| Subject: Chapter 215 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 215) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, November 14, 07:31:17am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
She was just being warmed by this thought--repressing the knowledge that her earlier actions meant that she could never go home, her father having thrown her out, her blame for this fact placed firmly on her supposedly scheming stepmother--when she rounded another corner, saw someone waiting outside a soundstage who she was certain was involved in this plot as well; her smile deepened, as she approached the guard, hoping to arouse. He was attractive enough, in the usual sort of way. He might be interesting to tease for awhile.
She didn't hear Roger's sigh, as the woman came closer, only saw his forced smile--and assumed that he was just feigning disinterest. All men did it--as did most women--hoping to intrigue their pursuer further. She wasn't put off. Whatever his pretenses, he would watch her. All men ever needed with a woman was an excuse.
She had tried out this same philosophy on her own father, with less than stunning success, but she wasn't remembering this fact just now. She was close to the guard, her body almost rubbing up against his, as she spoke--low enough for only him to hear. "You're in on it too, aren't you?"
This unexpected question nearly made the man jump--his conscience less than settled, lately; it was only with an effort that he managed to hide it. "What do you mean?"
Her smile was almost seductive. "I mean them." Her eyes cut over to the soundstage--and the pair she was certain were inside it. "You're going to be part of whatever punishment Madeline has planned."
Thank God. There was nearly a sigh of relief from the man, but he managed to swallow it--her question making her lack of real knowledge quite clear. While he was only half-aware of all the details--of anyone who was involved, besides Mr. Jones, only certain of the outcome the dreadful man wanted--he was sure that, the fewer people involved in the scheme, the better. That she was only suspicious of what would happen would have to be enough. He had no intention of talking to her long enough to find out any more.
He looked away, then, refused to get into any sort of discussion with her; the woman gave him the creeps. "You should go back to your department. It'll be lunch soon." It wasn't like he needed anyone around to goad him about his part in the couple's downfall--wasn't like he was incapable of doing that well enough himself. Every night since his terrible "discussion" with Jones had brought him nightmares, terrible ones--usually about causing his son's death, in one way or another. Once or twice, though, he had woken in terror when his son had turned into the woman he was supposedly guarding; a deep chill ran through him. It wasn't like there was any way out for him, no matter which way things went.
He was certain of this fact now, had no time for the likes of Abby--no real belief that she even wanted him. She clearly just liked the power of seduction, wanted to be able to tell herself that some man was under her control--for however many minutes it might last. He couldn't imagine any real sort of desire in her, wasn't deluded enough to believe she was interested--and wouldn't have been himself, even if she were; he almost snorted, as his heart saddened terribly. But no woman would ever be drawn to him again--not even one as disturbed as this.
He wasn't happy with these thoughts, as he stared off toward the soundstage, toward the place where the woman he was coming to so admire was currently suffering. He didn't even notice Abby's supposedly-seductive stroke down his arm, her whispered, "I'll see you soon." She wasn't worth the attention; his heart pounded. But Mrs. Ward . . .
He nearly had to close his eyes, overwhelmed by the situation he was caught in. The woman he would soon betray was too perfect--sort of like his ex-wife. Both of them were elegant, classy--*way* too good for him; his eyes opened, the look focused somewhere in the much-too-close future. And either one or the other would be gruesomely betrayed by him very soon.
This truth tore holes in him, but there was no way around it. He had even considered suicide--but realized it would do him no good. If he were dead, then his son would be utterly disposable--Jones certainly not humane enough to just return him to his mother. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn't let the boy die.
He refused to think into this, into any part of his fate--couldn't, if he hoped to stay sane. When the door opened for lunch, he followed the couple distantly, blindly, not able to look either of them in the eye. It was just too much to be in this position. It was far too cruel to play Judas to at least two beautiful women at once.
Roger marched on toward his fate, however, knowing no way out. All he could do was continue, praying that the devil gave him enough strength to follow his orders through--because God had abandoned him very long ago.
Extra notes (on some of the people and ideas mentioned here): Claudette Colbert was a wonderful actress who happened to hate having her right profile filmed; if I'm remembering correctly, she thought her nose looked crooked from that angle. The romantic comedy, *Midnight*, which was released in early 1939, had its sets specially built to avoid filming anything but her full face or left profile. It's a great movie, too, if you haven't seen it--profile tweaking or not.
The Westmore brothers were all well-known, and very well-respected, makeup artists of this period--ones every studio wanted to get their hands on. I borrowed the following quote about them, and their father, George, from the Internet Movie Database: "After George's death, his sons carried on the dynasty; Monte was much associated with MGM until his early death of a heart attack following surgery; Perc became head of Make-up at Warner Bros; Wally himself became Make-up chief at Paramount; Ern worked at 20th Century Fox and low-budget film studio Eagle-Lion, but his career was hampered by an alcohol problem; Bud became head at Universal, and the youngest, Frank, was more freelance and later wrote a book on the family, 'The Westmores Of Hollywood' in 1976." See more about them at: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0922867/bio
Further (and I may have mentioned this idea before), Abby's thoughts about the disabled, while far less than savory, were fairly normal for the time. People generally believed that any disability--from blindness or deafness to paralysis or other motor-control handicaps--were an indication of some sort of moral failing or sin on the part of the disabled; look at Jerry Lewis's hideous portrayals of people with Muscular Dystrophy--before he started doing telethons--to get an insight into how everyone felt free to mock them. They generally kept such people well away--as though such problems could be caught by breathing the same air. While Dominic's confinement to his wheelchair here could certainly be said to be predominantly his fault--his own reckless, drunken driving leading him there--I don't intend that any such message be generally applied. Once again, I'm just trying to capture the ideas of the character and the time. :)
[End of Chapter 215]
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