by Donis Casey
Graham and Schilling ignored her during their conversation, and a boring conversation it was, too. They didn’t talk about the flickers, only mundane things like the weather and the state of the roads and business ventures. Graham asked Schilling if he was pleased with the deal. Schilling said that he was very pleased indeed. Blanche was beginning to wonder what the point of her being at this meeting was, when Schilling laid his utensils across his plate and excused himself to go out back and use the facilities. As soon as he was out of the room, Graham grabbed her arm roughly enough that she winced. A look of irritation flitted over his face, quickly replaced with a pleasant smile.
“Honey, I want you to be nice to Mr. Schilling. Act like you’re interested in everything he says. Schilling is one of my best customers. He’s rich as Midas, too, and he could be a big help to you in getting your career started.”
“I’m sorry, Graham. He’s just so… And nobody has said anything about the moving pictures yet. I was beginning to wonder…”
“There’s no need for you to wonder about anything. You just let me handle it, baby. I know how these things are negotiated. Now, put on your prettiest smile.”
Schilling returned, rubbing his hands together in a way that reminded Blanche of a fly who had just landed on a pile of manure, and plopped down in his seat. “That was good grub. But now let’s get down to business. Peyton, your asking price is certainly reasonable. I’ll come to your hotel and we’ll settle up.” He turned to Blanche. “Now, little lady, tell me all about yourself.”
Blanche had not realized that Graham was an actor’s agent as well as a moving picture executive. But now that the conversation had turned to Blanche’s favorite topic, herself, she forgot to wonder what offer Graham had proposed on her behalf. She relaxed back into her chair and regaled the loathsome yet rich and important Mr. Schilling with all the considerable charm at her disposal.
Schilling walked back to the Vendome with them, Blanche between the two men, arm in arm with both of them. Graham sent her to their room while he and Schilling repaired to the bar for a nightcap. Blanche was annoyed at being dismissed like a child while the grown-ups talked, but she didn’t argue. This was probably how business was conducted in the moving picture industry.
She removed her face paint with globs of cold cream, brushed out her hair, and changed into the pale pink silk peignoir that accentuated the roses in her cheeks. She was sitting in an upholstered chair, tapping the arm impatiently and wondering if she should go to bed, when Graham returned with a bounce in his step.
He threw his hat on the bed. “Good news, honey. Schilling thinks you’ve got a lot of potential. Tell you what, tomorrow you get dressed up real nice and we’ll meet him for breakfast. Then after he’s agreed to put you in one of his productions, and you’ve signed the contract, we’ll head on over to the courthouse and get married.”
Blanche blinked at him as though he had grown a new head, but only for an instant. Her heart leaped. “But I thought you said…”
~ “Marry me, Blanche,
and satisfy my every desire.”~
He knelt down before her and took both her hands in his. “What the hell, honey, we might as well get it done. I figure it’ll be just as legal in Arizona as it would be in California. We can have a big reception and invite everybody after we get to Los Angeles.”
She threw her arms around his neck, happier than any human being had a right to be.
After the usual ten minutes of discomfort with Graham, she went to sleep that night in a state of bliss. All her dreams were coming true. In a few months, after she was married to a rich man and had starred in a couple of motion pictures, she’d pay to have her parents come out to California, first class all the way, and stay with her in her Hollywood mansion. They’d be proud of her, then.
~Blanche learns the hard way that
“all that glisters is not gold.”~
She woke up with the sun streaming in through the window. She was alone in the bed. She sat up and stretched, still muzzy and euphoric. Until she noticed that the closet door was standing open and all the clothes were gone. His suits. Her new dresses.
Her forehead wrinkled. She swung her legs out of the bed, stood up, and walked over to peer into the closet as though the clothing had just decided to become invisible and would reappear any second. Still confused, she opened the bureau drawers. No silk underwear, no jewelry, no lovely beaded purse. No money. The outfit she had worn to scarper out the window of her sister Ruth’s house was draped across the armchair, along with the little carpetbag she had brought with her.
Before she could decide that the situation called for panic, she found the note he had left for her on top of the dresser.
I’ve gone to make arrangements for the wedding. I’ve had the luggage taken to the auto. Go downstairs. Schilling will give you a ride to the courthouse.
Relief flooded through her. She dressed quickly, and since all her toiletries had disappeared, she did her best to arrange her long wavy hair by running her fingers through it and tucking it back behind her ears. She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror as she turned toward the door. No makeup, a long-sleeved white sailor-collared blouse and dark calf-length skirt, dark stockings, and clunky oxfords. She was a fifteen-year-old girl again.
Her lips thinned as she averted her eyes and walked out the door. She had seen her stunning future self and she was determined to put the farm girl in the mirror behind her forever and become that glamorous creature again.
Blanche trod down the hall and into the lobby. She walked around and checked all the lounge chairs but no Schilling was to be found. She went up to the counter, which was manned by a black-haired man in a bow tie who was not the same man they had met the night before.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m supposed to meet a Mr. Schilling here, but I don’t see him.”
A look she couldn’t identify crossed the clerk’s features. “Yes, darling, Mr. Schilling is waiting for you in the dining room. Go on in.”
