I knew what she meant. There were two kinds of actors, both equally at the top of their game. One disappeared into their parts so completely that you could not believe it was the same person the next time that you saw them. But each time you saw them, you believed in that role so completely that you couldn’t look away. The other also caught your eye but always by playing a variation of the same person. If they strayed too far from that character, you didn’t really believe it. Chaplin was like that. Always the Tramp, and you loved him for it, but never truly anyone else.
“But Lulu being Lulu is exactly what I want,” said Sydney. “Today we will film them preparing for the dinner, tomorrow the dinner itself, and then we’ll record Lulu’s scream. The scream that will shatter the mirrors and release the masked stranger.”
Fred looked up from his breakfast at that. “You didn’t say anything about shattering mirrors. Do you mean the ones in the hall? Aren’t they old? Valuable?”
“You cannot break those mirrors,” said Sydney. “No, I want to record Lulu’s scream. And film her screaming, of course. Then film dozens of mirrors shattering. As if mirrors are breaking around the world. As if doors are opening everywhere. Then we will do the scene with the masked stranger.”
Fred sighed. “Dozens of mirrors. Breaking. Cracking and falling apart?”
“No, no,” said Sydney. “An explosion of glass. Can’t you use dynamite or something?”
Fred swore. “You want to put us all in the hospital? Sydney, we are talking about exploding glass. Is Lulu or Renee going to be anywhere near it? And if we do explosions indoors, we might burn the place down. It’s not safe, you lunatic.” Fred only called Sydney insane when he was truly worried. They had these fights once or twice before. The one time Fred backed down, Selby broke his leg.
“No, no, Fred,” soothed Sydney, obviously recognizing that he had pushed a bit too hard. “You can set it up wherever you want. Buy some cheap mirrors, rig an explosion, film the results. We’ll edit it in.”
“We can use the back lawn,” I said. “Down near the fence.”
Fred grumbled a bit but finally agreed. “I can rig it. But everyone must stay in the house. I hate explosions.”
“What about you?” I said.
“Somebody has to crank the camera,” said Fred. “Humbert and I can rig up some type of barrier, just poke the lens through. Yeah, I can make that work. But, Sydney, between that and setting up the equipment to record Lulu’s scream, it’s going to be a few days.”
“That’s fine,” said Sydney. “We’re nearly to the end. As long as Jeany has our mask done by the solstice, we’ll be all right.”
“I have a couple of masks,” I admitted.
“But I need time,” said Fred. “Explosions!”
“You have eight days,” said Sydney with a snap of his teeth as he crunched through his marmalade-dripping toast. “You can be ready by then.”
Fred muttered more about explosions, screams, and working for lunatics. “We’ve got just over a week,” he said. “That’s not nearly enough time.”
“Of course it is,” said Sydney. “We used to do an entire film in a week. Have you all gone soft? We can do this. Jeany, bring me the masks now.”
“The solstice?” said Eleanor, saving me the need to respond. “Is that when we get to see your finale?”
“Ah, yes,” said Sydney, finishing up his toast with one last bite. “The longest day of light, the shortest night, the perfect time to finish filming. It will be marvelous. Don’t you agree, Max?”
Max mumbled something and folded his paper. He stood up. “I need to phone the studio,” he said. “Let them know everything is proceeding on schedule.”
As he left the room, Betsy turned to me and said, “Isn’t anyone worried about bad luck?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Breaking mirrors. Seven years of bad luck.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think Sydney believes in bad luck. At least not for him.”
But it was odd. Sydney was superstitious. Renee once laughed at him for walking out of his way to avoid a black cat. Maybe he did not know that breaking mirrors caused trouble.
Later I learned the truth. That he did not care what luck he brought down on the rest of us. And that he was not the only one with that attitude.
Chapter Seventeen
Fred tried different ways of blowing up mirrors in the barn. The constant sounds of shattering glass reverberated through the house, to the point the indoor mirrors seemed to be humming in sympathy. I hated going down that hallway more and more each day. I felt like I had to apologize to the mirrors for the multiple deaths of their brethren. I also wanted to break them all every time I caught a glimpse of a crooked reflection out of the corner of my eye.
Humbert mumbled a lot about the waste of good hay, as Fred used the bales normally reserved for the grass-cutting mule or for mulching the garden as barriers to keep exploding glass from hitting him.
I tried to escape my woes once or twice by watching these tests, but Fred always chased me out with stern warnings about the dangers of flying glass and putting an eye out.
“And what will you do if you lose an eye?” I asked.
“Only need one to peer through the viewfinder,” Fred answered far too nonchalantly.
At the house, when Fred did come back from the barn to film the scenes that Eleanor created, things became even messier. Of course, Sydney’s assurances that we would only film one or two more scenes before the solstice quickly dissolved into a rush to get several new ideas into the can.
Perhaps it was Lulu or perhaps it was Renee, but neither were thrilled with doing little more than getting dressed for a dinner and then having the dinner alone in the house. They felt it didn’t give them much scope to show off their best talents, despite Sydney’s reassurances that the finale would be worth it.
