01x07 - Abandoned!

[bunniefuu]

They say
places you knew as a child

seem smaller when you see them again.

It's not true.

It's just as I left it.

Keep the change.

Cut.

Beautiful. Ladies and gentlemen,

Miss Joan Crawford,
our one-take wonder.

Okay, next set up.
Wait, Bob,

don't you want me to try it again?

No need, Joanie. You nailed it.

Are you sure?
Absolutely.

Well done.

There's nothing as exciting

as the first day on a set, is there?

It's my fifth day, but sure.

They're like bunny rabbits.

It's past midnight. They've been at it

since we got home from dinner.

Miss Joan, you have an
early call tomorrow.

You must rest.

Well, how can I sleep

when my director and co-star

are engaged in some tawdry bacchanal



Have a nightcap.

I told you, Mamacita,

I am not drinking on this production.

I need a clear head.

I could sing a lullaby.

I'll call the front desk.

Go to sleep, Mamacita.

I don't care what they do in private,

but staying up partying like teenagers

can only detract from the
quality of their work

and, by extension, mine.

And that I cannot abide.

No, no, no, no.

I'll simply go over
there and politely ask

them to consider the
labors that lie ahead

and encourage them to make
more responsible choices.

Should I wait up?

Oh!

Oh, my, my, Bette. Oh,
you've caused a terrible...

Ready? This is the one.

Yeah. Okay.

This is it. Here we go.

Oh!

And keep the change.

Oh!

Take it.

Stop teasing me.

Ow. Damn it.

Give it up, Bette.

You're never gonna be able to do it.

I don't know how she managed
to do all that business

in one take.
Oh, my goodness.

If I didn't know better,
I'd think you admire her.

Well, why shouldn't she?
It's no accident

Joan's been a star since the silents.

She's an artist.

Between the sheets.
Oh!

My, my, Bette.

I thought your rivalry was
put on for the press.

I don't know what you're talking about.
What rivalry?

I got to hand it to you, Bette.

After all you've been through,

giving Joan the Oscar
bait this go-around?

It's mighty white of you.

The picture is called

Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

There you go.
I play Charlotte.

Oh, well, then, let me congratulate you

on your divine work in All
About Margo Channing.

Joan's playing the villain,

and villains always
have the meatier roles.

She's the mastermind.

That's true.

You guys, stop teasing her now.

Nobody's teasing anyone.

Agnes, shouldn't you
be giving me your...

Sweetheart, it's fabulous.

I hope you had a good breakfast.

I do wish you'd give me a
cr*ck at those brows, Joan.

The brows are mine. And the mouth.

Let's get started on the lashes.

No.

No.

Yes.

I'll just take...
Mmm! Don't.

"Why wouldn't I

"tell him that his...

"his pure, darling little girl

was having a dirty little
affair with a married man?"

"You're a vile,
sorry little bitch."

Freshen me up, Mamacita.

Well, God bless your heart.

Here's Cousin Miriam

all dolled up from
tip-top to her toenails.

Welcome.

Well, I wanted to make sure

that my look would survive the humidity.

I didn't realize you were
in this scene, Bette.

I'm not.

Often at night,

she sits up, dressed...

as if she was still young,

expecting a beau.

I seem to remember

once expecting something
like that myself.

You gonna be all right here?

I could stay over.

You've been content

to let me get by on my
own all these years.

Another night won't k*ll me.

You're not gonna let her
do it that way, are you?

Cut.

What? What happened?
Nothing. Nothing.

We'll get... We're gonna go
again straightaway, Joanie.

Maybe you don't even need this scene.
I mean, it seems like

it might not be necessary.

You have something to say
about my performance?

Then say it to me.

All right.

This scene isn't really necessary,

and you're telegraphing that
Miriam is up to no good

when the audience, at this point,

has to think she's a saint.

This is my performance.

I have worked very hard

on this.
Joan, can we just sh**t the scene?

Let's worry about cutting
and changing later on.

Can you do it this time

as if butter wouldn't
melt in your mouth.

Good idea.
Okay.

Reset.

I need to process your note, Bob.

In my trailer.

What the hell is
she doing on this set

during my scene? Running
off at the mouth

about my performance?

