vital information with as few words as possible.
“Well,” Jane said, “since you’re a newspaperwoman, you probably know best.”
The girl, drawing the corrected copy back to her side of the counter, smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get just as good results.”
Jane handed her a bill to pay for the ad, and the girl retreated to get her receipt and change.
Exp. accompanist-arranger, male, to join est. star
… Professional, Jane thought, nodding to herself; it did sound professional when you stopped to think about it, even if it wasn’t as refined as hers. Suddenly her mind reached into the future and again she saw the man with the graying temples, coming to call, following her into the rehearsal room, playing the piano while she sang, praising her… praising her.… And then, too, she had a sudden glimpse of Blanche’s face, torn with jealousy and resentment.
Miss Bigshot Movie Queen. Miss Crippled Nothing. Jane had to smile. Blanche always was a fraidy cat; all you had to do was put a good scare into her to get her to do what you wanted. She wouldn’t be going behind Jane’s back any more, telling people lies, trying to sell the house. Maybe she’d know now that when she did things that made Jane angry…
“Here you are.”
Smiling, Jane took the money and the receipt from the girl and put them in her bag.
“Thank you,” she said pleasantly.
The girl nodded, started to turn away and then turned back again. “Excuse me…”
Jane, snapping her bag closed, looked up. “Yes?”
“I know I shouldn’t, but—well—I’ve just got to know. In this ad—would you mind telling me—who’s the star?”
Jane’s smile broadened. She made a small, pointing gesture with her gloved hand. “Me,” she said. “Maybe you’re too young to remember, but I’m the original Baby Jane—Baby Jane Hudson.”
The girl’s lips parted. “Well,” she said, with a look of blank perplexity, “well, for heavensake!” She glanced away, toward a co-worker who had just put in an appearance at the end of the counter. “Well, thank you, Miss Hudson. Your ad should be in the morning edition, if you want to look for it. I—I hope you find the—person—you want.”
“Yes,” Jane nodded, “thank you. Thank you very much.” Holding herself very straight, she turned and left.
“For heavensake,” the girl said, moving off to join her companion, “who in the world is Baby Jane Hudson?”
At the bottom step, Blanche leaned forward to rest her head against the cool, hard surface of the post. Her descent had been arduous and painful. Clinging to the handrail, lowering herself tediously from step to step, she had needed to rest frequently. Now, as she sat there, small brilliant pinwheels of light whirled behind her closed lids.
After a moment she looked up again. It had been longer since she had last been downstairs than she realized. The drapes were new. And woefully wrong; poor Jane, she had such awful taste. But then Blanche turned her gaze upward to the ceiling and her lips twisted in a smile of wry amusement. Against a field of vivid blue an artful scattering of stars winked down at her dully. Her smile faded, and she let her eyes fall to the mantel and the framed photograph of the blank-faced girl who had once believed shecould actually possess the sky and the stars and had ordered them fixed upon her ceiling. What a vain, profligate child that one had been. What a contemptible fraud, really. And hardly in a position to charge Jane with poor taste. Blanche looked away, returning her attention abruptly to the balustrade and the chore ahead.
Close by, against the wall of the stairway, stood the carved chair and just beyond that, the library table. The doorway into the hall was only a few feet beyond, a little to the right. The rug fell short of the table by several feet, leaving a clear path of gleaming hardwood floor. Studying the chair again and its position against the wall, she reached up to the newel post
“Well,” Jane said, “since you’re a newspaperwoman, you probably know best.”
The girl, drawing the corrected copy back to her side of the counter, smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get just as good results.”
Jane handed her a bill to pay for the ad, and the girl retreated to get her receipt and change.
Exp. accompanist-arranger, male, to join est. star
… Professional, Jane thought, nodding to herself; it did sound professional when you stopped to think about it, even if it wasn’t as refined as hers. Suddenly her mind reached into the future and again she saw the man with the graying temples, coming to call, following her into the rehearsal room, playing the piano while she sang, praising her… praising her.… And then, too, she had a sudden glimpse of Blanche’s face, torn with jealousy and resentment.
Miss Bigshot Movie Queen. Miss Crippled Nothing. Jane had to smile. Blanche always was a fraidy cat; all you had to do was put a good scare into her to get her to do what you wanted. She wouldn’t be going behind Jane’s back any more, telling people lies, trying to sell the house. Maybe she’d know now that when she did things that made Jane angry…
“Here you are.”
Smiling, Jane took the money and the receipt from the girl and put them in her bag.
“Thank you,” she said pleasantly.
The girl nodded, started to turn away and then turned back again. “Excuse me…”
Jane, snapping her bag closed, looked up. “Yes?”
“I know I shouldn’t, but—well—I’ve just got to know. In this ad—would you mind telling me—who’s the star?”
Jane’s smile broadened. She made a small, pointing gesture with her gloved hand. “Me,” she said. “Maybe you’re too young to remember, but I’m the original Baby Jane—Baby Jane Hudson.”
The girl’s lips parted. “Well,” she said, with a look of blank perplexity, “well, for heavensake!” She glanced away, toward a co-worker who had just put in an appearance at the end of the counter. “Well, thank you, Miss Hudson. Your ad should be in the morning edition, if you want to look for it. I—I hope you find the—person—you want.”
“Yes,” Jane nodded, “thank you. Thank you very much.” Holding herself very straight, she turned and left.
“For heavensake,” the girl said, moving off to join her companion, “who in the world is Baby Jane Hudson?”
At the bottom step, Blanche leaned forward to rest her head against the cool, hard surface of the post. Her descent had been arduous and painful. Clinging to the handrail, lowering herself tediously from step to step, she had needed to rest frequently. Now, as she sat there, small brilliant pinwheels of light whirled behind her closed lids.
After a moment she looked up again. It had been longer since she had last been downstairs than she realized. The drapes were new. And woefully wrong; poor Jane, she had such awful taste. But then Blanche turned her gaze upward to the ceiling and her lips twisted in a smile of wry amusement. Against a field of vivid blue an artful scattering of stars winked down at her dully. Her smile faded, and she let her eyes fall to the mantel and the framed photograph of the blank-faced girl who had once believed shecould actually possess the sky and the stars and had ordered them fixed upon her ceiling. What a vain, profligate child that one had been. What a contemptible fraud, really. And hardly in a position to charge Jane with poor taste. Blanche looked away, returning her attention abruptly to the balustrade and the chore ahead.
Close by, against the wall of the stairway, stood the carved chair and just beyond that, the library table. The doorway into the hall was only a few feet beyond, a little to the right. The rug fell short of the table by several feet, leaving a clear path of gleaming hardwood floor. Studying the chair again and its position against the wall, she reached up to the newel post
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