Orph puts down the glass, grabs his coat and thunders out the door.
EXT. WILSHIRE BLVD – NIGHT
When Eddie sees Orph coming straight for him, he starts the car and skids off. Orph jumps into Ursula’s car and follows close behind.
INT. URSULA’S CAR - NIGHT
Too much booze in the brain: Orph knows he shouldn’t be driving. He struggles to keep the car in the lane as he pursues Eddie east along Wilshire, the two cars speeding through the canyons of the Miracle Mile, on through Macarthur Park and down into the city’s forest of skyscrapers.
Eddie makes a sudden left turn on Olive and Orph accelerates to keep up, driving so fast he begins to lose control of the wheel. Running a red light, STOP sign flashing, he careens into the back end of Eddie’s car.
In the rearview mirror Orph catches sight of a police car’s lights switching on from a couple blocks behind him.
EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES – NIGHT
Orph stumbles from the car at the same time that Eddie jumps out of his. For a moment it seems as though the two men can’t decide who might be chasing whom. Then Orph, judging Eddie’s height and the gun sticking out from his waist, decides he’s the one who should run and takes off, heading up towards Bunker Hill. Eddie scrambles behind him. Police sirens grow louder as they approach the accident.
Orph darts across Pershing Square, running through a cluster of SHARP YOUNG MEN who scatter and disperse into the trees when they see the police in pursuit.
Pausing to look back, Orph spots Eddie behind him, the thug’s hand reaching for a gun and aiming from his waist. A SHOT goes off and Orph ducks, racing past an OLD WOMAN knitting under a streetlamp and continuing up Hill Street, running pell-mell until he reaches the Angels Flight funicular.
Eddie is a block behind him as Orph fumbles to pay his nickel and hops into the car just before it departs.
INT. ANGELS FLIGHT FUNICULAR – NIGHT
Orph’s breathless presence in the crowded car causes a commotion and the other PASSENGERS move away from him.
EXT./INT. ANGELS FLIGHT FUNICULAR – NIGHT
Eddie hurls himself through the entrance arch at Hill Street and begins scrambling up the tracks, gun clenched in his right hand, the left pulling his body closer to the ascending car.
As Eddie closes the distance he fires a shot that pings off the roof of the car and makes everyone inside scream and drop to the floor. Another shot breaks a window and then the descending car passes, rolling towards Eddie, who is blinded by the approaching lights.
Eddie slips, loses his footing, and before the driver of the descending car can brake, Eddie Majestic is crushed beneath the wheels of the funicular.
CLOSE UP on a WOMAN’s screaming face, a MAN shouting, a LITTLE BOY clutching at his OLDER SISTER and hiding his face in her arm. But this is the city, and this is what happens to thugs like Eddie.
The COPS arrive at the bottom of Angels Flight as Orph’s car reaches the top of Bunker Hill and the Olive Street exit. Turning himself into just one more passing shadow in a hot Los Angeles night, Orph disembarks.
ORPH (V.O.) (CONT’D)
I told myself the cops wouldn’t know who I was, they hadn’t got a good look at me, but there was still the car. I took myself back to the accident and watched from across the street as the police tried to put it all together. By the next morning they’d be wondering why Ursula’s car was bulldozed into the wrong end of a dead man’s. I went home and tried to figure out what to do but found myself tapping the bottle back into my arm until the phone started ringing on the wrong side of midnight. Sure, you know who it was.
INT. URSULA’S WILSHIRE APARTMENT - NIGHT
When the phone RINGS, Orph draws the receiver to his face, and Noah Roy’s voice purrs down the wire. The screen splits in two as the men talk, Noah in the darkened newsroom of the Times, a few EDITORS and all-night COPY BOYS pounding away at their typewriters in the smoky background.
NOAH
Listen Patterson, the cops cast a line and reeled in a body.
ORPH
Eddie Majestic. I know. I was chasing him. Or he was chasing me. It wasn’t my fault.
