basin and approached the couch reluctantly. 'Do I have to have a nap ?' she asked.
'It would be better if you did,' Frances said. 'Just lie down and rest, even if you can't sleep.'
Twinkle stretched out on the couch tautly, as though daring sleep to overtake her. She was frowning in thought.
Outside, the normal hum of activity had been going on. Now it stopped abruptly. Unconsciously, Frances tensed, waiting for the screaming to start. There had been silences like that before on this set.
'What's wrong?' Twinkle was on her feet crossing the room. At the door, she hesitated, as though fearing what she might discover beyond it. Then she opened it.
The screams had never come. Odd, Frances thought, when there was a genuine emergency. Continuity lay slumped on the floor, the others clustered around her.
'She's breathing - ' Cecile Savoy knelt beside her.
'I've rung for an ambulance.' First hurried over to the group. 'It will be here in a couple of minutes.'
'I don't understand it.' Mr Herkimer looked down at Continuity, shaking his head. 'One minute, she was on her feet and just like always - the next minute, she just keeled over. You don't think she's on drugs, do you?'
'Not a chance,' First defended. 'I've worked with her before. She's as straight as they come.'
'Pregnant, maybe?' Mr Herkimer looked around suspiciously. 'That makes them faint.'
'She hasn't fainted.' Cecile Savoy looked up. 'I did ambulance work during the War and I can recognize a faint.' Her gaze crossed First's apologetically. 'She does appear . . . drugged.'
'Whatever it is,' Dick Brouder broke in before First could take up the defence again, 'it's put paid to filming for today. We can get along without anyone except Continuity.'
Twinkle drew back into the dressing-room and closed the door. Her face was pinched and wizened.
She looked like a little old lady suddenly faced by the inevitability of her own mortality.
'She drank my milk.' Twinkle's voice was a whisper, she might have been thinking aloud. 'That milk was supposed to be for me.'
CHAPTER XIII
'You mustn't start imagining things,' Frances said. 'It's probably some sudden virus. The hospital will be able to tell us. By morning, we'll know.'
Twinkle, huddled in a corner of the company limousine, did not appear to be listening. She stared out of the window at the passing landscape, preoccupied with her own thoughts. She had not spoken since leaving the Studio.
Frances, too, had been silent for most of the journey. She had been faintly amused this morning when Laurenda had put such emphasis on Twinkle's safety. Now she wondered how much reason Laurenda might have had for such anxiety. Had there been attempts on Twinkle's safety before? On her life?
Frances stirred uneasily. Surely that was overdramatizing the situation. Or was it?
The Continuity Girl was a strong healthy adult - a bit on the plump side. And yet, she had suddenly
'just keeled over'. She had not recovered consciousness before the ambulance arrived and, although the ambulance attendants had been cautiously optimistic, had still been unconscious upon arrival at hospital.
What effect would that dosage have had on a small, slender child? Would it have killed her?
'Your hotel.' Both Twinkle and Frances had been so deep in thought that they had not noticed the car pull to a halt. The driver spoke as the doorman opened the car door for them.
'You're back early, baby.' Laurenda, unsurprised but faintly uneasy, greeted them at the door of the suite. 'I've got all your shopping done, though.' She led them into the sitting-room and waved a hand at the garments draped over the back of the sofa.
'Yeah, fine.' Twinkle cast an unenthusiastic eye over the items displayed. They were an amorphous collection of loose and smocked tops, unremarkable skirts and jeans. Frances was rather surprised that Twinkle did not explode in anger at the drab display - but, most probably, the shocks of the day had vitiated her spirit.
'Don't you like them, honey?' Laurenda seemed offended by the lack of a positive response. 'I can always change them, if you want, I made sure of that.'
'They're okay.' Twinkle did not give them another look as she headed for her own bedroom wearily.
Laurenda looked at Frances, seeking sympathy for her trials, and seemed surprised when she met with no response.
'Continuity drank my milk again today - ' At the door, Twinkle turned back and faced her mother, radiating an obscure aura of satisfaction. 'Continuity's in hospital now and nobody knows what's wrong with her. She collapsed on the set.'
'No!' Laurenda looked as though she might collapse herself.
'And Dick Brouder told me especially to drink up my milk. Nobody else knew she drank my milk for me -only Frances. Dick said to drink my milk and take a little nap. I wonder, if I'd done that - ' A grim smile underlined her words.
'I wonder if I'd have ever woken up again? Continuity got to hospital because she fell down in a heap.
If I'd been lying down anyway, they'd just have thought I was taking a nap. They wouldn't have wanted to call me until the very last minute I was needed on the set. I'll bet they'd have had a hard time waking me - if they could.'