Really, this was all too annoying. What was Graham thinking? He knew perfectly well that Blanche didn’t like Mr. Schilling and certainly would not want to be escorted to her own wedding by such a man. And speaking of her wedding, how inconsiderate of Graham to pack all her nice clothes and leave her to get married in something a child would wear to school. She paused at the dining room entrance. Perhaps he intended to surprise her with a beautiful new outfit. She felt her mood lighten. Yes, that was just the kind of thing that he would do.
She caught sight of Schilling—sitting at a table next to an iron stove in the corner of the small, wood-paneled room, shoveling eggs into his mouth—and her mood sank again.
The waitress gave her the once-over. “Can I help you, dear?”
“I’m meeting that man there,” she said, just as Schilling gave her an oily smile and waved her over.
She squared her shoulders and made her way to the table. He pushed out a chair for her with his foot and she sat down.
“Good morning, honey,” Schilling said. “I like the schoolgirl look. Fresh as a daisy.”
Blanche didn’t care to banter. “Graham said you’ll give me a ride to the courthouse.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. Graham has a big surprise waiting for you. But there’s plenty of time. Have some breakfast.”
A wave of relief washed over her. Her emotions had taken such violent swings this morning that she didn’t know how much longer her heart could take it. “Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t eat a thing.”
Schilling laughed, setting his jowls aquiver. “Why, it’s your wedding day. No wonder you’re excited. Now, come on and have some eggs.”
“Well, maybe just some tea.”
“Tea. That’s a good idea!” Schilling gestured to the waitress. “Bring the little lady a big cup of hot tea.”
“But can we hurry?”
; “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll get you sorted out in a jiff.”
The waitress brought the tea in a china cup, but before she could taste it, Schilling took a silver flask out of his breast pocket and poured a healthy slug of something amber into it. “This’ll calm you down, honey. Better than any nerve tonic.”
Whatever his ‘nerve tonic’ was, it tasted horrible. Sort of like last night’s lemonade but with a bitter, herby aftertaste. She pretended to sip on it, but poured most of it into a potted plant that was handily positioned within arm’s length. Blanche could hardly stay in her seat, fidgeting with her empty cup, her silverware, her hair, her collar, ready to scream before Schilling finally, finally mopped up the last of his gravy with a biscuit and called for the tab.
He led her out the front entrance to the hotel, where two matched roans were hitched to a fancy brougham parked on the street. Schilling put his hands on her waist and lifted her bodily onto the leather-padded bench before climbing in next to her. He flicked the reins and the high-stepping pair took off at a trot.
Blanche felt much better now that they were moving. “This here is a nice carriage.”
“I ought to get an auto, but I have a particular fondness for this brougham. Makes me feel like the king of England.” The thought struck Schilling funny and he guffawed. “King Otto. I like the sound of that.”
It took them only minutes to reach the square. Blanche straightened as they sailed past the courthouse and turned onto the main street leading out of town.
“Mr. Schilling, you passed the courthouse.”
Schilling didn’t look at her. He flipped the reins and the horses picked up their pace. A cool breeze ruffled her hair. “I know, honey. I told you Graham has a surprise for you.”
She should have been reassured, but something didn’t feel right. “What surprise? Where are we going?” She had to raise her voice over the clatter of hooves and wheels on the road.
“I want to introduce you to my business partner, Mrs. Fredrickson. She runs a nice establishment just west of town, and she’s agreed to give you a really good job.”
Oh, my Lord, I’m being kidnapped. The thought formed in her mind as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. “Where is Graham? We’re getting married today.” She meant to sound forceful but the words came out more like a high-pitched squeak.
Without taking his eyes off the road, Schilling patted her knee with one hand, all avuncular good humor. “Oh, you sweet little idiot. Peyton never had any intention of marrying the likes of you. He’s not tying himself to a half-breed whore.”
Blanche had always thought that it was stupid when some frail flower of an actress in the movies pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned. She didn’t think real people did something like that, not until this minute, anyway. Her vision dimmed and she swayed on the seat.
Schilling put out a hand and seized her arm to prevent her from falling to the floorboard. She leaned over and put her head down so she wouldn’t faint. “I will not cry,” she said to her lap. She had made her bed. Now she had to lie in it. She sat up with an effort and took a shaky breath. “Do you know where he went?”
“Off to find some other tasty merchandise, I expect. If I was you, I’d forget him. I paid a lot of money to take you off his hands. But don’t worry. Him and me fixed it so that you can work off your debt.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. “He sold me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that. But, yes, I paid Peyton a pretty penny for your services. I reckon you owe me big-time. So don’t give me any trouble.”
~Finding herself in an impossible situation,
Blanche takes a desperate leap to freedom.~
For a long moment she said nothing, frantically trying to figure out her next move. There was no way in hell that she was going to cooperate. She was quite sure that the job with the aforementioned Mrs. Fredrickson had nothing to do with teaching Sunday School. It hadn’t taken long to leave town. They were driving at a fast clip over open roads now. No one around to hear her scream for help. Schilling was driving too fast for her to jump out without injury, though that was a last resort. She cast a glance around the interior of the carriage, looking for a weapon, something to smack him with. No weapon within reach. She balled her fist. He was twice her size but a punch in the face would at least slow him down enough for her to attempt escape. An alternative presented itself when a wave of nausea overcame her.
