Jack and Susan in 1913 (18 page)

Susan wiped her now sweaty hands across the second desk and knocked a telephone to the floor. The operator's tinny voice was distant: “Central. Central.” Susan got down on her hands and knees and crawled around the desk till she found the receiver.

“Please connect me with the police,” Susan said urgently.

“Thank you,” said the operator with odd formality, and on the other end, a telephone rang.

“Headquarters,” immediately said a voice on the other end.

Susan sighed with relief. “Yes, I'm at Twenty-seven West Twenty-seventh Street, at the Cosmic Film Company and the watchman here has just been knocked unconscious. Could you please send somebody right away? We—”

“Twenty-seven what?” the policeman asked.

“Twenty-seven West Twenty-seventh Street. We—”

“Who is we?”

“My name is Susan Bright, and—”

“Susan!” called Jack.

“Just a moment,” said Susan, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. “What is it?” she called out.

“Do you smell something?”

Susan breathed in deeply and then uncovered the mouthpiece.

“Twenty-seven West Twenty-seventh Street?” the policeman was asking.

“Yes,” said Susan, “and send the fire brigade as well.”

I
T WAS IMPOSSIBLE to tell where the smoke was coming from, but from the growing acridness in the air they presumed that the fire was near.

This became more than a presumption when they saw a dull glow at the far end of the room toward the front of the building.

Then, to their horror, there was an explosion. Evidently a cache of chemicals used in processing film had been ignited.

Flames roared behind the door for a moment and then began pouring out into the room.

Jack and Susan's faces were red and garish in the light of the fire. At least now they could see. Jack rushed over to the elevator and pulled the lever that summoned up the lift. But there was no responding noise of grinding machinery.

He pulled the lever again as Susan tried to rouse the unconscious watchman.

“They must have cut out the elevator machinery as well,” said Jack.

“Then we'll have to use the stairs,” said Susan.

“A good idea,” Jack said, “but it would be a better one if the stairs weren't on the other side of the fire. I've used them several times when I've been here and not wanted to wait for the elevator.”

“Maybe we can slide down the elevator cables,” said Susan.

“Another good idea,” said Jack. “Do you want to throw the watchman over your shoulder, or shall I? Or should we just leave him here to burn?”

The night watchman was a huge man.

“All right,” said Susan. Another, larger explosion came, and it sounded like it blew out some windows in the front, which gave the fire new oxygen. “I've come up with two bad ideas, you come up with one good one.”

The whole far end of the room was bright and hot now, and giving off a dull roar. The open entrance to the stairs that led down to safety was now brightly and frustratingly illuminated.

Near them was a long narrow table, that held half a dozen film-splicing machines, evenly spaced down its length. Jack ran down the length of the table, hurling the machines to the floor. When it was clear he went over to the watchman, reached under the unconscious man's arms, and dragged him across the floor to the table.

“All right, Susan. Take his feet.”

The two tried to lift the dead weight from the floor, but sank down under the watchman's bulk.

They tried again, and this time they succeeded. With loud groans they got him over the lip of the table and onto the scarred surface.

“Now what?” said Susan. “Is he more comfortable up here?” Then she added, in an apologetic tone, “I'm sorry. I'm always sharp when I find myself in mortal physical danger.”

“I understand,” said Jack gallantly. “Now we push the table.” And he began to do just that.

“Where?”

“Into the fire.” He pointed toward the open stairway door beyond the wall of orange flame and roiling black smoke.

She looked at him, opened her mouth to say something, didn't say it, closed her mouth, and put her shoulder into it.

They pushed the table straight across the floor, and into the flames.

The long narrow table reached across the barrier of burning chemicals, the forward legs drawing along little flaming channels with them. The fire was so hot that Jack and Susan could already smell the charring wood on the underside of the table.

The watchman lay on the center of the table, flames leaping up on either side.

“Up you go,” said Jack, and he lifted Susan up on to the table before she had a chance even to think.

Susan began to limp down the table, but found her way blocked by the watchman, whose girth did not allow her a safe foothold on either side.

“Go on!” shouted Jack above the roar of the flames.

As lightly as she could, Susan pressed her good foot on to the chest of the watchman and sprang forward.

She stumbled sideways, her other leg swinging dangerously close to the flames. She managed to make her way to the end and climbed down on to the floor on the other side.

“I'm all right, Jack!” she shouted.

Jack now stood with his feet planted on either side of the watchman's head, preparing to leap to safety.

“Oh, no,” said Susan, for at that moment, the watchman's eyes popped open—and immediately filled with fear and confusion. His hands flew out at his sides into the flames, shot back up again.

At that moment, Jack leaped.

Instinctively, and perhaps thinking that Jack was the person who had attacked him, the watchman grabbed Jack as he hurtled over. Jack's leap was broken, and he fell sideways, tumbling into the flames.

All the nurses wore blue-and-white skirts, and Susan remembered two or three of them from her own stay in Bellevue.

“How is your leg?” one of them asked quietly. It was past midnight, and the hospital was as quiet as it ever got. Most of the patients were asleep.

“Mended,” said Susan. “I'm here to visit a friend.”

“Which one?”

“Mr. Beaumont.”

“Oh, yes,” said the nurse, who had a figure like Ida Conquest's. “The concussion.”

“Is he very bad?”

“Burns on his arms and neck. He comes around now and then. He'll be all right. Speak to the doctor, though. I'm not supposed to know anything.” She wandered off down the dark corridor.

