What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (13 page)

“Well, it just happens that I did after all. And a good thing, too, with this sort of thing going on. Suppose something happened while you were gone and Miss Blanche needed help? Suppose the house should catch fire. Did you bother to think of that?”

Jane’s face clenched again with anger. She stamped her foot. “It’s none of your business what I do in my own house!” she cried. “It’s none of your business! You’re fired! Now go on and get out!”

“Oh, it’s none of my business, isn’t it?”

“No! No, it isn’t! Or anybody else’s! This is my house, and I’m ordering you to get out of it!”

“
Your
house!” Mrs. Stitt took a threatening step forward. “This is Miss Blanche’s house, that’s whose house this is!”

A light flamed wildly in Jane’s eyes. “Get out!” she screamed. “Get out, get
out
—right now!”

Mrs. Stitt merely shook her head. “Oh, no. Not until I know exactly what’s going on around here. Not until I know Miss Blanche is all right.”

A flicker of uncertainty cut through the heat of Jane’s gaze. “She’s—asleep,” she said. “I gave her a sleeping tablet.”

Mrs. Stitt nodded in angry confirmation. “I thought so! You just went off and left her here doped. And I suppose that wasn’t enough, so you had to lock the door, too?” She paused, her eyes dark with a fierce determination. “I’m not moving an inch from this spot until you get out your key and let me see inside there.”

Jane, her mouth still open, seemed to take in a great gulp of air. “I won’t!” she said. “I will
not
! And you can’t make me. Now, you go on and go home!”

Mrs. Stitt took another step forward. “I think,” she said in a tone of deadly evenness, “that you’d better hand over the key to that door—if you know what’s good for you.”

Jane took a stumbling step backward. “What can you do?” she quavered. “I won’t.”

“All right, then.” After a brief but effective pause, Mrs. Stitt went on, “Then I’ll just have to call in the police, won’t I? One way or another I mean to know what you’ve been up to here, signing Miss Blanche’s name to checks and locking her up in her room…”

Jane’s face had gone white with terror. “I didn’t!” she gasped. “I didn’t, either!”

“Then why are you so scared?” Mrs. Stitt pointed a finger. “Now, you get that door open and no more fooling around, do you hear me?” Jane, for the moment, could only stare at her and shake her head. “It’ll be a lot better for you to let me have a look in there than to have to explain to the police.” Mrs. Stitt nodded significantly toward the telephone stand. “Shall I put in the call?” she demanded. “Shall I?”

Jane turned her head, and the bauble on her beret glittered there in the dimness with a sudden and obscene brightness.

Mrs. Stitt held out her hand. “Now, you give me that key. I’ll just look in and see for myself if she’s all right. If she is, I’ll go on away and leave you alone. I won’t even need to wake her up. Come on, now, give it here.”

Slowly, her shoulders going limp in defeat, Jane opened her purse. She reached inside and produced the key. Looking up at Mrs. Stitt, her eyes dull and hidden, she dropped the key into her outstretched hand. Mrs. Stitt nodded with satisfaction, then turned and fitted the key into the lock.

Throwing the door open, she found the room so shrouded in darkness that she was forced to stop on the threshold for a moment and wait for her eyes to adjust. Then, as the room and the objects inside began gradually to gather dimension and shape, she leaned sharply forward, and her eyes widened with horror. For a space of nearly fifteen seconds she stood breathlessly still and then, with a low, animal moan of numbed disbelief, she put out a trembling hand to the doorjamb for support.

Behind her, Jane reached down and picked up the hammer.

B
y narrowing her eyes until they were nearly closed she could begin to see the ocean. She could see the waves as they swelled out of the placid blue and came forward, reaching up and up, breaking, falling, dissolving upon the sand in a racing, giggling froth. And if you knew how to squint your ears, too—something you had to learn to do way back inside your head and your thoughts—you could hear the waves, hear them roar as they crashed, hear them fall and whisper across the sand. Sometimes it even seemed possible that if she would just turn her face upward she would feel the hot touch of the sun. But she wanted to go on watching the waves—
had
to go on watching them—so she kept
her head down. All the time she could hear her father back on the porch beyond the dunes, playing his banjo, singing:

She loved the beach, loved it more than any other place in the world. It was special and warm, and Daddy was there with her all the time and didn’t have to go away anywhere to take care of business. When she grew up she was going to live at the beach always, just her and Daddy. They would have a little house with a porch on the front where they could talk and play together and the people would stop and watch…

Say, mister, is that your little girl there?

All mine, friend, nobody else’s.… Aren’t you, sweetheart?

By golly, she sure can sing and dance. I’m serious, you ought to think some of putting her on the stage.

You don’t mean to say!

Yes, I do, too. She’s a marvel, that one, a regular little marvel.

Well, friend, I guess you’re just a year or so too late. Not that I don’t appreciate your kind suggestion. I surely do. But—well, maybe you heard of my little girl somewhere by her professional name. We bill her as Baby Jane.