“If this is all that the audience has to watch,” said Renee on the first night, “they will either fall asleep or walk out.” After spending a day watching Sydney direct and then change his directions while Betsy fussed with Renee’s curls, the ones that I had already perfectly set, I had to agree.
“Our audiences expect a shock a minute,” said Renee. It was a slogan that one of the theaters had used about an earlier film, one where we made the actors jump out of dark corners and rigged props to drop from the ceiling. “This is going to become the snore a minute film if we don’t add some terror.”
Eleanor became an unexpected ally. “I have to agree,” she said. “When we do my horrid little plays in New York, I’m careful to ladle out the blood as thickly and as quickly as possible. You don’t want the audience to stop and think. That’s the worst thing that can happen to a horrible shocker. Otherwise they’ll start wondering why a perfectly healthy young woman doesn’t run screaming from the monster luring her to her doom.”
“Exactly,” said Renee. “Only in this case, it is why don’t two bored young ladies leave their lonely house? Sydney, we are not filming Chekhov. Something has to happen.”
“Spare me fickle, spineless, drifting people,” said Eleanor. “You are right. The sisters should be actively courting their fate, however Sydney wants to arrange the end. Let’s make something happen.”
But Eleanor’s ideas, while exactly the type of frightening and bizarre that Renee wanted, created the next accident.
Eleanor rewrote the dinner scene to include a lightning bolt that struck a guest through the window, slaying or at least maiming the poor man that the sisters have invited into their home.
“How do I do that?” said a much-beleaguered Fred, who was still searching for a mixture to create the proper explosion of mirrors as well as trying to borrow a microphone and other equipment from the University to record Lulu’s scream. We all checked the calendar and were aware of time swiftly running out. The solstice was only a couple of da
ys away.
“At our theater, we’d use a prop man,” said Eleanor. “One who did a flash of light across the table and a rumble of a thunder sheet. Of course you need sound for that effect.”
“We can write noise into the cue sheet for the accompanist. I hope this only shows in large theaters with good musicians,” muttered Fred. “We have enough instructions to keep an orchestra busy. But we need something else.”
In the end, he decided to use an old-fashioned flash powder. “Lycopodium powder,” he said to me, showing me the yellow mixture. “The magician’s friend. There was even a French fellow who tried to run an engine with it. Makes quite a flash.”
“Where did you get it?”
“That five-and-dime, the one where Lulu wanted to go shopping? I found it. More of a hardware store than some. Even has a bunch of old men hanging in the back around the stove with bad coffee and lots of ideas of how to make and break things,” Fred said. It sounded like his description of heaven. “I’ve been talking to them about different ways to break the mirrors. He had a number of minor explosive mixtures to try.”
“Is it safe?” I said.
“Probably not,” Fred sighed, “but it’s better than some of Sydney’s ideas. He wanted me to electrify the candlesticks and actually shock Hal when the bang goes off. Thought it would get more of a reaction.”
“Not again,” I muttered. Sydney did something like that in a past picture. A mild shock to make the actor jump. Fred had been furious when he’d found out that Paul had rigged that up for Sydney. It was like the balloon without any ropes. It never occurred to Sydney that someone could get hurt. It was one of the many reasons I appreciated Fred watching out for us. And, with Paul gone, I couldn’t think of anyone else who could create a stupid trick like that for Sydney.
“Let’s just tell Sydney that the bang will be so loud, everyone will jump,” I said.
Sydney decided to film the scene at night, to make the flash at the window stand out more with the electric ceiling lights off. We broke out the stage lights that we’d brought from Hollywood to light the characters from the side. The room became a tangle of cords and wires that made Fred snap at everyone.
Then we discovered the real problem. Fred couldn’t light the powder and crank the camera. He was too far away. With Paul gone, we lacked anyone that Fred felt was experienced enough to handle such a volatile effect.
“I think we should call it off,” he told Sydney.
“No,” said Sydney. “I like the scene as Eleanor has written it. We keep it. Can’t Jeany or Max light the powder?”
Fred looked horrified at the thought. I hoped it was the idea of Max bumbling with a match and an explosive powder that bothered him. I knew I could do it, but I also had to be across the room to flip the switch on the lights and plunge the room into darkness after the flash. We’d already rehearsed it a couple of times. I knew the cues better than anyone.
As for the rest, Betsy was playing the maid, Pola and Hal were the guests, Jim also was serving, and Renee and Lulu were the hosts.
“Eleanor?” I suggested, because putting fastidious Max in charge of an explosion wasn’t workable. And he needed to wave the slate in front of the camera so we could keep track of the takes, anyway.
Eleanor flatly refused. “I hate explosions. Fire. Loud bangs. Reminds me too much of my war days.”
“But you wrote it into the scene,” I said.
“Of course, you always give the audience something that terrifies you,” she said. But she continued to refuse to help with the scene.
“If it is a loud flash and bang,” said Lulu, “she won’t even watch. She’ll be busy writing up a new way to kill my character while we are playing the scene.”
“Mister Claude,” said Fred. “He could do it.”
“Who’s Mister Claude?” I asked.
