show?”
“No, in movie theaters, the first time.” He didn’t want to get into ages, how old he had been, and said, “Then I saw some of them again later. I’m pretty sure about Deadfall and Nightshade because I saw ’em both in Independence, Missouri, just last year.”
“What were you doing in Independence, Missouri?” With that quiet, easy delivery.
“It’s a long story—I’ll tell you sometime if you want. What I could never figure out was why you never ended up with the guy in the movie, the star.”
She said, “I was the spider woman, why do you think? My role was to come between the lead and the professional virgin. But in the end he goes back to little June Allyson and I say, ‘Swell.’ If I’m not dead.”
“In Deadfall ,” LaBrava said, “I remember I kept thinking if I was Robert Mitchum I still would’ve gone for you instead of the guy’s wife, the widow.”
“But I was in on the murder. I lured what’s his name out on the bridge. Was it Tom Drake?”
“It might’ve been. The thing is, your part was always a downer. At least once in a while you should’ve ended up with the star.”
“You can’t have it both ways. I played Woman as Destroyer, and that gave me the lines. And I’d rather have the lines any day than end up with the star.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“Someone said that the character I played never felt for a moment that love could overcome greed. The only time, I think, I was ever in a kitchen was in Nightshade , to make the cookies. You remember the kitchen, the mess? That was the tip-off I’m putting belladonna in the cookie batter. Good wives and virgins keep their kitchens neat.”
“It was a nice touch,” LaBrava said. “I remember he takes the cookies and a glass of milk out to the greenhouse and practically wipes out all of his plants in the death scene, grabbing something to hold onto. Gig Young was good in that. Another one, Obituary , I remember the opening scene was in a cemetery.”
She looked up as he said it and stared at him for a moment. “When did you see Obituary? ”
“Long time ago. I remember the opening and I remember, I think Henry Silva was in it, he was your boyfriend.”
She was still watching him. She seemed mildly amazed.
“You were married to a distinguished looking gray-haired guy. I can sorta picture him, but I don’t remember his name.”
“Go on.”
“And I remember—I don’t know if it was that picture or another one—you shot the bad guy. He looks at the blood on his hand, looks down at his shirt. He still can’t believe it. But I don’t remember what it was about. I can’t think who the detective was either, I mean in Obituary . It wasn’t Robert Mitchum, was it?”
She shook her head, thoughtful. “I’m not sure myself who was in it.”
“He seems like a nice guy. Robert Mitchum.”
She said, “I haven’t seen him in years. I think the last time was at Harry Cohn’s funeral.” She paused and said, “Now there was a rotten son of a bitch, Harry Cohn, but I loved him. He ran Columbia. God, did he run it.” She looked up at LaBrava. “I haven’t been interviewed in years, either.”
“Is that what this is like?”
“It reminds me. Sitting in a hotel room in a bathrobe, doing the tour. Harry would advise you how to act. ‘Be polite, don’t say shit , keep your fucking knees together and don’t accept any drink offers from reporters—all they want is to get in your pants.’ Where in the hell is Maurice?”
LaBrava glanced toward the door. “He said he’d be right back.”
There was a silence. He had been in the presence of political celebrities and world figures. He had stood alone, from a few seconds to a few minutes, with Jimmy Carter, Nancy Reagan, George Bush’s wife Barbara, Rosalynn Carter and Amy, not Sadat but Menachem Begin at Camp David, Teddy Kennedy a number of times, nameless Congressmen, Tip O’Neill was one, Fidel Castro in New York, Bob Hope . . . but
“No, in movie theaters, the first time.” He didn’t want to get into ages, how old he had been, and said, “Then I saw some of them again later. I’m pretty sure about Deadfall and Nightshade because I saw ’em both in Independence, Missouri, just last year.”
“What were you doing in Independence, Missouri?” With that quiet, easy delivery.
“It’s a long story—I’ll tell you sometime if you want. What I could never figure out was why you never ended up with the guy in the movie, the star.”
She said, “I was the spider woman, why do you think? My role was to come between the lead and the professional virgin. But in the end he goes back to little June Allyson and I say, ‘Swell.’ If I’m not dead.”
“In Deadfall ,” LaBrava said, “I remember I kept thinking if I was Robert Mitchum I still would’ve gone for you instead of the guy’s wife, the widow.”
“But I was in on the murder. I lured what’s his name out on the bridge. Was it Tom Drake?”
“It might’ve been. The thing is, your part was always a downer. At least once in a while you should’ve ended up with the star.”
“You can’t have it both ways. I played Woman as Destroyer, and that gave me the lines. And I’d rather have the lines any day than end up with the star.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“Someone said that the character I played never felt for a moment that love could overcome greed. The only time, I think, I was ever in a kitchen was in Nightshade , to make the cookies. You remember the kitchen, the mess? That was the tip-off I’m putting belladonna in the cookie batter. Good wives and virgins keep their kitchens neat.”
“It was a nice touch,” LaBrava said. “I remember he takes the cookies and a glass of milk out to the greenhouse and practically wipes out all of his plants in the death scene, grabbing something to hold onto. Gig Young was good in that. Another one, Obituary , I remember the opening scene was in a cemetery.”
She looked up as he said it and stared at him for a moment. “When did you see Obituary? ”
“Long time ago. I remember the opening and I remember, I think Henry Silva was in it, he was your boyfriend.”
She was still watching him. She seemed mildly amazed.
“You were married to a distinguished looking gray-haired guy. I can sorta picture him, but I don’t remember his name.”
“Go on.”
“And I remember—I don’t know if it was that picture or another one—you shot the bad guy. He looks at the blood on his hand, looks down at his shirt. He still can’t believe it. But I don’t remember what it was about. I can’t think who the detective was either, I mean in Obituary . It wasn’t Robert Mitchum, was it?”
She shook her head, thoughtful. “I’m not sure myself who was in it.”
“He seems like a nice guy. Robert Mitchum.”
She said, “I haven’t seen him in years. I think the last time was at Harry Cohn’s funeral.” She paused and said, “Now there was a rotten son of a bitch, Harry Cohn, but I loved him. He ran Columbia. God, did he run it.” She looked up at LaBrava. “I haven’t been interviewed in years, either.”
“Is that what this is like?”
“It reminds me. Sitting in a hotel room in a bathrobe, doing the tour. Harry would advise you how to act. ‘Be polite, don’t say shit , keep your fucking knees together and don’t accept any drink offers from reporters—all they want is to get in your pants.’ Where in the hell is Maurice?”
LaBrava glanced toward the door. “He said he’d be right back.”
There was a silence. He had been in the presence of political celebrities and world figures. He had stood alone, from a few seconds to a few minutes, with Jimmy Carter, Nancy Reagan, George Bush’s wife Barbara, Rosalynn Carter and Amy, not Sadat but Menachem Begin at Camp David, Teddy Kennedy a number of times, nameless Congressmen, Tip O’Neill was one, Fidel Castro in New York, Bob Hope . . . but
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