Movie Shoes (16 page)

Maurice Tuesday

Shooting had been going on for several days when Jane first met Maurice Tuesday. It was Miss Barnabas who introduced him.

“Maurice is British, too. You should get on wonderfully.”

Though she had made no friends in the school, Jane had managed to pick up what the boys and girls thought of Maurice, and it was not complimentary. Actually Miss Barnabas was trying to be kind and helpful in bringing Jane and Maurice together. She thought that since they were of the same nationality and both difficult, they might get on well together. Jane, hating the school, hating Miss Barnabas, bitterly disappointed about the way a person playing the important part of Mary was treated, too proud to tell her family she was miserable, jumped to the conclusion that what Miss Barnabas meant was “You are just as bad as Maurice, whom nobody likes,” which quite honestly Miss Barnabas might have meant, only she did not. So straightaway, without bothering to find out what Maurice was like, Jane pressed her lip together and thought, “We won’t get on wonderfully. I'm going to hate him. I know I am.”

Maurice was a startlingly good-looking boy. He had fair hair and huge blue-gray eyes, which he could, with no trouble at all, fill with tears. He had been brought to America by his mother as a refugee from London during the Second World War. Even before he acted in pictures, Mrs. Tuesday thought Maurice the most wonderful boy in the world. She thought he was so precious he ought not to mix with children. She hated his going to the studio school and only because the studio threatened to cancel his contract if she insisted on his having a private tutor. The truth was Bee Bee studio company knew that if Maurice had a tutor, he would never do any lessons, for his mother spoiled him he had only to say he didn’t want to do something and he didn’t have to do it.

After two hours of lessons a call came for Maurice Jane to go to the studio. Since they had still an hour lessons to do, a teacher took them over. She walked behind talking to Maurice’s mother, and Jane and Maurice were on ahead. They just eyed each other at first, like two who have a fight in mind. Then Maurice said, in the most irritating voice, “Wonderful chance for you, playing Mary.”

Jane quickly turned over rude answers in her mind. “Thank goodness I’m not you, having
to
act that sissy Colin.”

Maurice
truly
thought Jane incredibly ignorant. “That’s the book. Of course, he’s quite different in the film script. My public wouldn’t let me play an unattractive part.”

Jane felt like a kettle when it’s boiling and the lid’s about
to
blow out. Maurice was the very top of annoyingness, and the most annoying thing about him was that he was being grand in the way she herself had always wanted
to
be. When she was she was able to speak, her voice was rude, even for Jane.

“Your public! Who are they? We never heard of you before, but we have heard of David Doe.” Out of the comer of her eye Jane saw that Maurice didn’t like that, so she added, “My-Mr. Browne said about David, ‘That boy’s something out of this world’. He didn’t say anything like that about you.”

Maurice gave a sniggering laugh. “
Your
-Mr. Browne! That’s funny! I must tell everyone that.
Your
-Mr. Browne!”

Jane stopped her eyes shining with temper. “He is My-Mr. Browne. He told me to call him that. Do you know, I think you’re exactly like Colin in the beginning of
The Secret Garden
, and goodness knows I couldn’t say worse of anybody.”

They had reached studio twelve. Maurice marched in, but he whispered so the teacher and his mother would not hear, “And I know why they let you play Mary. You’re exactly like she was when the children in India christened her Mistress Mary Quite Contrary.”

That was the beginning of the bad patch for everybody working on
The Secret Garden.
Because Jane was acting Mary Her-Mr. Browne was letting her be the real Mary, the sour, crabbed, bad-tempered little girl whom nobody liked in the beginning of the story. That was all right for a day or two, but of course, quite soon there were sequences where Colin and Mary should have begun to make friends with each other. That was hopeless. Maurice, who really could act, was delightful in the scenes, but Jane, who could not, went on speaking to Colin as she went on feeling about Maurice. Her-Mr. Browne cajoled, beseeched, almost prayed. Mr. Phelps tried to help. Miss Steiman worked with Jane on her inflections for hours. Nobody could understand why she could not look pleasant, and smile, and say simple lines like, “The moor is the most beautiful place. Thousands of little creatures live on it. All busy making nests and holes and burrows, and chippering or singing or squeaking to each other.” Miss Steiman swore Jane could say the lines charmingly, with shining eyes as if she could see the moor and the little creatures that lived on it but she did not when Mr. Browne wanted her to.

