Том Годвин: Ed McBaines 87th Precinct Mystery Magazine. Volume 1, No. 4. April, 1975

Joan lifted her glass and stared at it uncertainly, as though she might be seeing two of them. “I don’t know about another drink — if I’m going to play my part well—”

“You’re quite right, dear,” Sophia said. “Enough for you. But Don needs to be a little more relaxed.”

She filled my tall glass again, handed us our script sheets, and went back to stand beside Dave. I looked at the first page. There was a small amount of simple dialogue — easy enough to remember.

“All right,” Dave said. “You two have fallen in love. Move closer together — that’s it. Now — action!”

Joan was instantly another person, despite the drinks she had had.

“Darling,” she said pleadingly, her eyes seeming to be almost ready to fill with tears, “tell me you won’t leave me — tell me your love is greater than that!”

“It has to be this way,” I said, in the hopeless — I hoped — tone the script called for. “You are a rich girl and I have nothing, nothing but a little pride—”

“Pride!” Her eyes flashed with temper. “Is it pride — or another woman?”

“No, Joan — there can never be anyone but you.”

“Then why” — her voice broke forlornly — “must you leave me alone in a lonely house and” — her tone changed to one of seductiveness and so did her expression — “a lonely bed?”

This was supposed to be the cue for us to go into a passionate clinch, which we did.

I guess she really wanted to be the star of Big City Girl because she turned loose with some long, ten-thousand-volk kisses that put me into an orbit that must have gone out past Mars somewhere. Never had I been kissed like that. I didn’t want to ever come up for air but Dave kept yelling:

“Cut! Cut! All right, you two — that does that scene! I said, that’s it — stop! It’s all over — damn it — stop!”

I turned loose of her, reluctantly, started breathing again, and said, “I flubbed that one — we’ll have to do a retake.”

“Perfect!” Dave said. “Marvelous!” Sophia said. “Fantastic!” Jack said.

“Nuts!” I said. “I demand a retake—”

Dave cut me off with:

“Now, enter the Other Woman — Sophia will dub in for that. You sit in the chair at that little table over there, Don. Take your glass and the whiskey bottle with you. In fact, have another drink. Then face the camera and make like a guy that’s got a serious problem on his mind.”

I did as directed, thinking of Joan’s kisses as I took another drink. By now the whiskey had filled me with a warm glow and a feeling of supreme confidence; such confidence that I knew I could act well enough to get the role as FBI man...

I checked the script, finding it to again be quite simple and no problem.

Until I came to: JOAN WHIPS OUT REVOLVER—

“Hey!” I said. “Wait a minute! I—”

I jumped up as I protested, just in time to see Sophia hand Joan a .38 and hear her say, “Keep it hidden behind you until the right time, then empty it into him.”

Joan took it gingerly and said doubtfully, “I don’t know about this—”

“I do!” I yelped, knocking over my glass. “If you think I’m going to get shot—”

“Quiet, Don,” Sophia said. “These are just blanks — I’ll show you.”

She was telling the truth. It was loaded with blanks and as harmless as a water pistol.

“Okay,” I said, sitting down again and refilling my glass. “Let’s go.”

Joan took the gun and disappeared down the hallway behind me — which led to the bedroom, according to the script. I did my best to look worried, which wasn’t hard. On top of everything else, the locked gate would never keep Smith and Jones from climbing over the fence...

Sophia came walking up to my table, her back to the camera, while I stared moodily into my drink. When she was almost to the table, she said:

“So this is where I find you!”

I jerked my head up in what was supposed to be alarmed surprise and said, “Julia! I didn’t hear you come in—”

“Obviously not!” she said cuttingly. “I traced you here today. If you play around with that woman one more time, we’re through!”

“Julia — it’s not like you think...”

“It’s exactly like I think! Where is she now?”

“In bed when I left her — uh — I mean—”

I thought, My God — no idiot would ever be dumb enough to say anything like that — of all the corny scripts!

“I see.” The tone had an edge like a razor. “I’m going now. Don’t ever come back to me — we’re through!”

She swung out of the range of the camera while I stared after her, pleading, “Please, Julia! She means nothing to me, absolutely nothing...”

There was the sound of a door slamming to indicate Julia’s exit. Then there was a movement behind me and I turned to face Joan, who had just come out of the hallway, wearing a bathrobe to hide her clothes. She had taken off her shoes and stocking to make it all look very real.

“So there was another woman!” Joan’s face was twisted with jealous rage. “And I mean nothing to you, you said!”

“You don’t understand, Joan — I didn’t mean it that way—”

“Yes, you did!” Joan said, and brought the .38 from behind her back, to point it square at my hamburger basket. “Now, we’ll see—”

“Joan — please don’t kill me—” I pleaded, suddenly deciding that my role of constant pleading didn’t sound very bold and masculine. The corny script was getting worse all the time... “Please, Joan—”

“Now we’ll see how she likes loving your dead body!”

Before I could plead again she turned loose and ripped off those six blanks. I threw up my hands and fell limply to the floor, shuddered and gurgled a couple of times for effect, then became a dead body.

“Cut,” Dave said.

I got up and saw that he didn’t look very pleased. “Joan, you did well but not well enough. Remember, you’re so jealous that you’re insane with murderous rage. And, Don — you’re about to die — try to look scared.”

He looked at Sophia and said, “Put some more blanks in that thing and let’s try again — I hope Joan makes it this time — we forgot to bring that other roll of film.”

Sophia took the gun to the brief case, reloaded it, and handed it back to Joan. Joan went back down the hallway while I stared moodily at my drink. I heard Joan come back up behind me as the camera started and I stood up to face her, determined to help her by looking scared as hell.

“So there was another woman!” Joan was really doing a job of acting. “And I mean nothing to you, you said!”

“You don’t understand, Joan — I didn’t mean it that way—”

“Yes, you did!” Joan whipped the .38 around again, this time pointed square at my breast bone. “Now, we’ll see—”

“Joan — please don’t kill—”

I suddenly lost my voice and I suddenly was no longer just pretending to be scared.

Just within the open end of each of the four visible cylinder chambers was the deadly gray of real bullets.

I didn’t have to look at the faces of Dave and Sophia and Jack, and see them intent and shining with anticipation, to realize several things in a split second. Sophia had put blanks in the .38 the first time to lull me into believing that these would be blanks, too. And Joan — there was no way she could know the difference...

I was aware of Dave making urgent motions to Joan for her to continue her part, even though I hadn’t — and didn’t intend to — finish my own lines.

“Now we’ll see how she—”

I thought of a line from Shakespeare and I thought, I have about about two seconds to figure out how to be — or not to be — alive.