NOAH
I’m not talking about Majestic, Corporal. You’ve got bigger problems.
ORPH
I’ve had a bottle glued to my arm. Spell it out.
NOAH
Corpse answers the description of your wife, only she’s not talking. They found her ditched in the river.
ORPH
Ursula can’t be dead! She phoned me just a couple hours ago.
NOAH
Must’ve been her ghost, because this one’s been dead a lot longer. Listen, Patterson, I don’t think you did it, but the cops aren’t so sure. I suggest you get yourself somewhere they aren’t gonna find you for a while until I can round up some help.
ORPH
Why help me?
NOAH
Despite myself I like you, and the cop who gave me the tip is a buddy of your brother.
ORPH
I don’t see it.
NOAH
Find a straight cop in this town and he’ll be at the hot end of your brother’s gun. They’re tipping me because they’ve got it in for you. That means your brother does, too.
ORPH
Some family I landed.
NOAH
In your shoes I’d go to the Feds if you know anything useful.
ORPH
I mighta done that already, kid.
NOAH
You turn snitch?
ORPH
Don’t say it like I done wrong. They make a fella feel he’s got no choice. In this case I don’t think I did. If Jack is responsible for half of what I think he is then he should spend the rest of his life behind bars. No one’s gonna make me feel guilty.
Orph puts down the phone and pours himself another. He’s worked his way through most of the bottle and has to fight the urge to finish it. Good sense is fighting to win but keeps getting hit with sucker punches.
ORPH (V.O.)
It was still early by Malavita standards but I hoped Faye might have gone home for the night.
Orph puts through the call and the screen splits again. This time Faye is unrolled across a chaise in her home, windows flung open and the dead glittering eye of a swimming pool reflecting city lights. She’s shed her evening gown and slipped into a different identity. Holding the phone with one hand, she rubs the other across the back of her neck.
FAYE
You know how late it is, Orph?
ORPH
Is my brother there?
FAYE
Still at the club. What’s this about? Thought I told you to get out of here.
ORPH
Something’s happened.
FAYE
Orph, what’s wrong?
ORPH
Can I see you?
FAYE
Why don’t you come over here?
ORPH
I wrecked Ursula’s car. Can we meet somewhere?
FAYE
There’s a little place at the corner of Sunset and Doheny that’s open till four.
INT. VESPERS NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT
Vespers is a low-key joint with modern furniture and low lighting. Orph speaks to the MAÎTRE D’, who directs him to a booth in the far corner of the club.
From the darkness a white hand emerges and as Orph approaches he begins to make out the lines of Faye’s arms and the crown of golden hair, like jewels in a paste market. She’s nursing a martini and mimes to a WAITER to bring one for Orph.
FAYE (CONT’D)
Get a girl out of bed this time of night you better be charming.
ORPH
Majestic’s dead.
Faye’s shoulders draw back and she takes a swallow of her drink.
FAYE
You’d need an A-bomb to get rid of Eddie Majestic. That goon isn’t human.
ORPH
He was tailing me. I turned the tables and it got messy.
FAYE
(whispering)
You mean you killed him?
ORPH
Do I look that tough? He got rolled by the funicular at Angels Flight. Wasn’t my fault.
Faye lights a cigarette, drinks a little faster, and her arms start to shake. A hand flies to the back of her neck as if it’s trying to wipe away something that shouldn’t be there.
FAYE
Has Jack heard?
ORPH
Dammit Faye, how should I know? That’s not what I came to tell you. Who cares about Eddie?... The police have found her.
FAYE
Who, Orph? Found who?
ORPH
Ursula. They pulled her body from the river.
Faye puts her hand back on the table, finishing the martini as the waiter brings another.
FAYE
(to Waiter)
You better pour a couple more.
ORPH
Got a tip from a friend at the Times. The police are looking for me. I need somewhere to stay until I can prove I didn’t do it.
FAYE
But how, Orph? How can you prove it?