And you, you just sitting there

like a wet dog.

Where the hell are your balls?

Bette can say whatever she wants.

She's a producer.

What?

I made her associate producer.
It was the only way

to get her to sign on. She was
holding the picture hostage.

No, I don't want that!

g*dd*mn it.

Go on, Mamacita.

Leave us alone.

You made her a producer?

Joanie, the title's meaningless.

Bette just needs to
feel she has authority.

I have been working day and night
to prepare for this role.

Nothing's changed. You're
still gonna be great.

You have no idea how much harder

I have to work to be taken
seriously as an actress.

I didn't get my start

in the theater, like Miss Bette Davis.

I broke in shaking my
fringe in nightclubs.

I'd come home after a gig

with scotch on my dress,

and I'll always have that stain on me

and I'll always have to prove
them wrong, and I can't...

do it on Charlotte

because she won't let me.
Joanie, you have to let go

of that anger to her. You
can't give her the fight.

I am not angry with her!

I'm angry with you.

God, I must have been such a fool,

thinking that you were
paying me this great tribute

by promising me top billing.

And all the while,

behind my back, you were promising her

producer.

Well, Bob...

do you think I deserve it, too?

Joanie, don't put me on the spot.

You know what I'm going to enjoy?

I'm going to enjoy watching you learn

just how meaningless

Bette thinks this title is.

Where's Joan?

Oh, she's out catching groundhogs.

To replenish her wig supply.

You have to catch them
in the dead of night.

Why do you keep saying that?

It's not nice.

It's hard for a woman.

Losing her hair.

Her femin-in...

Femin-in-inity.

You should be nice.

It's a joke, Victor.

Oh, my God.

Stop drinking. It's making you soft.

Oh, you should have seen

how the most beautiful
woman that ever lived

treated me back in the day.

And I remember thinking then,

"Beauty fades.

Just wait."

And it did.

Well, I remember seeing
her in Humoresque.

Shunned by John Garfield,

marching into the ocean,

every hair in place.

Beauty, dignity and death,

all in one exquisite pose.

She marched into the sea to her death...

...and never
got her hair wet.

Well...

It meant a lot to me.

Turndown service, Miss Davis?

I wish I had known for a single day

what it feels like to walk into a room

and knock them out
without a single word.

Bette, you don't even know yourself.

You've been too long in this business.

Oh, you have no idea what it's like

to be a woman in this business,

with the constant scrutiny

and competition.

Ah, do we have to go through
this melodrama right now?

f*ck you, Bob.

All right, tell me. Then tell me.

No. You tell me, Mr. Director Man.

Have you ever been rebuffed

by a woman because of how you look?

I'm betting no.

I'm guessing that your
success was enough,

that they f*cked you
despite your beer gut

and your middle-age sag.

Am I right?

I don't make up the rules.

My first screen test with Jack Warner,

I stuck around and I hid behind a door

because I wanted to hear his reaction.

Did he see my talent, my
humor, my intelligence,

my brave att*ck on the scene?

But he wasn't interested in any of that.

Guess what he said.
What did he say?

He said I had zero sex appeal.

He said, "Who would want to f*ck that?"

I was 22.

And nobody ever had.

You should go to bed.

Guess who he said
he wished I looked like?

Joan Crawford.

Why wouldn't I tell him that
his pure, darling little girl

was having a dirty little
affair with a married man?

You vile, sorry little bitch.

How did I know it was
going to end in m*rder

with John being butchered?

Cut. Fantastic, Joanie, fantastic.

Okay, turning around on Bette.

You all right?

No. I'm fine. It's just so hot.

Yeah. It's a little different down here

than the freezing cold soundstage.

Bob. Bob. Where do you want me

for Bette's off-camera?
You know, I don't think I need you.

It's tight. I can have the
script girl give me your lines.

But it's our scene.

I mean, don't you want me here

to give you something to build on?

You already have. Why don't you find

a dark air-conditioned
spot and lie down?

Ooh.

Hello?

Hello!

Lucille.

This entire production

is an elaborate opportunity

for you to humiliate me, isn't it?

What are you talking about?
You, Bob,

the whole f*cking crew abandoned me

out at that plantation.