What nobody knew except Jane was what Maurice did to her. While he was acting, he looked like an angel, but the moment the cameras stopped turning and the lights were out, he whispered things like “Now you’re for it … Look how depressed everybody is … I should think you’re the worst girl Mr.
Browne
-Your
-Mr. Brown-
ever had to direct.” Or, just as they were starting a scene “Even the camera crew have given up hope. They say you stink, which is the worst thing a camera crew can say.” Then, on the words “Silence everybody” there he would be looking angelic.

Poor Bee suffered terribly. Mrs. Norstrum was as kind as she could be, but even she couldn’t pretend that anybody was pleased with Jane. She knew the studio gossip was that Mr. Browne was losing heart, and it was possible even now that he would postpone production. Jane’s Mr. Browne was as nice to Bee as he could be, but that was not very nice because he was feeling desperate. The cast was kind, and the crew working on the picture was kind; but Bee could see it was just the kindness of people who were sorry for her. The worst thing was that Bee did not know what to say to Jane. She knew that days were being wasted because Jane could not get her scenes right, but she could not blame Jane. After all, Jane had never said she could act; it was Her-Mr. Browne who had given her the part. It was quite natural, really, that Jane should not be able to act; it would have been surprising if she could. Bee thought it would be a mistake to talk about Jane’s studio troubles at home; it couldn’t help poor Jane, and it would perhaps spoil everybody else’s good time.

Everybody else’s good time was one reason why Bee did not even tell John she was worried. He was so happy and was writing well. Rachel appeared to be enjoying her dancing lessons. Tim though he had not yet appeared on
Hiram’s
Hour,
was practicing for it and seemed in radiant spirits. Even Aunt Cora was cheerful. She was enjoying having her housework done for her and gave herself over to what she really enjoyed-parties. It was almost Thanksgiving, and she was planning a big party for that as well as for Christmas. Peaseblossom was living in a dream-come-true-world; She had always wanted to travel, and now that John had the car, she was seeing California. They were leaving long expeditions until after Christmas, but already they had been up the mountains, to old Spanish missions along the coast, and to orange and lemon estates. Peaseblossom was a person who was determined not to waste her traveling opportunities.

Wherever she went she took her camera, a notebook, and three reference books: one on the birds of California; one on the flowers, trees, and shrubs; and one on animals. And whenever the children were near, she tried to educate them.

Because John and Bee were always going to parties in the evenings with Aunt Cora, and because the California sun had given Bee’s cheeks color and California food was making her latter, John did not at first notice how worried she was. Then one Saturday he did notice and from that minute would not let any time pass before he knew everything.

“You can’t think how dreadful I feel,” Bee explained. “You said it would do Jane good to shine, but you ought to see what’s happening, poor scrap.”

“Does she say anything about the part to you?”

“Not a word. Only that she hates Maurice Tuesday.”

“What’s the boy really like? I’ve only heard Jane’s view.”

“I don’t know. I must say he seems a conceited little horror, but he certainly can act. I don’t think it’s his fault he’s the way he is. I simply can’t stand Mrs. Tuesday. I never speak to her more than I can help. She’s a really silly woman. The boy’s father’s dead, and the moment the war started she rushed across the Atlantic to stay with some unfortunate Americans, who must have been driven mad by her. She thinks Maurice is perfect and never stops talking about him, and I’m so ashamed because she’s English.”

John thought for a bit.