ORPH
I don’t know yet. I gotta think it out. I was pretty sure Eddie mighta been the one that did it, but they don’t put dead men in the chair. Maybe it’s Montez.
Faye puts a hand on Orph’s arm and glances around the room.
FAYE
You wanna be careful how loud you say that, Orph. Woody has friends everywhere.
ORPH
Friends like Jack? Sure, I know they work together. I know Woody’s one of Jack’s boys. I got a feeling everyone I’ve met since coming back to this rotten city works for my brother. Maybe including you, too, sister.
FAYE
I don’t work for anyone but myself, Orph, let’s get that clear. You always did see conspiracies against you. Anything to believe you weren’t responsible for all the mess, after you left Ursula with hardly enough to live on. It was all the fault of everyone else, never your own.
ORPH
If you don’t wanna help me, I’ll let you go back to bed. Thought you’d like to know your sister was dead but I can see you don’t care. You didn’t happen to phone me earlier, did you?
FAYE
Of course not.
ORPH
I had Ursula on the line only it couldn’t have been her because she hasn’t been talking for at least a week.
FAYE
Now you’re trying to frighten me.
ORPH
I’m trying to flush you out if you’re the one plotting against me. Or maybe it’s that Rose Zapatero, who isn’t called Rose and happens to work at Malavita. Maybe she does a line in impersonations, a little housewife here, a little Ursula there. What do you think of that theory?
FAYE
I don’t know about that. If I were you I’d be grateful Ursula’s out of your life.
ORPH
What kind of sisters were you in the end?
FAYE
Sisters in name only. We couldn’t have been more different.
(thoughtfully)
Listen, Orph, I want to help you. There’s a little house I keep, just my own. You can hide out there for a few days. It’s only a few blocks away.
ORPH
Does Jack know about it?
FAYE
(shaking her head)
Sometimes when Jack gets in a mood I need to escape. It’s my secret insurance policy.
ORPH
Jack gets rough?
FAYE
There are a lot of things you don’t know about your brother. I’ve had to learn to protect myself, Orph. You should, too. Don’t sleep without a gun in your hand. If the doorbell rings you better assume whoever’s on the other side wants to plug you.
Internal Memo
April 12, 1950
To: John Marsh and Desmond Frank
CC: Leo Krug, Nicholas Charles
From: Porter Cherry
Re: She Turned Away
Dear Marsh and Frank,
I have had further correspondence from the Breen Office about this unhappy picture of yours and additional issues are now being raised, about which I would appreciate your opinion, notwithstanding the hostility of your recent responses. Mr. Breen is concerned that the picture’s suggestion that all police officers in the State of California are corrupt and in the pay of organized crime is in direct contravention of the Production Code. It does not seem to me that this is necessarily what the picture means to convey, as the only representatives of the law in the picture are not apparently corrupt (the unnamed FBI agent and county sheriff) and are treated more or less sympathetically. It is my belief that Breen’s concerns can easily be put to rest by the addition at the end of the picture of some incorruptible Los Angeles police officers.
Breen’s larger concern (and it is one I increasingly share) is with the language of the characters, and in particular the criminal slang used by the female lead and her husband, your primary antagonist. Some of your dialogue is sufficiently arcane that neither Mr. Breen nor I is quite certain what is being expressed and dictionaries are of little assistance. Could you tell me definitively what a ‘double sawbuck’ might be? I was under the impression it was old-time slang for a twenty-dollar bill, but that does not seem to be the way your character uses it.
Mr. Breen is also now concerned by the amount of hard liquor consumed by Orph Patterson, whose characterization suggests a potentially chronic case. Mr. Breen and I both have serious reservations about how this treatment of our veterans might be interpreted by audiences, particularly given that drinking is also presented throughout the picture as socially acceptable in the characters’ wider milieu (for women and men alike, I note with some distaste), which it is safe to describe, despite the criminal aspect and the money associated, as those of the common man rather than the well-to-do. It is quite unacceptable to suggest that the diner waitress might serve alcohol illegally, even if this is only implied.