Baby Jane? Baby Jane Hudson? Mister, you’re joking me, now, aren’t you? That pretty little girl right there? Well, I swan! You know, I thought she looked mighty talented, the way she was singing and dancing like that right out in front of everybody without being shy or scared or nothing. By jings, mister, I sure bet you’re a proud man to have a little girl like that.

And then Daddy put his arm around her and drew her close in a modified bear hug, and you could tell from the way the man smiled that he thought they made a fine picture there together.

Friend, if I got any prouder I guess I’d pop the buttons right off my vest.

By golly! So that’s Baby Jane Hudson herself! I do swan!

Daddy hugged her tight, so tight he almost squeezed the breath right out of her, and then he let her go.

And when she grew up, and she and Daddy came back to the beach to stay… Her eyes widened, and the ocean started to go away, to fade back into the mirrors… along with the beat and the sound of Daddy’s singing.…

Her hand moved out and nearly upset the bottle on the floor next to her. She pressed the hand to her brow as if to clear her thoughts. Daddy had been taken sick in the epidemic—he and Mamma—and they both had died. And she had never gone back to the beach; she had never seen it again… the little house with the porch.… She and Blanche had come out to California to live with Aunt Jewel. And Aunt Jewel had started making a fuss over Blanche right away, telling her how pretty she was, and that she had a friend at the studio who could help her get into pictures.… Quickly Jane squinted her eyes again, tightly, tightly, trying to make the ocean come back… and the warm feel of the sun… and Daddy.…

She sat there swaying in rhythm to the foolish song.

A bell rang somewhere, raucously, disruptively, and her eyes flew open, putting to untimely flight, the surf, the sand, the song. She looked around, her face stunned, as if trying to think where
she was. Her hand moved out, touched the bottle, then darted back as the bell rang again.

Her gaze lifted, and now, there in the mirrors, were only the piano and the bench and, back in the corner, wrapped round with shadows, herself. The ringing… It was the doorbell. Someone was trying to get in!

She shrank back against the wall, making herself as small and quiet as possible. The police. She paused, frowned. Why should she think of the police? She hated them. They had treated her horribly before, back during the time at the studio. They had always treated her like dirt, and they wouldn’t be nice to her until she said she was Blanche Hudson’s sister. Once they had even slapped her and called her names, and that time she had refused to say it no matter what. She had waited until the men came from the studio, and then… She hated the police… hated them…

For a moment she came close to remembering something, something with a dark, sad feeling to it, but then it faded away, and she decided she didn’t want to remember. She didn’t want to remember anything sad or ugly ever again.

But she had to think who it was that kept ringing the doorbell in that persistent way. She really knew if she could just… And then she did remember, and it wasn’t sad at all. Edwin! Edwin had said he would come back today and play the piano for her. She remembered and felt an instantaneous touch of warmth.

Edwin was at the door waiting for her to come and let him in.

Only by leaning forward and grasping the leg of the piano with both hands was she finally able to drag herself to her feet. Rising, she was overcome with a swooping dizziness and had to lean
against the piano for a moment and rest her head down on the cool, steadying surface of the lid. The doorbell shrilled again.

“Coming,” she murmured, “I’m coming.”

Balancing herself as best she could, she turned toward the door, but at the first step the whole room seemed to slide backward in a quick countermovement and she came close to falling. Righting herself, she forced herself to go on and when something struck her sharply against the shoulder she looked around in surprise to see that it was the doorjamb.

Clinging to the jamb, she swung about and looked back into the room and down at the abandoned bottle. She considered going back for it, but then the doorbell rang again and she gave it up. Turning, she shoved herself out into the hallway, holding her hands out at her sides to keep from bumping into the walls.

In a sudden flash of clarity she remembered that Edwin had said he would come at two. So much time, then, had passed since… She stopped, putting her hand out quickly to the library table. Since what? The dark, sad thing stirred again at the back of her awareness and this time, though she still did not want to, she knew that she must remember. It was very important for her to remember just now, very, very, important.

For a moment she was on the very brink of recall, but the bell rang again, and her thoughts were diverted. Edwin. Blinking, she looked up toward the door. Maybe Edwin would like to go to the beach with her. They could find a little house somewhere with a porch that faced toward the sea.… She needed to hurry to let him in, for if she didn’t she would be all alone… all alone.… She would let him in and give him the money she had promised him. And he would be her friend and wouldn’t ever talk and plot behind her back like Blanche.…

She stopped short as the thing—the sad, ugly thing she had forgotten—leaped out at her like a bogie from the shadows there upon the stairs. She turned then and lifted her eyes fearfully to the gallery—and beyond to the hallway, to the place visible only
in her mind. Sobered all in a moment, she looked back toward the door where Edwin waited. Realizing what she had nearly done, she recoiled in horror.

