The woman stood up, swaying. “One thing I got to hand you,” she said. “You did a wonderful promotion job. Even in Chile they knew all about it. And when I hit town today, first thing I did was hike over to the magazine racks. There I am, all over the place. A wonnerful job.”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Now you gotta do even a more wonnerful job. Because I’m back. That’s the real topper, isn’t it? Wait until this one hits the good old public!”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy.
“Of course, this time I’ll be around to help you. I got a line all cooked up. The Captain, he won’t do any talking — he’s shoving off again for Mexico tomorrow morning. We can handle it any way we like. Hah, I can just see the look on the face of old Louie Fryer’s wife when she finds out he had a blonde on board! But it’s a wonnerful story. It’ll be a big needle for the picture.”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy.
She turned away and faced Steve again. “How about that drinkie, lover-boy?”
“I’ll give you a drink,” Jimmy Powers said. “Over at my place. Come along now.”
“Betcha.”
He placed his arm around the woman and guided her toward the door. Then he paused and looked at Steve. “Stick around, will you?” he said. “I want to talk to you later.”
Steve nodded.
He saw them disappear into Jimmy’s cabin. It was the only other cottage with lights on all along the beach — November is off-season.
He could even have listened and caught some of their conversation. But Steve couldn’t concentrate. He was too busy calling himself names.
Was this the woman he’d been too noble to help turn into a legend? Was her reputation worth protecting at the sacrifice of his own future? Jimmy had been right — the trouble with him was he had no guts. His chance had come and he’d muffed it. For what?
Steve was too wrapped up in name calling to notice what time it was Jimmy and the woman left. When he finally glanced across the way he saw that the lights of the cottage had gone out.
Jimmy Powers had said he was coming back. Where was he? Steve started for the door. He was quite sure Jimmy hadn’t driven away, because he would have heard the sound of the car.
Just then Jimmy came stumbling up the walk. He seemed to have taken on quite a bit more to drink.
Steve said, “What’s the matter? Where’s Betsey Blake?”
“Who?” Jimmy staggered in the doorway, then steadied himself against the side of the screen. “You mean the old bat who barged in here? I hope you didn’t go for that line of malarkey she tried to hand out.”
“But it figures, Jimmy. You can check up on it—”
“I don’t have to. When I got her over to my place I started asking a few questions and she broke down. She was just running a bluff — made the whole thing up. She’s no more Betsey Blake than you are.”
“What!”
Jimmy Powers wiped his forehead. “I think she was figuring on a shakedown. You know — come out with the story just before the picture’s set to break, and threaten to queer the works unless the studio pays off.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, now.”
“You scared her off?”
“No.” Jimmy gulped. “Don’t get me wrong, pal. Nobody scared her. She just left of her own free will, and under her own steam. You got to get that straight, see? Because I... I think there’s been sort of an accident.”
“Accident?”
Steve stiffened, and Jimmy went limp.
“I’m not sure yet. That’s why I came over. I wanted you to come with me and look—”
“Look at what? Where is she?”
“Well, you must have noticed, she was crocked, wasn’t she? I happened to be at the back window after she left, and I saw her stumbling along the edge of the cliff, like. I was all set to holler at her — listen to what I’m telling you, Stevie-boy, you got to get this — I was all set to holler at her when she sort of fell. Bingo, like that, she’s gone.”
“You mean she... But that’s a sixty-foot drop!”
Jimmy gulped again. “I know. I haven’t looked. I’m afraid to, alone.”
“We’d better call the cops,” Steve said.
“Yeah, sure. But I wanted to talk to you first. Alone, see? I mean, we call them, right away they’ll ask a lot of questions. Who was she, where did she come from, what did she want around here? You know cops.”
“Tell them the truth.”
“And queer the picture?”
“But you say she wasn’t Betsey Blake.”
“She wasn’t, but the minute they find out she claimed to be, the whole campaign is in the soup. Don’t you understand, Steve? People will start wondering — was she or wasn’t she? I worked my tail off building up a legend, and now it can all tumble down just because some dizzy old bag takes a header off a cliff.”
Steve tried to get Jimmy Powers to meet his stare, but the bloodshot eyes kept rolling. “What I mean to say,” he was muttering, “is why not just forget the whole thing?”
“But we’ve got to notify the authorities. Who knows? She may still be alive down there.” Steve started for the phone.
“I know, I know. You got to tell them. But she isn’t alive, she couldn’t be. And all I want is that you don’t say anything about her coming here tonight. Or that she said anything. Make believe it never happened. I just looked out the window before I went to bed and I noticed this beach bum stagger over the edge. That’s the way it was. No harm done, is there, Steve? I mean, look at all that’s at stake.”
“I’m looking,” Steve said. “And I’ll think about it.” He went to the phone and dialed. “Hello, get me police headquarters. I want to report an accident...”
He didn’t waste words. No details — a woman had apparently fallen over the cliff, such-and-such an address; yes, he’d be waiting for them.
When Steve hung up, the publicity man expelled his breath in a deep sigh.
“That’s the way to do it,” he said. “You handled it just right. I won’t forget you, Stevie-boy.”
“I’m still thinking,” Steve said. “When they get here I’ll make up my mind what to say.”
“Now, listen—”
“You listen to me. What makes you so sure that woman wasn’t who she claimed to be? No, don’t give me that blackmail argument again. Nobody gets drunk when they’re out to pull a shakedown.” He walked over to Jimmy Powers. “Let me ask you another question. Suppose she really was Betsey Blake. Then what? Why couldn’t you have made the announcement tomorrow, the way she said? Think of the sensation it would have made, what it would have done for the picture.”
Jimmy drew back against the door. “To hell with the picture,” he said. “It’s me I’m thinking about. Don’t you understand that, meat-head? This is my promotion, mine all the way. I cooked it up. I nursed it. It’s my baby, and everybody in this town knows it. The picture’s gonna be a smash, and who gets the credit? Me, that’s who.
“Figure it your way and see what happens. So she breaks the story, and there’s a sensation all right. Maybe even a bigger sensation, a real sockeroo. But it’s not going to do the picture any more good — we’ve got it made already, just the way it is. And so Betsey Blake turns up alive, then what? She’s still an old bag — she can’t play leads any more, not even if they photograph her through a scrim to take the wrinkles out. Alive, she’s just a middle-aged tramp who hits the sauce. Dead, she’s a legend. She’s right up there with Valentino and Harlow and James Dean. Her old pictures are worth a fortune in re-run rights. I tell you, it adds up!
“Besides, if she breaks the story, what happens to me? I’m the fair-haired boy right now. But if she tops me, then she gets the credit. You heard her say it yourself, how ‘we’ were gonna figure out an angle together. I know that ‘together’ line from way back! She’d take all the bows, steal all the scenes. Believe me, Steve, I know! She was always like that, couldn’t stand to have anyone else share the spot with her. It was Betsey Blake, first, last, and always. The things she pulled with me personally! I would have rotted in the publicity department the rest of my life if this break hadn’t come along. You don’t get this kind of a chance often out here, Steve. I took it, and I worked on it, and nobody’s gonna grab it away from me at the last minute. I wouldn’t let her—”