The one point about which Mr. Breen is quite insistent is that the characters Lillian and her daughter Nancy Jean either be eliminated or moved to a more salubrious setting, such as a charity home for the indigent run by a church. In no circumstances may Lillian brandish a gun, or have her daughter insist upon her mother’s knowledge of firearms.
Yours truly,
Porter Cherry
Internal Memo
April 11, 1950
To: Porter Cherry
From: John Marsh and Desmond Frank
Re: She Turned Away
Cherry,
A double sawbuck is a twenty-year sentence. The other changes you suggest are impossible. Lillian is in the employ of the picture’s criminal mastermind, so it would make no sense to the picture or to audiences to place her in the hands of the church, and without her we both feel that something would be lacking. As with the character of Rose Zapatero and the diner waitress, Helen Fairdale’s comic and careful performances in each of these roles – as well as in the role of Lilian Wesley – guarantees that the audience will understand them as fiction, even as a single criminal character reappearing in multiple disguises. It is part of the essential fun of the picture, if you can imagine that fun might be an aspect of the business we are in. If you don’t like it, you can cut these scenes, but Desmond and I will both take our names off the picture if you do. Have you ever even read the script from start to finish? You and Mr. Breen have such great ideas about She Turned Away maybe the two of you should make it and let us poor jerks get some rest.
Yours,
Marsh
Nathalie
In the kitchen at Summit Drive, Nathalie, or, as she thought of herself still, Charlotte, although she had not used the name for nearly a decade, not heard it spoken for years before those men came to visit that morning and pronounced it with the cynical glee that came from revealing to her the secret she had been keeping all this time, put down three nearly identical plates of food – pork chops, a pile of boiled
potatoes, a side of cabbage sautéed with butter, a salad of cucumber sliced so thin the rounds were almost transparent and then dressed with vinegar and dill – for Iris and Siegfried and Franz. She would have liked to give her boys larger helpings than the little girl but Iris kept such a close eye on the proportion of every portion and had such a penchant for reporting any slight to her mother, who cared about such matters in a way John Marsh did not, that Nathalie had learned always to give her boys less than the girl and still, never mind the cruelty of such shorting after all Siggie and Franz had suffered in their brief lives, the displacements and alienation of migration, the vilification of their people and family, the entire nation damned by the victors, the assassination of their father by men so much worse than he, the threats to their own lives by the British, such stresses as should have made them permanently lean and lithe as their forefathers, they got fat. It was something in the blood and yet they were all of them distantly related, the Beckers and Schumachers. Mary, that is to say Rosa before she forgot herself, was spectrally thin, the child Iris, too, and that thinness, the ease with which the Schumacher women remained slender despite eating whatever they wished, kindled a brilliant hate that was enough, as far as persuasion goes, to make Nathalie accede to the demands of Agents Leopold and Loeb and set her mind to snooping as she had in the past. Little doubt that Mary had once been, if not an actual Communist, the kind of leftist agitator or nincompoop fellowtraveler McCarthy and Hoover and their associates would judge left enough to be leveraged, and yet surely the U.S. Government must already have whatever evidence they needed, so why come to her? Perhaps it was a test of her willingness or capacity to be useful, and if she cleared this easy hurdle there would be other, more challenging assignments. Work that would lift her and the boys out of their position of servitude and penury into the sort of life she remembered with both angst and longing, a life of her own car and money, of being surrounded by important rather than ridiculous men, receiving gifts of rare beauty and reveling each night in the uncorking of a fine champagne, although that had never quite been the life she lived as a general’s daughter in the years of her youth. Yet such power and affluence as had once seemed her birthright might – assuming she played by the rules of the game those agents had declared open with their visit, the first run of hands revealed, scores already being tabulated and her own points at nil – be hers once more.
Night for Day Page 35