“Stop worrying. I’m sorry for the Bee Bee Film Company and Jane’s-Mr. Browne, but it was their idea and not ours that they should sign Jane on; if she’s no good, that’s their funeral. What we’ve got to worry about
is
Jane. I hoped this film was going to
give
her a chance to shine, but if it’s going to mean that after all the excitement she’s to be thrown off, she’s got to see the situation straight. She must understand that to us she’s our Jane and we don’t care a bit
if
she never acts the wretched Mary. Thank goodness tomorrow’s Sunday. I shall take her out and have a good talk with her.”

Jane was surprised and pleased but a little suspicious when John
said
he was
taking
her for a drive. Everybody liked going for Sunday drives, and
it
was a bit queer that
only she
was
going.
It was particularly queer that the others did make a fuss. Jane did not know that John had seen Rachel and then Tim and asked them not to argue. Tim was quite willing. Some time ago Mr.
Antonio
had said, “There will come that Sunday when you don’t go with your papa, then you’ll come to us and eat ravioli,” and Mrs. Antoniou had nodded and smiled. “You play the hymns while I cook the food.” Tim had no idea what ravioli was, but he was sure he would like it. And this was the Sunday for it.

Rachel was not so easy to handle. Aside from her three dancing
lessons
a week, which she enjoyed, she was leading a routine schoolroom life, while Jane went lioning off day to the studio. If on top of that Jane was to have treats on Sunday, it really was too much.

“But, Dad, why
only
Jane?”

John did not like tale-telling, but he thought he could trust Rachel. “I think she’s bitten off more than she can chew at the studio, and I want to find out all about it.”

“You mean, she mightn’t
play
Mary after all?”

“Your mother thinks that could happen. “

Rachel had an
awful
wrestle with her voice not to let it sound pleased. Inside, she could not help being pleased. Jane had been cocky and difficult, and in Rachel’s opinion, a snub like that was just what she needed.

“Goodness!”

John held her by the shoulders. “And if that happens, you’ve got to be nice. You and Tim were the lucky ones when talents were handed out. If Jane loses this part, she’s going to take hard.”

“I’ll be as nice as I can, but she’s not been a bit nice to me since she had that contract.”

John gave her a kiss. “I dare say you’ve put up with a lot, but we may find old Jane has been up against it ever since she went to the studio. Anyway, you say nothing about my taking her for this drive, and next week you and I will have a jaunt.”

“Just us?” “

“Just us. We’ll go out to lunch.”

Sunday was a lovely day, with the sunshine at its most golden. John and Jane drove to Santa Barbara. It was lovely, built like a town in Spain, with white houses in beautiful gardens and bougainvillea tumbling over white walls. They ate gorgeous Mexican food called tortillas. When they were pleasantly full and contented, John drove the car out of Santa Barbara and parked it by the ocean. Then he suggested that they lie on the sand and that Jane tell him all about
Th
e Secret Garden.

So at last Jane found herself able to pour out her misery.

On the whole, she was quite fair, and she did tell the whole story: what she had hoped and how things had turned out and how in spite of everything, she still wanted to be Mary and would mind most dreadfully if the part were taken away from her.

John lay on his back and smoked his pipe all the time she was talking. When she had quite finished, he sat up.

“Then you haven’t seen David Doe since the shooting began?”

“No. I don’t meet him while we’re doing interiors.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Sort of. Why?”

“Because we’re going off to call on him. I expect he’s acted lots of times with people he didn’t like, and he’s probably got a way of dealing with the situation. Anyway, let’s ask; I feel I shall like David.”

Jane got up, her face happy or the first time for weeks.

“Could we! Could we really go and see him? Oh, Dad, what a marvelous idea! I believe he knows how to tame anything. I believe he’d even know how to tame that awful Maurice.”

It was not difficult to find David’s home. The neighborhood children were playing around, and of course, they could point out where David
live
d. Mrs. Doe answered
the
door. She was more than thin, she was gaunt. Loo
kin
g at her, you could
tell
that life had not been easy for the Does. She looked as if she had tried so hard, and worked such long hours, that she was like a spring wound so tight that it could not unwind. Mrs. Doe was evidently used to visitors. She
took the
arrival of John and Jane as a mat
ter
of course and asked them out
to the
porch.