Эд Макбейн: Running From Legs and Other Stories

Is it true he threatened to walk off the picture after the girl drowned?

He has said so in countless publications across the length and breadth of the world. I’m surprised he hasn’t erected a billboard on the moon, but I imagine he’s petitioning NASA for the privilege this very moment.

But did he threaten to walk off?

He did. I could not allow it, of course. Neither would his contract allow it. An actor will sometimes be deluded into believing he is something more than a beast of the field. Even with today’s largely independent production structure, the studio serves as a powerful steam roller flattening out life’s annoying little bumps for any second-rate bit player who’s ever seen his own huge face grinning down idiotically from a screen. The real head sometimes gets as big as the fantasy head up there. Walk off the picture? I’d have sued his socks from under him.

Why did he threaten to walk off?

We’d had difficulty from the start. I think he was searching for an excuse, and seized upon the girl’s drowning as a ripe opportunity.

What sort of difficulty?

I do not believe I need comment on the reputation of the gentleman involved. It has been adequately publicized, even in the most austere family publications.

Is it true, then, that a romance was developing between him and the girl?

I have never yet worked on a film in which a romance did not develop between the girl and her leading man. That is a simple fact of motion picture production.

Was it a simple fact of this motion picture?

Unfortunately, yes.

Why do you say ‘unfortunately?’

The girl had a brilliant career ahead of her. I hated to see her in a position that... I hated to see her in such a vulnerable position.

Vulnerable?

The Italian press would have enjoyed nothing better than to link her romantically with someone of his reputation. I warned her against this repeatedly. We’d spent quite a lot of money grooming this girl, you know. Stardom may happen overnight, but it takes many days of preparation for that overnight event.

Did she heed your warnings?

She was very young.

Does that mean to say... ?

Nineteen, very young.

There were, of course, news stories of a developing romance between them. Despite your efforts.

Yes, despite them. Well.

Yes?

The young are susceptible. And yet, I warned her. Until the very end, I warned her. The night before she drowned, there was a large party at the hotel, given in my honour. We had seen the rushes on the shooting we’d done the day before, and we were all quite pleased, and I, of course, was more than ever certain that the girl was going to be a tremendous smash. That I had found someone, developed someone, who would most certainly become one of the screen’s enduring personalities. No question about it. She had... she had a luminous quality that... it’s impossible to explain this to a layman. There are people, however, who arc bland, colorless, insipid, until you photograph them. And suddenly, the screen is illuminated with a life force that is positively blinding. She had that quality. And so I told her again, that night of the party, I took her aside, and we were drinking quietly, and I reminded her of what she had been, an unknown model for a juvenile fashion magazine, and of what she would most certainly become once this film was released, and I begged her not to throw this away on a silly flirtation with her leading man, a man of his reputation. The press was there, you know, this was quite an occasion — I had met the host on the Riviera, oh years, ago, when I was doing another film, and this was something of a reunion. Well. Well, I suppose none of it matters quite, does it? She’s dead. She drowned the next day.

What happened? At the party?

They managed to get some photographs of her. There is a long covered walk at the hotel, leading to the tower apartments that overlook the dock. The paparazzi got some pictures of the two of them in a somewhat, shall we say, compromising attitude. I tried to get the cameras, I struggled with one of the photographers...

Were these the photographs that were later published? After the accident?

Yes, yes. I knew even then, of course. When I failed to get those cameras, I knew her career was ruined. I knew that everything I’d done, all the careful work, the preparation — and all for her, you know, all to make the girl a star, a person in her own right — all of it was wasted. I took her to her room. I scolded her severely, and reminded her that makeup call was for six a.m.

What happened the next morning?

She came out to the barge at eight o’clock, made up and in costume. She was wearing a bikini, with a robe over it. It was quite a chilly day.

Was she behaving strangely?

Strangely? I don’t know what you mean. She seemed thoroughly chastised, as well she might have. She sat alone and talked to no one. But aside from that, she seemed perfectly all right.

No animosity between you?

No, no. A bit of alienation perhaps. I had, after all, been furious with her the night before and had soundly reprimanded her. But I am a professional, you know, and I did have a scene to shoot. As I recall, I was quite courteous and friendly. When I saw she was chilled, in fact, I offered her my thermos.

Your thermos?

Yes. Tea. A thermos of tea. I like my tea strong, almost to the point of bitterness. On location, I can never get anyone to brew it to my taste, and so I do it myself, carry the thermos with me. That’s what I offered to her. The thermos of tea I had brewed in my room before going out to the barge.

And did she accept it?

Gratefully. She was shivering. There was quite a sharp wind, the beginning of the mistral, I would imagine. She sat drinking the tea while I explained the scene to her. We were alone in the stern, everyone else was up forward, bustling about, getting ready for the shot.

Did she mention anything about the night before?

Not a word. Nor did I expect her to. She only complained that the tea was too bitter. I saw to it that she drank every drop.

Why?

Why? I’ve already told you. It was uncommonly cold that day. I didn’t want to risk her coming down with anything.

Sir... was there any other reason for offering her the tea? For making certain that she drank every drop?

What do you mean?

I’m only reiterating now what some of the people on the barge have already said.

Yes, and what’s that?

That the girl was drunk when she reported for work, that you tried to sober her up, and that she was still drunk when she went into the water.

Nonsense. No one drinks on my sets. Even if I’d worked with W. C. Fields, I would not have permitted him to drink. And I respected him highly. For an actor, he was a sensitive and decent man.

Yet rumours persist that the girl was drunk when she climbed from the camera barge into the speedboat.

She was cold sober. I would just love to know how such rumours start. The girl finished her tea and was sitting alone with me for more than three hours. We were having some colour difficulty with the speedboat, I didn’t like the way the green bow was registering, and I asked that it be repainted. As a result, preparation for the shot took longer than we’d expected. I was afraid it might cloud up and we’d have to move indoors to the cover set. The point is, however, that in all that time not a single soul came anywhere near us. So how in God’s name would anyone know whether the girl was drunk or not? Which she wasn’t, I can definitely assure you.