She clutched her middle and leaned over. “I’m going to be sick.”
Schilling’s lip curled with disgust. “Not all over my new brougham, you aren’t.”
“Stop the carriage, stop the carriage.”
Schilling regaled her with an imaginative collection of words that she had never heard before, but he did pull over to the side of the road. The girl was deathly white. “Go on, get out! If you’re going to upchuck, do it over there away from the carriage.”
Blanche staggered toward the bushes and bent over with her hands on her knees. She heaved a couple of times, expecting that she might actually be sick. She steadied her breathing and willed her stomach to settle. She realized full well what kind of situation she was in, and this was no time to indulge her very real terror.
No one was going to save her. She was going to have to save herself. She made a few retching noises to keep Schilling away from her while she took the lay of the land as best she could without straightening. The road meandered through woodland, alive with early fall greenery. She was surrounded by huge cottonwood trees, just beginning to color at this high altitude, and she recognized oaks and willows, and tall pines. The forest floor was fairly open, with the occasional box elder or wild rose bush growing in the shade, but strewn with boulders, some large enough to hide behind if it became necessary.
She realized that she had stopped making sick noises when Schilling barked at her to get back in the carriage.
Blanche stood up and cast a look back over her shoulder. Schilling was still in the driver’s seat, but his buggy whip was in his hand as he prepared to dismount. His face was thunderous. When there is nothing else you can do, you take the only action you can.
She took off into the scrub. She could hear him scramble down from the brougham and bellow a few salty words at her, but fear gave her wings. She was a healthy, long-legged fifteen-year-old, and he was fat and fifty if he was a day. She outdistanced him easily, but she could still hear him screaming after her as he crashed through the woods in pursuit. She was surprised. He hadn’t seemed like a man who would take the trouble to retrieve something (or someone) he could easily pay to replace. He must have given Graham a bundle for her.
She doubted he was much of a tracker, but his resounding curses were getting louder. She cast about for a likely hiding place. The ground under the pines was bare and carpeted with needles. The trees did not grow that close together, so her field of vision was pretty wide. That gave her a certain amount of comfort. She would be able to see Schilling coming before he could see her. She climbed up on a boulder that was big enough for her to reach the bottom branch of an ancient ponderosa pine and hoisted herself up. She had managed to climb fairly high into the canopy when she caught sight of Schilling, huffing and red-faced, coming through the scrub in search of his troublesome investment. His buggy whip was in his hand and he was muttering to himself—words not fit for civilized ears.
She drew her knees up and pressed back against the rough red bark. He stopped walking right under her hiding place, and she held her breath.
“If I find you, you little bitch, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life,” he said in a normal voice, and her heart skipped. Did he know she was directly above him?
She was surprised to see that she had lost one of her shoes. Her stocking was ripped to shreds and her foot was bruised and full of stickers. She hadn’t felt a thing until this min
ute. Slowly, slowly, she untied her remaining shoe and slipped it off. If she had to brain him with an oxford, she’d be only too happy to do it. Below her, Schilling put one hand on the tree and leaned forward to catch his breath. He straightened and cocked his head, listening. Nothing but the shushing of the wind in the pines. He took a few steps this way, then turned around and took a few more steps that way. Blanche could only see the top of his felt fedora. She seriously regretted that she didn’t have a rock the size of a pumpkin to drop on him.
She started and had to catch herself when Schilling suddenly burst forth with a voluminous barrage of filth and stomped all around waving his arms like a two-year-old in the full throes of a tantrum.
Don’t let him look up, she prayed. Her prayer was answered as Schilling stalked off in the direction of the road, still turning the air blue with his epithets. His curses faded out, and she allowed herself to breathe again.
She had no idea how long she perched on her branch after Schilling disappeared, but it seemed like hours. She could no longer see the road, so she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t sitting in his carriage, waiting for her to reappear. Eventually, she began to hear birdsong again and a squirrel chittering. The raging intruder who had frightened them off was gone.
Blanche slipped her shoe back on and clambered down to the ground. She made herself as small as she could next to the tree trunk and looked around carefully. To her supreme relief, Schilling was nowhere to be seen. She took some time to hunt for her lost shoe, but had no luck. She was afraid to go back very far in the direction she had come, in case he was waiting for her to retrace her path.
The forest had changed in just the half mile or so she had run from the road. She was at a higher elevation now. She walked for a while through a steep-walled ravine that had been cut through the mountain by a burbling stream lined with reeds. People had been here. A narrow footpath followed the creek up the mountain, eventually leading her to a clearing, a high grassy meadow dotted with yellow wildflowers. She hesitated before walking out into the open, fearful of being seen. Her unshod foot hurt, and she had been limping for a while. But since she had no option but to try and find help, she continued on the path across the meadow and back into the woods, now dominated by tall, straight pines and scrubby oak.