Yours always and affectionately,
Kay
She read through the letter and folded it in thirds before slotting it into an envelope and writing the address of the studio, and then instead of Rosa Schumacher she made it out to Mary Dawn. In the upper left corner she wrote her own name, including her maiden name as she would not usually have done so that Rosa would know it was a personal letter rather than one from a fan, assuming, that is, that Rosa even opened her own mail. Presumably there was an assistant who took care of the bags of fan mail but that assistant must know when opening a letter and finding it written to Rosa not Mary that it must be unusual, that it would warrant reading by Mary – that is Rosa – herself, and not just a form reply and a signed photograph, is what Kay hoped.
Once she had put on her face she would walk to the post office and then to the grocer. In her purse she had two dollars, which was all that was left from the last time Hank gave her money. Whatever she bought would have to last. She found an old envelope and a pencil and began doing sums. Milk at 18 cents a quart. Succotash for 17 cents a pound. Pot roast for 49 cents a pound. Butter for 66 cents a pound. A 15-ounce loaf of bread for 12 cents. At $1.44/pound she would have to skip coffee unless there was a sale. Perhaps she should be thinking about taking in washing or ironing, and there was rent coming due to the Smiths at the end of the month and no telling whether Hank would be back by then and have the money to pay them or they’d be out looking for somewhere else. When she had come west with Hank her mother said no, she could not take the Limoges or Bavarian china they had received as wedding gifts from the whole family, nor the silver service nor the crystal with its gold-leaf embellishments. All of that remained in Mother’s house in Oklahoma and Kay thought now, well, perhaps Mother was right, because if I had it here, this morning, I would take that silver to the pawn shop to eat.
Mrs. Smith, who was a lady of culture, Kay suspected, subscribed to the Los Angeles Times, which meant it was possible to fish discarded issues out of the trash at night and so keep up with matters and expand her vocabulary. The issue from Monday announced that lightning had hit a house in the Wilshire district of Los Angeles and a boy in Amarillo, Texas, claimed he had touched a flying saucer that released a spray before flying off into the sky and this had left his face and one arm scalded. The United States Air Force denied the existence of flying saucers. Russians most likely. There had been seven traffic fatalities in Los Angeles County last Sunday and 172 since the beginning of the year, all because some fools didn’t know better than to swerve across lanes or collide with trams. Here was better news: there were Easter services at the Hollywood Bowl with Celeste Holm and Colleen Townsend and Mary Dawn. People, all those good Christian people, had started arriving in the middle of the night just to get a seat. That was heartening. But Groucho Marx was divorcing his wife. With a man of that kind it was no surprise.
Kay checked the sums on the envelope and searched again in her purse. She would buy ground beef instead of pot roast. They could live without butter.
May 23, 1950
Mr. Joseph I. Breen, Director
Production Code Administration
5504 Hollywood Boulevard
Hollywood 28, California
Dear Mr. Breen:
I enclose for your attention and authorization one copy of:
SHE TURNED AWAY – Eighth Draft, dated April 10, 1950.
As you will remember there have been a great number of problems with this particular project, which is already well into production owing to budget and casting pressures. I appreciate that you have had concerns about some aspects of the story that sail close to the wind in matters of morality and depiction of violence but it is our studio’s strong feeling that SHE TURNED AWAY represents a new kind of picture, of the sort we have been seeing since the end of the war, a picture that tries to tell the true stories of ordinary American people and reflect something of their own difficult realities, however far removed they may seem from the concerns of men like you and me. I also want to remind you that in the lead roles we have cast two of this studio’s most prominent stars, Mary Dawn and Myles Haywood. You will know of their impeccable characters and reputations. Mary Dawn was one of the featured players in the Hollywood Bowl’s Easter Service this weekend and Mr. Haywood and his wife Helen Fairdale are among our industry’s most upstanding young couples.
Please note changes dated 4/5/50 on pages as follows: 9, 14, 23-2, 35-39, 51-56, 70-74, 77-88, 90. Also changes dated 4/9/50 – pages 1-10, 25-55, 61, 65, 93. The screenwriters trust that these alterations will address your concerns as outlined in previous correspondence.
Cordially yours,
Porter Cherry
PC/sc
Enc./1
SHE TURNED AWAY
Screenplay By
Desmond Frank and John Marsh
Based on a story by Desmond Frank
PART ONE
INT. TRAIN - DAY
A Southern Pacific train slices through the bleachedout flatlands of the San Fernando Valley. Distant peaks jag the horizon as light shimmers over a treeless landscape passing outside the windows.
It’s just past dawn, six in the morning, and CORPORAL ORPH PATTERSON, a lean, dark young man, slouches in his Army uniform. A caduceus in the insignia daggered through his jacket identifies him as a member of the medical corps.
Orph gazes out the window, strumming a guitar, the look in his eyes as haunted as the notes he plays. This is the face of a kid who turned into a young man before he knew it was happening.
