Cowboy Joe grabbed me the way I hated anyone to do, but I didn’t hit him. “That goes for you, too, Gene Autry,” I told him.
“But we were having fun,” Faun wailed in my ear. “You don’t have the right anyway; this isn’t your house.”
“Should I remind you that it isn’t yours, either? You’re a guest here, so start acting like one, for Christ’s sake.”
“You’re so smart. This whole place is going to be mine someday. You hear that, guys?” She collected everybody’s attention. “My grandmother’s an old lady and this is all going to be mine when she dies.”
“All right,” shouted Cowboy Joe. “Let’s hope it’s soon.”
A cheer went up, a couple of beer bottles also, foaming their beer onto the rug. When the noise died away a voice spoke from the doorway.
“I think I can promise you it won’t be long, young man.”
“Nana!”
“Yes, my dear, it is indeed your nana. Boys and girls—men and women—I am the old old grandmother Faun has just been speaking of. If you will kindly stop this racket so I can get some sleep I will appreciate it.”
I hurried to her side and led her out. Though I could tell she was angry, she was making every effort to control it.
“It cannot go on, my dear,” she said, shaking a determined head as I escorted her back to the house. “Noo-oo, noo-oo, it cannot. There must be an accounting—and before Belinda comes home again.”
While I wasn’t going to apologize for the rudeness of Cowboy Joe, I tried to make light of everything. But her expression and voice were grim as she frowned at me and said, “She must go, Charlie, I want her out of here before something terrible happens, something really bad. She’d do it, too, I feel it. I’m afraid. Not for me, I don’t mean that, but for herself. And for Belinda—and Frank.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” she exclaimed, and her voice shook with emotion. “She’s Perry’s—Perry’s daughter. She was mine for all those years—how can I banish her now?”
She was fighting to keep from crying, and when we got to the house I turned her over to Ling; by then the party was breaking up, and as I walked back to the esplanade I got whistles and jeers and “spoilsport” that followed me all the way down the stairs.
The next morning I waited beside the pool until I saw Faun coming over for breakfast. She was in pretty bad shape: her face was pallid and drawn from her night’s revels. She looked fragile, as if she might crack like a plate. When I suggested she’d better show some contrition, otherwise Nana was throwing her out on her fancy little derrière, she laughed.
“Oh, come on, Charlie, lighten up,” she said. “Nana’s not going to do anything of the kind. Mummy wouldn’t hear of it; she wants me around. Nana’s just making noises, that’s all.”
When I pointed out that “Mummy” didn’t own a stake in Sunnyside but was only a guest, while Faun herself was there under sufferance, she didn’t want to hear any more about it.
“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I thought she had a lot to learn about the world, especially when it came to public relations. But she got the last laugh anyway, at least for a while. This is how that scenario went:
When she came into the breakfast room Maude was not in her accustomed chair. Ling appeared, with the solemn announcement that Missy Maw’ would like to see Faun upstairs; I was requested to accompany her.
We found Maude in her sitting room, up and dressed for the day, seated at her desk writing some notes. She didn’t pull any punches, but laid aside her little gold-and-lapis-lazuli pen and started in with one good hard swing of the axe, saying she was fed up with Faun’s erratic and unattractive behavior and that if she intended to go on upsetting the household as she was doing she had better make other arrangements. I must say, she was magnificent. A stone would have quailed at that gentle but steely voice.
Faun sat facing her, hands in lap, but by no means exhibiting any of the humility I had suggested. Rather, as Maude’s stinging words fell on her, she sat immobile and unflinching, stubbornly refusing to bow before the onslaught. When it was over and she still hadn’t said anything, Maude got up and walked to the window. She peered out across the grounds, that splendid view that Crispin had chosen for their bedroom, and there was something so regal yet so tense in her attitude that it made me think of the British royal family at some moment of crisis—the Abdication, a declaration of war.
