“—old enough to lead my own life, Ty!”
“Of all the women in the world—”
“The only one for me.” Jack took Blythe in his arms. “Two against the world, eh, darling?”
“Jack, I’m so happy.”
“Oh, my God.”
“—after all the things you said about him, mother, I should think you’d be ashamed—”
“Bonnie, Bonnie. We’ve made up our minds. We’ve been fools—”
“Been?” Bonnie appealed to the beamed ceiling. “Fools, fools!”
“Who’s a fool?”
“Oh, so the shoe fits!”
“You keep out of this!”
“She’s my mother, and I love her, and I won’t see her throw her life away on the father of a useless, pretty-faced, contemptible Turk!”
“You should talk, with your weakness for Argentine polo-players!”
“Ty Royle, I’ll slap that hateful face of yours again!”
“Try it and I swear I’ll tan your beautiful hide — yes, and where you sit, too!”
“Ty—”
“Bonnie, sweet child—”
“Oh, hello, Queen,” said Jack Royle. “Have a ringside seat. Ty, you’ve got to cut this out. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. Blythe and I were made for each other—”
“Page ninety-five of the script,” growled Ty. “We’re shooting the clinch tomorrow. For the love of Pete, dad!”
“Who is that man?” murmured Blythe, glancing at Ellery. “Now, Bonnie, I think you’ve said enough. And you need some lipstick.”
“Hang the lipstick! Oh, mother, mother, how can you?”
“Jack darling, a Martini. Extra dry. I’m parched.”
“Mr. Queen,” wailed Bonnie, “isn’t this disgraceful? They’re actually making up! Mother, I simply will not allow it. Do you hear? If you insist on going through with this impossible marriage—”
“Whose marriage is this, anyway?” giggled Blythe.
“I’ll... I’ll disown you, that’s what I’ll do. I won’t have this leering, pop-eyed, celluloid stuffed shirt for a step-brother!”
“Disown me? Bonnie, you silly child.”
“That’s the only sane thing I’ve ever heard this blondined, arrow-chinned, lopsided female Gorgonzola say!” shouted Ty to his father. “Me, too. If you go through with this we’re quits, dad... Oh, Queen; sorry. You are Queen, aren’t you? Help yourself to a drink. Come on, dad, wake up. It’s only a bad dream.”
“Ty, chuck it,” said Jack Royle crisply. “Cigars in the humidor, Queen. It’s settled, Ty, and if you don’t like it I’m afraid you’ll have to lump it.”
“Then I lump it!”
“Mother,” said Bonnie hollowly, “are you going to leave this hateful house with me this minute, or aren’t you?”
“No, dear,” said Blythe sweetly. “Now run along, like a sweet baby, and keep that appointment with Zara. Your hair’s a fright.”
“Is it?” asked Bonnie, startled. Then she said in a tragic voice: “Mother, this is the end. Goodbye, and I hope he doesn’t beat you, although I know he will. Remember, you’ll always be able to come back to me, because I really love you. Oh, mother!” And, bursting into tears, Bonnie made blindly for the door.
“Now, it’s Sidecars,” said Ty bitterly, “but after a year with her it’ll be absinthe and opium. Dad, goodbye.”
Thus it came about that the prince and princess of the royal families endeavored to make their dramatic exits simultaneously, and in so endeavoring bumped their royal young heads royally at the door.
“Lout!” said Bonnie through the tears.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”
“Such a gentleman. Where did you get your manners — from Jem Royle, the celebrated horse-thief of Sussex?”
“Well, this is my house, and you’ll oblige me by getting out of it as quickly as those Number Eights of yours can carry you,” said Ty coldly.
“Your house! I thought you’d just renounced it forever. As a matter of fact, Tyler Royle, you’re probably behind this absurd idea of mother’s. You’ve manipulated it some way, you — you Machiavelli!”
“I? I’d rather see my dad playing off-stage voice at Minsky’s than tied up to your family! If you ask me, the whole thing is your doing.”
“Mine? Ha, ha! And why should I engineer it, please?”
“Because you and Blythe are on the skids. While in our last picture—”
“Yes, I read those rave exhibitor reports in the Motion Picture Herald. And weren’t those Variety box-office figures encouraging!”
“Ah, I see you’re one of the Royle public.”
“What public?”
“Mugger!”
“Camera hog!”
At this breathless moment, as Ty and Bonnie glared sadistically at each other in the doorway, and Jack and Blythe wrapped their famous arms defiantly about each other near the fireplace, and Mr. Queen sighed over a hooker of aged brandy, Louderback coughed and marched stately in bearing a salver.
“Beg pawdon,” said Louderback, regarding the Fragonard on the opposite wall. “A French person has just delivered this letter for Miss Blythe Stuart. The person says it has just arrived at Miss Stuart’s domicile in the last post, and that it is marked ‘important.’”
“Clotilde!” cried Bonnie, reaching for the envelope on the salver. “Delivering your mail here? Mother, haven’t you any shame?”
“Bonnie, my child,” said Blythe calmly, taking the envelope. “Since when do you read your mother’s mail? I thought you were leaving me forever.”
“And you, Ty,” chuckled Jack Royle, sauntering over. “Have you changed your mind, too?”
Blythe Stuart said: “Oh,” faintly.
She was staring at the contents of the envelope. There were two pieces of colored pasteboard in her hand, and with the other she was shaking the envelope, but nothing else came out.
She said: “Oh,” again, even more faintly, and turned her back.
Mr. Queen, forgotten, approached quietly and peeped. The two pieces of pasteboard were, as far as he could see, ordinary playing-cards. One was a deuce of clubs, the other a ten of spades. As Blythe turned the cards slowly over he saw that their backs were blue and were decorated with a golden horseshoe.
“What’s the matter, mother?” cried Bonnie.
Blythe turned around. She was smiling. “Nothing, silly. Somebody’s idea of a joke. Are you really so concerned about your poor old mummy, whom you’ve just renounced forever?”
“Oh, mother, don’t be tedious,” said Bonnie, tossing her golden curls; and with a sniff at Mr. Tyler Royle she flounced out.
“See you later, dad,” said Ty glumly, and he followed.
“That’s that,” said Jack with relief. He took Blythe in his arms. “It wasn’t so bad, was it, darling? Those crazy kids! Kiss me.”
“Jack! We’ve quite forgotten Mr. Queen.” Blythe turned her magnificent smile on Ellery. “What must you think of us, Mr. Queen! And I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. But Jack has mentioned you, and so has Butch—”
“Sorry,” said the actor. “My dear, this is Ellery Queen, who’s going to work with Lew Bascom on our picture. Well, what do you think of us, Queen? A little meshugeh, eh?”