An OLD LADY in a flowery dress sits knitting on the other side of the aisle. With each chord Orph plays she sucks her teeth and squints.
OLD LADY
Young man! I say, young man.
Orph turns to glare at her. Without speaking, he continues to strum the strings.
OLD LADY (CONT’D)
Won’t you stop that noise?
ORPH
What’s the matter, don’t you like it?
OLD LADY
I most certainly do not.
Bundling her knitting into a large carpetbag the woman stands and bustles out of the carriage.
At the other end of the car a door opens and a middle-aged SALESMAN – a little fat, a little bald – comes limping down the aisle and sits directly across from Orph. The Salesman fans himself with a newspaper and puts his leather case on the neighboring seat.
SALESMAN
Good morning, good morning! Heavens to Betsy! Am I glad to see someone else up this early! Go West, young man, isn’t that what they say, but they never warn you how gosh darn hot West is gonna be. Isn’t that right, Corporal?
ORPH
(shrugging)
I’m used to the heat.
The Salesman scratches his bare head. He seems surprised to find it as bald as it is, and laughs. He’s a congenial fellow and looks as though he wishes the young Corporal were a little friendlier.
SALESMAN
I bet you saw some things, didn’t you, kid? France? Germany?
ORPH
Far East. Saw more than I care to remember, if it’s all the same to you. Next time they go to war they can recruit someone else.
SALESMAN
Course, some of us had to do our part from here. Keep the home fires burning, as they say.
Orph glares at the Salesman, seeing a man with a paunch and a face that knows nothing of nightmare.
Strumming a series of pronounced, descending minor chords, as if the music itself were a commentary on the man, Orph raises an eyebrow.
SALESMAN (CONT’D)
Yes, sir, some of us weren’t so lucky.
ORPH
You think going to war is lucky?
SALESMAN
Now listen here, friend, I only meant...
ORPH
What part did you play, friend? Selling Bibles to old ladies? Faking a limp for the Draft Board?
SALESMAN
Hey now, kid, there’s no call for that. I’m no shirke
r.
ORPH
And I ain’t no kid.
The Salesman lifts the cuff of his trouser and reveals a polished wooden leg. Embarrassed, Orph sits up a little straighter, pushing the hat back on his head.
ORPH (CONT’D)
Sorry, mister, I didn’t realize.
SALESMAN
No harm done, Corporal. Truth is, I’m my own best customer.
The Salesman flicks open the latches on his suitcase to reveal an array of prosthetic arms and legs from the Jenkins Artificial Limb Company.
ORPH
Dog bite you? Or was it a dame?
SALESMAN
Train accident. Almost twenty years ago. I was only a kid, not much younger than you. Turned me inside out. Though I’m sure that was nothing to what you saw.
ORPH
Like I said, I saw plenty.
Orph stares out the window at the passing valley floor, the scrub flats and tom-tom sun punctuated by the rhythm of the train on its tracks. He keeps strumming minor chords, stringing them together without hitting a tune. The CONDUCTOR comes through the car, shouting.
CONDUCTOR
Glendale, next stop Glendale. Last stop Los Angeles Union Station in half an hour.
SALESMAN
This is where we part. Good luck to you, young man.
The Salesman gathers his things and moves to go but then pauses, steps back, and puts a brotherly hand on Orph’s shoulder.
SALESMAN (CONT’D)
A word of advice, if you’ll indulge me. Try to forget what you’ve seen, son. Look forward to the future. Why, I bet you’ve got a pretty little girl waiting for you right now. She’ll help you forget what you’ve seen. Trust her to do that.
Orph gives him a half-ironic salute and pulls the cap low over his eyes, gazing out the window as the train slows into Glendale Station.
ORPH (V.O.)
I tell ya I coulda punched the guy. I’d seen things I was never gonna forget, not if I had to ride to hell and back. How can a man forget dragging what’s left of his best friend out of a jungle only to lose him in a river? How can a fellow forget holding the broken head of a Virginia farm boy who talked every night to his mother’s photograph as if she was there in the tent or the foxhole or wherever else we had to put up to keep dry and away from the hot end of a Japanese Arisaka. After all that death and misery, the only thing I wanted was to come home to my wife and a quiet life in the City of Angels. Little did I know there was nothing quiet about it. What a chump I was, what a sucker.
The train starts moving again as Orph’s fingers thumb the strings of his guitar.
INT. LOS ANGELES UNION STATION - DAY
A TALL BLONDE in a knockout suit and sunglasses that cover the top half of her face stands waiting for a train. She draws the eye of every man who crosses her path, and makes other women ask their husbands why they never get diamonds on birthdays.
As the train pulls into the station she checks her makeup in a compact. In a CLOSE UP on the mirror she sees the reflection of a THUG wearing a cheap dark suit and snap-brim hat standing behind her.