She put her hand out again to the table, waiting for the repeated sound of the doorbell, cringing in anticipation of its shock. But this time it did not come. A full minute passed, more. And then there was the sound of retreating footsteps.

“No,” she whispered, “oh, Edwin, no.…”

She hurried forward, past the door and to the tall French windows and looked out toward the terrace. Obscured by the drapes, she caught sight of Edwin just as he left the terrace and started down the steep angle of the steps. She remained still until he had disappeared and the sound of his steps had faded off down the drive. And then she turned back into the room, tears glistening in her eyes. She was to be alone after all… all alone… and lost.…

She started back toward the stairs as if drawn helplessly in that direction. At the bottom she paused, frowning, and then she made herself go on. At the top, she started across the gallery, but here again she faltered, unable even to force herself beyond this point. She stood, undecided, and then turned, convulsively, as if to retreat back down the steps. But suddenly her weary little girl’s face crumbled and she collapsed against the newel post, holding tight to it for support. A shuddering sound of pain escaped her lips and then after a moment came back to her from the vaulted ceiling above in a sad, echoing sigh.

Just to add to his present mood of depression Del had fixed macaroni and cheese again for dinner. It was getting to the point where he considered hamburger a real treat. Also, Del had something to spring on him, some nasty little piece of news or gossip that he wasn’t going to like. He could always tell, when she got that I-know-something-that-shows-you-aren’t-so-smart gleam in her
eye. Maybe she knew that Jane Hudson hadn’t answered the door to him today; God knows it wouldn’t surprise him any if she did.

And that was really all it amounted to; the old girl had given him the brush. She had been there all right; he had heard her moving about inside. And the car was in the garage; he had checked on that, too. So there it all went right down the drain—the job, the fifty bucks a week she had promised him—the chance to get free of Del. So—back to the macaroni and cheese set. The set of two, the unbreakable set—the goddamn, everlovin’ unbreakable set—him and Del.

“You don’t look so good tonight, sweetheart. You tired?”

He could feel her eyes fast upon him, digging little holes in his face, almost, trying to get at the thoughts and feelings inside his skull. If only she knew! he thought. But when he spoke his voice was mild.

“I guess so, yes.”

“You—rehearsed?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She say what she’s going to pay?”

Edwin looked up sharply. Had she found out somehow about Jane Hudson’s promise of money? But that was impossible.…

“No. No, she didn’t.”

Del’s lips twisted into a pale, false smile. “It seems funny—not knowing what you’re going to get—or if you’re even going to get anything or not. Didn’t you ask her?”

“Mom—Jesus!—I’m tired.”

Her smile faded. “I don’t see why you don’t even want to discuss it with me.”

“Discuss it! Oh, Christ!”

“Now, you don’t need to swear at me. I didn’t raise you to swear.”

Edwin opened his mouth and then, after a moment, snapped it closed again.

Del made an uncertain motion with her hand. “I don’t think you ought to go back there to that place any more anyway.”

Here we go, Edwin told himself; here comes the snapper. He sighed fatefully.

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s a job, isn’t it?”

There was a pause as Del put her hands down to the edge of the table and pressed the cloth tight to the curved surface. “You remember I mentioned her name was familiar—Jane Hudson?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I should have remembered right away, but it was so long ago, you know. Anyway, I was up front today—at Hazel’s—and I happened to mention, just in the conversation, that you had this job with some actress. And I said her name—Jane Hudson. Well, when I said that you should of seen Hazel’s face.” Del looked up at him for a moment, then quickly down again. “Well, I asked her what was the matter, and so she started reminding me—you know, of back in the days when we was both doing extra work in pictures—and all that went on…” She paused, pressing the cloth hard over the edge of the table, watching the table’s mark appear in the fabric. “I don’t guess you know who she is at all, huh?”

Edwin stared at her blankly; obviously this was to be even a bigger scoop than he had thought. “Jane Hudson,” he said flatly. “She’s Jane Hudson. Anyway that’s who she says she is.”

“Well, yes,” Del said gravely, “but she’s Blanche Hudson’s sister, too—Blanche Hudson who used to be the big important star. Did she tell you that?”

Again Edwin kept his gaze blank.

“You know—the one that was crippled in that accident right at the zenith of her career.”

…
at the zenith of her career.
Mentally, Edwin turned his gaze to heaven. Merciful God, why did she always have to talk like a column out of some old fan magazine? Blanche Hudson—he supposed he had heard the name somewhere; it sounded familiar.

“Well, it was her that did it—that crippled Blanche. Jane Hudson, I mean. Crippled her own sister!”

Edwin stared in genuine surprise.

“They hushed it up at the time all right. They thought maybe some of the operations they tried on her might make her walk again—so she could go back to acting—so naturally they didn’t want it to come out that her own sister had tried to kill her.”

“Kill her?” Edwin asked. “You mean murder her?”

“Yes, I guess so,” Del said, “it’s the same thing.”