Finally she turned and, with hands clasped before her, said, “Well, my dear, are you merely going to sit there saying nothing? Aren’t you going to make some excuse—or say something?”
“No, Nana,” I heard Faun say meekly, and when she moved her head I saw the tears trickling down her cheeks. The change was sudden and surprising. “There’s nothing to say. You’re right, of course. You’ve been so kind to let me stay here this long, and I really should start acting grown up, I really should. It’s just that I don’t know how. I’m a little girl, I guess I’ll stay a little girl always. But I can’t go on causing you misery at every turn—Mummy, too. You both mean too much to me. I’ll go and pack.”
She got up and in a flash was out the door.
Maude stared at the doorway, then sank down on the corner of the bed. “Well! What do you think of that?” she wondered aloud. I thought carefully before replying. Frankly, I thought I’d been watching a scene from the Late, Late Show; it was all bad Monogram again, a Kay Francis three-handkerchief deal. But I didn’t tell this to Maude, just said we ought to wait and see.
Before I could leave the room the telephone rang; it was Belinda in Maine, and I waited while Maude talked; then she put me on for a word. Everything was fine with her, shooting was going well, how were things here? I lied, told her everything was great, then handed the phone back to Maude and got out.
I went down to the Cottage and worked for the rest of the morning, forgetting I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I had an apple and some cheese for lunch and was hard at work again when I heard the sirens. The firehouse was at the foot of the canyon, and I assumed there must be a fire in the neighborhood. The engines went roaring past my gates, loud as hell, and then I jumped up, for I could tell from the sirens that they were turning in at the top drive.
I tried the phone but no one answered, so I went pelting up the steps to see uniformed men streaming across the lawn with some kind of apparatus.
Faun.
There was no smoke, no fire, but she was dying. The damn fool had gone straight from Maude’s room that morning to her own room, where she’d swallowed pills, written a note, then laid down and gone to sleep, never to awaken. It was to be a Sleeping Beauty exit, but fortunately she’d been discovered in time. It was Maude herself who’d found her, read the note, seen the empty bottle, and called the fire department.
She’d gone over to the Playhouse to apologize.
Maude and I rode together in the ambulance to the hospital, and for six hours she stayed there, until Faun was brought fully back to life. After the usual God-awful stomach-pump routine, I found Maude on her knees at her bedside. I waited while she finished praying; then we went into Faun’s room again, where I left her. I spent the better part of two hours on the phone, first trying to track Frank down somewhere, then talking with Belinda’s producers. They agreed it would be best to withhold the news from her until Faun was out of danger, and only when we had the doctor’s assurance did I tell her what had happened, soft-pedaling the whole thing as a minor episode, a touch of “food poisoning.” Then Maude got on the horn and did a fantastic job of acting, laying down a smoke screen and never once mentioning the dread word “suicide.” Then, being Maude, she made another call, to her attorney, and Felix assured her he’d do his best to keep it out of the papers.
At nine that night we were seated at the bedside where the remorseful Faun lay, still as death. The lids flickered, eyes swam, words came, falteringly.
“Nana… Nana… you didn’t want me… nobody wanted me… I tho
ught it would be easier if I went….”
Oh Jesus, I thought, even at death’s door she’s doing Mourning Becomes Electra. And as I watched the whole scene being played, I kept saying to myself, “The little bitch faked the whole thing.” But this is what I was really thinking, swear to God: I wish she’d gone. I damn well wish it had really worked.
I could be a bastard, too.
Interestingly enough, it eventually appeared that she had indeed faked it. Suzi-Q had gone over to tidy things up after the firemen had left, and while she was changing the bed the telephone had rung. It was Bobby Spurling. Told that Faun wasn’t there, he’d turned nasty, saying she’d called him at noon and made him promise to call her at exactly three and if he didn’t get her to call the police! So it was all staged.