Twinkle turned and vanished through the doorway.
'Oh, God!' Laurenda collapsed into the nearest chair. 'Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God.' She lifted her head to look at Frances with wan hope. 'Is it true?'
'It's true,' Frances said. 'But it isn't quite the way it
sounds. Anyone might have said precisely the same
thing to an overwrought child.' But Twinkle's assessment of the situation had been correct. If she had fallen asleep, it would have been a long time before
anyone would have tried to awaken her. Too long,
perhaps.
'Oh, God! I wish I were dead!' Laurenda slumped back in her chair. 'What am I saying? I am dead. I've been dead for years. I've been nothing but a walking zombie, and just when I thought maybe - ' She broke off and took a deep breath before continuing. 'I can't stand it much longer. What am I going to do? How can I keep going on like this?'
'You mean it's happened before?' Frances was disquieted to find her suspicions seemingly confirmed.
'There have been other attempts on Twinkle's life ?'
'No, not that.' Laurenda dismissed Twinkle's peril with a wave of her hand. 'She's always dramatizing.
This is probably just her latest idea to get as many people as possible into a lot of trouble and disrupt the whole Unit.'
'But Continuity did collapse - '
'No - ' Laurenda was not interested in Continuity's problems either. 'I mean, what's going to happen about me?'
Frances began to realize that Twinkle's ego might have been inherited rather than developed by too much attention on film sets. She cast about for something to say but, fortunately, Laurenda did not wait for a reply.
'It's Twinkle this and Twinkle that,' Laurenda complained. 'It's "dear Twinkle" and "poor little Twinkle"
and "don't upset Twinkle". But, what I want to know is, what about me? Don't I have any rights at all?
Nobody seems to think I'm entitled to any life of my own. Not even Twinkle - especially not Twinkle!
Well, I'm sick of it, I tell you - sick of it!'
Perhaps that was why Laurenda seemed so willing to descend into semi-invalidism. Even now, the second wheelchair had not been returned to the hire company, but stood in the foyer of the suite waiting to be utilized again.
'What am I going to do?' Laurenda returned to her theme as though she actually thought Frances might be able to supply an answer. 'I can't go on like this!'
'Surely you won't have to for very much longer - ' Frances broke off, remembering that the passage of time was unlikely to be of any more comfort to mother than to daughter. The encroaching years brought more threat
than promise to people in their position.
'I mean - ' Frances amended hastily, 'Twinkle is bound to develop more interests of her own as she ... as time ...' There was no way to avoid the thought. It had been a mistake to embark on any attempt at comfort.
'By the time Twinkle gets any interests except herself, it will be too late for me,' Laurenda said darkly.
'Twinkle thinks I ought to do nothing except dance attendance on her - day and night. And she's got everybody else thinking the same way.'
'It is difficult to bring up a child alone,' Frances said sympathetically, and then realized she might have stumbled into another delicate area. 'You are alone?' she asked cautiously.
'Twinkle's father had a brilliant career ahead of him,' Laurenda said. 'So had I - once. When we got married. Then Twinkle was born and things began to get slow in the Industry. Her father got a contract for a spaghetti Western being made in Yugoslavia. The script was lousy, but the money was pretty good, so he thought he'd risk it. There was a good chance it would never get distribution outside Italy, so it wouldn't do his reputation any harm. Besides, a lot of actors were doing it in those days. There was no reason he shouldn't have gotten away with it like the rest of them, but - ' Laurenda shrugged.
'His luck ran out. The second week on location, they were shooting a mine cave-in sequence. The dynamite went off too soon - ' she shrugged again - 'and that was it.'
'There was some insurance, of course. And the film company gave me what they called an ex gratia payment. That's spaghetti Western for "hush money", I guess. Anyway, that's what it amounted to. I took the money and shut up. Not that I could do much else. I couldn't afford an international lawsuit, and the company was on the verge of bankruptcy, anyway. Funny thing is, they went on and finished the picture with somebody else and it grossed four million. And they didn't even reshoot the early scenes - where they had Johnnie in long shot - that's how tight a budget they were on.'
Laurenda stared into space, while Frances remained motionless. At this late date, condolences seemed out of place and sympathy had not been invited. Laurenda was simply stating facts, that was all.
'So, there we were.' Laurenda seemed to give herself a mental shake and continued. 'After about a year, I pulled myself together and decided to try to pick up the pieces of my career again. Because I didn't have any money for a baby-sitter, I took Twinkle along with me on an interview. They decided they couldn't use me, but they wanted Twinkle - and that's been the story of my life ever since. I'm typecast as Twinkle's Mother.'
Murder, Murder, Little Star Page 8