The doctor was in the room with Jack, and Susan had been told she could go in just as soon as he was finished.

It was Susan who had dragged Jack out of the flames, flipped him over, pulled him out of his burning jacket, and shoved him down the stairs out of immediate danger. Susan also had gone back into the burning room and led out the bewildered watchman by the hand. She'd gotten them down as far as the second-floor landing before the police and fire brigade showed up and took over for her. Jack had been taken away on a stretcher.

That had been only a few hours ago.

Susan had talked to the police at headquarters on Grand Street, drunk three cups of coffee, devoured a ham sandwich, and taxied up to Bellevue. Standing there now in the hospital corridor, she was suddenly aware that all her clothing stank of oily smoke.

“Miss—” The hand touching her shoulder startled her. She turned to find herself staring into the strained face of Junius Fane.

“Miss Bright,” said Susan.

“I'm told I've you to thank that more damage wasn't done and the upper floors were preserved,” Mr. Fane said. “Though I'm not certain what you and Mr. Beaumont were doing there at that hour.”

“Jack and I lost sight of the time, Mr. Fane.” She thought of a convenient lie, and then said: “Jack had come up with an idea for an improvement on the projectors as well, and was—”

“I don't really care
why
you were there, what matters is that you called the fire brigade. And you saved the watchman's life, too, I hear. Is Mr. Beaumont badly injured?”

“Well,” said Susan, “he was unconscious, and there are some burns, but—”

“I came to thank him.”

“I think we should be able to go inside in a few minutes,” said Susan.

There was a moment of silence between them, then Mr. Fane said, “This evening, after we left the projection room, Colley told me something very interesting.”

Susan looked up sharply at the owner of the film company.

Junius Fane smiled. “He told me that he suspected that
you
were our fabled Young Lady in High Society.” Susan didn't answer. “Does that silence signify yes? Or does it mean no?”

“It signifies yes,” admitted Susan with a small smile.

Junius Fane glanced at her, appeared to consider the business for a moment, then laughed, and grasped Susan's hand, shaking it heartily. “The Patents Trust has done a lot to try and put me out of business, but you have done as much—and more—to keep me in business.”

“Mr. Fane,” Susan protested, “I'm glad my work has been a help to you and your company, but I have to tell you that I did it for the money.”

Junius Fane blinked. “Money?”

“Yes. I had broken my leg, Mr. Fane, and had no income. The money you paid me for those scenarios kept me from—well, I suppose I ought to be candid, it kept me from starving.”

“Miss Bright, the reason I maintained belief in the existence of the Young Lady in High Society was that she never asked recompense for her work. The Young Lady in High Society had only one desire—and that was to see her stories on film.”

“But I received money for those stories!”

“Perhaps you did, but it didn't come from me.”

Susan fell back against the wall, her head swimming.

Just then the doctor came out of Jack's room. “He's awake, but I've given him an injection, and in a few minutes he'll be asleep.”

The doctor stood aside, holding the door for Susan.

Junius Fane entered the room behind her. It was a long room, with a row of half a dozen beds along each wall separated by white curtains. Susan and Junius Fane walked quietly, for the hour was late and most of the patients were sleeping. Susan got to the end of the room, but still had not found Jack. She looked around, baffled anew.

“Susan.” It was Jack, calling weakly. She turned in the direction of his voice. Even when she saw the man who said her name again, a tall man with his head pressed against the headboard and his feet stuck through the bars at the bottom, she didn't recognize him. Jack's beard had been shaved off, and white bandages had been wrapped securely about the upper portion of his chest.

He looked completely changed—and yet strangely familiar. Even his voice sounded different—but disquietingly reminiscent of one she knew. It was as if Jack had been transformed into a man that was part himself and part someone else. She became more convinced that she was going insane.

Junius Fane shook his hand. “Mr. Beaumont, I thank you. Just now I told Miss Bright that I—”

Mr. Fane's speech faded from Susan's consciousness. For as she stared down at Jack Beaumont, she realized with blinding suddenness and utter clarity that he wasn't Jack Beaumont at all.

He was Jay Austin.

Jay Austin who had broken her leg.

Jay Austin who had written her whimpering letters from Chicago.

Jay Austin who had slipped the five hundred dollars into her cape.

Jay Austin who had offered her scenarios to Junius Fane
gratis
.

Jay Austin who had each time brought back an envelope with five-dollar bills in it.

Suddenly she remembered Jack's threadbare dressing gown with the monogram JAB. John A. Beaumont. John Austin Beaumont. J. Austin Beaumont. Jay Austin.

John Austin Beaumont had humiliated her, making her livelihood spurious and her independence a sham. Her love had been given to a man who didn't exist.

“—and also, I should say,” said Mr. Fane, half-turning with a smile for Susan, “that your and Miss Bright's little deception has been revealed—”

He broke off in astonishment, for at that moment, Susan lunged forward, grabbed the end of the white iron hospital bed and shook it as hard as she could.

“Jack Beaumont,” she shouted at the top of her voice, “may there be a hell! And may you be sent there! And may you roast in it for all eternity!”

She gave one final shove that smashed the bed up against the wall, knocking over the bedside stand and smashing a pitcher of water onto the floor. A nurse came running down the corridor. Susan crashed into her on the way out. Blinded with tears, Susan flailed through the doors into the corridor.

The ward awakened with puzzled incoherencies, but above the noise and confusion she heard that man—whoever the devil he really was—hoarsely calling her name.

“Susan! Susan!”