None of us ever let on to Belinda how bad things were that day when her precious baby had almost kicked the bucket. It was only long after the fact, when it didn’t matter anymore, that I finally spun the whole story out for her. But of course by that time Frank was dead, too, and it was all spilt milk.
You might think—I thought—that after this there might be some lessening of the strain, some easing of the screws Faun was putting to everyone, but I was wrong, there wasn’t and she didn’t. When she came out of the hospital four days later, Maude and I picked her up. There she was, all bundled up in baby-blue bunting with a brave if rueful smile. She stepped out of the wheelchair and as I helped her into the car it occurred to me that sometime, somehow, these shenanigans of hers were bound to pay off: she was living too close to the edge of the precipice.
A couple of nights later Frank and I had dinner and I told him what had happened. He listened gravely, and I knew what he was thinking: this was a major problem he was taking on. We sat trying to figure what it was that kept triggering these crazy emotional pyrotechnics, and he even went so far as to consult a friend of his on the staff at Menninger’s in Kansas, hoping for some answer or illumination, but that was grasping at straws and we both knew it. Like me, he was concerned for Maude, and with good reason. She was a strong lady, equipped to tackle nearly any situation that arose, but she’d spoken the truth fully that day in her bedroom—she couldn’t go on. Yet she’d taken Faun back under her roof, covering up once again to spare Belinda. But at such a cost! And what could the future hold?
I knew that when Belinda came back, Frank intended to pop the question; he’d waited long enough, and he hoped she’d marry him when her film was done. The fact that Faun presented an obstacle to this plan troubled him. Like Maude, he recognized the pathological aspects of the case. He saw that Faun harbored a deep-seated jealousy of her mother’s growing happiness, and that the only thing that brought Faun really alive was to see Belinda made unhappy; that had more or less become her mission in life.
The question was, what would become of Faun when he and Belinda married? The obvious choices were that she should either go on living here at Sunnyside under Maude’s wing—hardly an attractive proposition for Maude—or that she should again go off somewhere on her own, not a happy possibility, based on past experience. We couldn’t help wishing for some Prince Charming to appear and carry her off to his castle (where I privately hoped she might be locked up like Rapunzel). But was this really very likely? It never occurred to anyone that she might actually go to work! Frustrated and unhappy, Frank paced the floor of the Cottage as we further chewed on the conundrum, seeking the answer that wasn’t there.
I couldn’t tell what Faun really thought of him, where reality left off and her pathological fancies took hold. Despite the gross things she’d perpetrated, the guilt she’d tried to hang on him, despite the vicious things she said about him, her exaggerations and downright lies, I had the feeling that deep down she liked him and wanted him to like her back. But since she couldn’t win his favor, she chose instead to belittle him, to torment him, and he felt obliged to put up with it all, for Belinda’s sake.
When Belinda finally arrived home from location, she was thinner and far more tired than we’d suspected her to be, but her director, when he came to dinner one evening, was unstinting in his praise. He’d never had an actress work so hard and to such effect.
In the meantime, the news of her success failed to move her daughter, except to further unattractive spells of moodiness and abrasiveness. Belinda took it all. If Faun was her cross to bear, why, then, she would go on bearing it, in any way that she could.
When she came home, she and Frank had a long talk. By now he’d persuaded her that time was wasting and that their affair couldn’t simply trail vaporously along for an indefinite time, and he pressed her at least to become formally engaged. Again she put him off, but only until Christmas, she said, at which time she promised to say yes. This news, however, was not to be communicated to Faun, for fear of the effect it might have on her. The sad fact was that Belinda’s return hadn’t led to any closer rapport between mother and daughter, while the latter treated Frank as shabbily as ever.
One afternoon I’d been at my easel in the studio and was washing out my brushes at the sink tap under the bar when I heard voices outside. Through the open window I could see Frank appear between the trees and greet Faun, who lay on a chaise, keeping up her tan at poolside. When he said hello in his usual friendly manner, she replied in her usual sullen one.