The blonde looks at the man’s image in the mirror but snaps the compact shut just as a NEWSPAPER BOY lopes past. She taps the boy on the shoulder, buys a paper, and reads the headline:
DOZENS CUFFED IN MIDNIGHT RAIDS:
VICE SQUAD BUSTS GAMBLING DEN
Her eyes linger on the byline: NOAH ROY. Folding the paper under her arm, she glances up and waves as Orph drops from the train, kit bag slung over his shoulder. He looks ground down, spat out the wrong end of life.
When she sees him the blonde’s hand drops to her side, fingers curling into a fist, nails digging into the flesh of her palm. As Orph walks towards her she relaxes again, waving at him. He sees her and starts running across the platform.
In her arms all the misery disappears from Orph’s face. But the blonde stiffens when he raises a hand to stroke her hair.
WOMAN
I’m not a cat, Orph.
ORPH
Hey, what’s the matter, sweetheart?
WOMAN
Why, nothing, darling, it’s just that it’s been such a long time. I have to get used to you again.
He pushes himself away, examines her flawless hair, the line of her suit, and the gold watch on her wrist.
ORPH
Hoo-wee, Ursula. You look –
But then he hesitates, shaking his head as he takes in the full picture. Who is this woman? It isn’t the girl he remembers, not the one who kept him going all though the war. Time and a life on her own have turned URSULA PATTERSON into someone else.
URSULA
Flatter a girl why don’t you?
ORPH
Of course you look beautiful. But if you hadn’t waved I might have passed you by.
URSULA
Don’t let me stop you.
ORPH
You’ve been stopping me since I first laid eyes on you, baby.
URSULA
Maybe you need a new engine.
ORPH
Maybe I don’t wanna go.
URSULA
Maybe you don’t know what’s good for you.
ORPH
Maybe I like what’s bad for me.
URSULA
Keep moving or die, I always say.
(a pause)
Like a shark.
ORPH
Why the cold fish routine?
URSULA
A girl gets used to being on her own, swimming in circles.
(realizing she’s gone too far)
I’m sorry, darling. You know it’s good to have you home.
Ursula embraces her husband but she’s watching as another train pulls from the station. The reflection of the thug in the cheap dark suit is there once again, this time in the windows of the last car. He’s shaking his head and wagging his finger at Ursula, as if chiding a naughty child.
ORPH (V.O.)
Sure I was glad to see Ursula, but from the moment I put my arms around her I knew something had changed, and whatever she said it wasn’t the truth. If I’d had any sense I should have caught the fastest train to the other side of the country. But not me. I just had to have the girl with the golden hair who twisted me through her braids like a moth in a web.
Slipping out of the vaulted station lobby under the bright blade of morning, they pass FIVE BLIND SINGERS harmonizing that old Gospel, ‘I’ll Never Turn Back No More’.
INT. URSULA’S APARTMENT - DAY
Ursula opens the door to an apartment high in a building overlooking Wilshire Boulevard and the Hollywood Hills. The living room is covered in plush brocade fabrics. It’s a poor girl’s idea of taste, which makes it look both expensive and cheap, like a high-class bordello or opium den but without the red lights or silk scarves draped over lamps.
ORPH (V.O.) (CONT’D)
It was only when I saw the place she’d rented that I knew for sure something wasn’t on the level.
Ursula flicks open the curtains to give Orph a better view of the room. He pushes the army cap back from his head.
ORPH
Jeez, Ursula, how much is this joint?
URSULA
I’m the one worries about money these days.
ORPH
I don’t get it, baby. First the clothes and gold watch and now this flash-house. Explain it to me because it ain’t making sense.
URSULA
The truth is, Orph, I had to find work. Not exactly riches you sent me.
ORPH
Now let’s get one thing straight. I don’t like the idea of my girl working. We don’t gotta live like this. We’re simple folks. We just need a little place, no fancy stuff, no big car, no diamonds, no nothing, just each other. Come on, why don’t you look at me like you used to?
Ursula slides a cigarette from an engraved silver case, flares the end with a lighter, and stands smoking in the shafts of sunlight grating through the window. The line of her leg cuts in and out of shadow. Everything about
her is combustible.
URSULA
Take it off the fire, Orph. It’s all in the family. Jack gave me a job at Malavita.
ORPH
(teasing)
Malavita? Sounds a little shady even for the Great Shade.
URSULA
Jack says it’s Italian for the social set. High society.
ORPH
I know some Italian. That ain’t what it means.
URSULA
Words mean a lot of things.
ORPH
In Italy it means the kind of business you wouldn’t want to know about.
URSULA
Your brother does all kinds of business these days. Some at the club, some not. Faye works there, too... And if it’s good enough for Jack’s wife, it must be good enough for yours.
ORPH
Twin waitresses. Customers must love that.
URSULA
I’m no waitress. Jack’s letting me sing.
ORPH
Doesn’t the husband get a say?
URSULA
You’ve been away, Orph. Times change.
ORPH
Night for Day Page 6