“A stage magician who talked me into buying the powder. He’s on the Orpheum circuit but visiting a friend in Arkham. He was picking up things for his act,” said Fred, who explained this magician was a fellow fan of small-town five-and-dime stores. “He should know how to handle it.” Fred patted his pockets and found a card. “He gave me his card and wrote his hotel phone on the back. Said he’d be interested in seeing how we made movies.”
Mister Claude proclaimed himself charmed with Fred’s invitation to set off an explosion on a film set. I liked him immensely when we met. If there was ever a man that looked like a stage magician, it was Julius Claude. Even in a simple dark suit, he gave off the aura of wearing a tuxedo with all the trimmings. I almost expected him to produce a dove from his pocket.
“I’ve often thought that we magicians could use more of the new technology in our shows,” he said, looking over Fred’s beloved camera with much interest. “There’s possibilities in this.”
“And we’re going to take more and more of your audience every year,” said Sydney, sweeping into the room. “Good to see you, Claude, it’s been some years.”
Apparently, Sydney knew more people in Arkham than we were aware of.
Mister Claude nodded. “A long time. You came to me about an act for your circus.”
“Not my circus,” said Sydney. “It belonged to Lucinda. Her grandfather had started it and it was a bit run down by the time that I arrived. I tried to build it up. But the time for circuses, vaudeville, and theater is past.”
“Indeed,” said Mister Claude. “Sally will be heartbroken when I tell her. She’s just booked us into six months of playing the Orpheum Circuit.”
“Still have that assistant?” said Sydney. “You are a lucky man.”
“And the Fitzmaurices remain very unlucky men. I heard about Lucinda’s disappearance and the circus fire.”
“Tragic accident,” said Sydney, moving away from us. “Although nobody knows what happened to Lucinda. They never found a body.”
It was a bewildering exchange. Sydney always acted like he’d been away from Arkham for years and didn’t know anyone in town any more. Although this sounded like the two men met in Sydney’s fabled circus. The circus that left Sydney broke at a nickelodeon in San Francisco, looking for a new art form.
“Mister Claude,” I said. “If you come this way, I’ll show you where we want to create the flash.”
“Please call me, Julius, Mister Claude is my stage name,” he said with a courteous shake of my hand. “After all, we are fellow entertainers. And your name is?”
“I’m Jeany, Jeany Lin. I work on the costumes and makeup. Actually, I design the costumes. And the props, and do other things when we need someone.”
“A talented young woman,” said Julius. “Much like Sally Alexander. My act would not work at all without my assistant.”
“Then you are lucky to have her,” I said.
“Yes, indeed, although I don’t think she always believes me when I tell her that. Is this where you want your flash?” We had gone out the kitchen door and circled back to the window outside the dining room.
We looked into the lit room. “Yes, right here,” I said. “They will come in, sit at the table, make some conversation, and then Renee will say that she is waiting for the stranger. That’s when you light it. When you hear her say ‘I am waiting for the stranger.’ Bang goes the flash and I turn out the lights.”
“I did not know the actors spoke in the movies. Nobody can hear them.”
“They say the lines. At least in scenes like this, where they are supposed to be making conversation. They used to talk all kinds of nonsense, but then lip readers in the audience would report to others what they said. If it was too foul or too silly, it would make the papers.”
Julius chuckled. “I can see the embarrassment.”
“So they speak the lines or close enough to the lines that will appear on the cards. Sydney insisted on that line: ‘I am waiting for the stranger’.” As I said it, I felt a cold touch o
n the back of my neck. A whisper of a breath sounded in my ear. Once again, I had the feeling of being watched that walking down the hall of mirrors always inspired in me.
The magician noticed my shiver. “You should be careful,” he said.
“What is it about this place?” I said.
“Arkham or this house?”
“Both?”
He made a gesture with his hand. A small white card appeared between his first finger and his thumb. He handed it to me. It was a simple pasteboard card with the name Professor Krosnowski on it.
“I know her,” I said. “She was at Velma’s. She spoke to me. Florie told me her name.”
Julius nodded. “I am not surprised. You should talk to both of them again. Those women understand this town. They can help you.”
I remembered the tramp, Ashcan Pete, had given the same advice about talking to Florie. I’d meant to go back to the diner, but Sydney had added extra scenes and I gotten caught up in the filming. I mentioned this to the magician.
Julius looked down at me. “Ashcan Pete knows this town and its people. If he thinks you should talk to Florie, you should do so. I also recommend seeking out Professor Krosnowski before the solstice.”
“Why?”
“There’s something here,” he said. “You seem like a sensible young woman. And one who has seen too many stage tricks for me to misdirect you.”
“I’ve only been to magic shows a couple of times. Fred likes them. He says there’s a lot of tricks that we could learn, that we could use in the movies.”
He chuckled again. “Indeed. I think we could learn from each other. But be careful. There’s something about this house, about this family, and, I must admit, about Arkham that is not a stage illusion. I am convinced that there is real magic here. Or at least forces that cannot be easily explained.”
His face was half in shadow and his voice, a deep baritone, sounded too serious for me to dismiss him out of hand. But could I believe a stage magician who claimed to know real magic when he saw it?
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