“Look, Faun,” I heard him say, “don’t you think, now that your mother’s home again, you and I ought to try to get on a little better? What do you say, hm? It doesn’t do any good to sulk, you know.”
“I’m not sulking.”
“You could be a little friendlier when I’m around, couldn’t you?”
“If you weren’t around I wouldn’t have to bother.” I gritted my teeth; she was so unreasonable.
“You really don’t like me, do you?” Frank said.
“No.”
“Well, I guess I know where I stand, then.”
“I wish the hell you did. I wish you’d keep away from us. My mother doesn’t love you.”
“Then she’s giving a pretty good imitation of it.”
“I want you to stay away from her—from all of us. We don’t want you here.”
“Look, young woman, if I were you I’d change my tactics. Acting like this isn’t going to get you anywhere. Just make up your mind to it—I love your mother, and as long as she’s around, I’m around, too.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“On being around? Oh, I do, I do.”
“You’ll be sorry if you do. And so will she….”
There was real menace in her tone and I froze. I waited for Frank to answer, and when he didn’t I realized he’d walked away from her. I picked up the phone and checked my service, raising my voice so Faun would hear me and know I’d heard her with Frank, but when I hung up and went outside, her chaise was empty and she was gone.
An isolated incident. At the end of the week she went away again; no goodbyes, she was just—“gone.” It was Belinda’s birthday, too, and Faun had clearly made a point of not being there. Maude said she’d gone to Santa Fe; I supposed the Colorado was embracing her again with its white waters.
With her film chores over, Belinda could relax once more. She’d been under a heavy strain, plagued with sleeplessness and loss of appetite, and was inclined to be sharp with people. More than once her temper got the better of her, but then it was gone and she’d come and apologized. I knew what she needed was to get away, but she wouldn’t do that: she didn’t want to leave Frank, who was tied up at his office. He did take five days and they went down to Palm Springs, where they hid themselves away behind the walls of Frank’s white villa, blazing in the desert sun. From Sunday to Friday morning they played together, swam together, rode some of Frank’s new horses, slept together, and returned more in love than ever. It was another high point in their relationship, but with a snap of the fingers everything suddenly turned bad again.
The following weekend it was my turn to party. Some of Angie’s rich Palm Springs fri
ends were throwing a bash aboard their boat and had invited twenty of their nearest and dearest to spend the weekend aboard. A Catalina weekend, not one of my favorite things to do, but I went. Left Friday afternoon, 4:00 p.m., returned Sunday at 7:00. Ordinarily I’d have used the front entrance, but because I had my hands full with my bags, I entered by the side door. Bones was nowhere to be found, and I surmised he must be up with Maude. I kicked off my shoes, made myself a sandwich, and turned on the TV. After a while I heard a bark outside and then Bones was begging to be let in. When I opened the front door, a folded note fell onto the flagging.
“Come at once. Boy does not cry wolf, no fooling. Trouble abounds.” It was initialed by Maude Antrim. Leaving Bones behind, I dashed up the stairs. “Trouble abounds?” What had our favorite young woman pulled this time? Had she tried to burn down the house again or had she stabbed Ling with the fish knife? Panting, I reached the top step and raced along the pool toward the house. The place was all lit up, and I could see figures moving through the rooms inside. I ran in through the living room to the place where I was sure I’d find Maude—the Snuggery—only I was wrong, she wasn’t there. I bumped into Ling in the doorway.
“Missy Maw’ upstair. You come, mistah?”
“What is it, Ling? What’s happened?” I panted.
“Missy Blindy ver’ sick, say. She plenny bad off.”
“Sick? What kind of sick?”
He lowered his eyes discreetly.
“What is it, Ling?”
His shrug was barely perceptible. “Missy Maw’ tell you. Missy Blindy maybe have little sauce.”
“Sauce? You mean she’s been drinking?”
“I ’fraid so, Mistah Cholly.”