Mamacita had to find

a phone and call a city cab
Jesus, Joan.

to bring us back.
I had no idea.

No, I don't believe you.

The proclaimed alliance
back in Los Angeles,

you never had any intention of honoring.

That is not true.

Christ, what a fool I was

to sign up for this picture.

And a bigger fool to think
I could ever trust you.

I need you to be brilliant.

I'm just trying to help you get there.

Oh, you're giving me a hand up?

Because you're the superior talent.

Well, I don't want your help.

You've always been overrated.

I guess that explains my


The Academy doesn't reward
you for your talent,

for Christ's sakes, Bette.

They reward you

because they see how hard you sweat.

They don't see the character,
they see the acting.

And they don't see you at all

because of all your glamour makeup.

Well, let me give you a tip.

The answer to feeling unattractive

isn't to make yourself even uglier.

I'm a character actress.

Well, I said what I came to say.

I'm going to bed.

Joan.

How did it feel to be the most
beautiful girl in the world?

It was wonderful.

The most joyous thing
you could ever imagine.

And it was never enough.

Well, what about you?

How did it feel to be the most
talented girl in the world?

Great.

And it was never enough.

From Mr. Aldrich.

Oh, thank you, driver.

Well, at least he remembered
to send a car this time.

Maybe now that we are
back in Los Angeles

things will go more smooth.

Call sheet for Monday.

Let me see.

Report to 20th Century Fox,

stage seven,

scene 42, 6:00 a.m.

Scene 42.

Oh, that's my scene with Mr. Cotten.

The seduction scene,
it's a wonderful scene.

And Bette's not in it.

What's this?

Script revisions?

For what?

Where is my monologue?

What? It's all been cut.

This is her doing.

And Bob is colluding with her.

That's why he sent the car.

To soften the blow.

Driver.

I'm not going to Brentwood.

Take me to Cedars-Sinai Hospital.

I'm suddenly feeling very, very ill.

Well, according to her doctors,

it's respiratory.

Respiratory?

What a load of sh*t.

She's faking it.

She's mad because we trimmed
a few of her lines,

so she's holding up production.

I used to play the same tricks

when I was at Warner's under contract.

We can't let her get away with it.

Mother, Jeremy and I
need to speak to you.

Say hello to Mr. Aldrich, B.D.

Yeah. Hello, Mr. Aldrich.

And this is her elderly
playmate, Jerome.

It's Jeremy, actually.

He's got an accent.

What is it, B.D.?

I'm managing a crisis.

Your whole life is managing a crisis.

I just need you to sign
these consent forms.

Consent for what?

For Jeremy and I to get married.

Don't be ridiculous;
you're 16 years old.

And wise quite beyond her years.

And that's a credit to you as a mother.

Ah, don't sweet-talk me, bub.

That English accent might
thrill the little girls,

but it does nothing for me.

I played Elizabeth I, twice.

You're not marrying a 40-year-old man.

I'm 29, actually.
You're twice her age.

Old enough to give your daughter
everything she deserves.

Protection, affection and
financial stability.

I give her all that.

We're in love, Mother.

And we're getting married,

whether it's now or two years from now

when we won't need your permission.

You don't want my permission,
you want my attention.

Now you have it, and the answer is no.

Fine! Force your daughter
into a life of sin,

if that's what you want.
It is what I want.

In fact, march yourself up those stairs

to my bedroom and grab my copy
of The Feminine Mystique,

and read it before you ruin your life.

What life? I have no life.

Come on, Jeremy.

A pleasure to have met you.

Christ. I thought we had reached

some kind of detente, but
it's always a battle.

But she's not going to
win, not this time, Bob.

Jesus, Bette.

It's not a competition,
she's your daughter.

No. I meant Crawford.

She's not going to shut down production.

Not for one single day.

Hollywood, California.

Production on 20th Century
Fox's lavish Gothic drama

Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte,
continues despite rumblings

that the back of a stand-in
is doing the work of a star.

Action!

Miriam?

I just can't believe it.

You look marvelous.

What is it you can't believe, Drew?

That I'm here or that
I look the way I do?

Ah, come on, Miriam.

Don't make fun of an old man.

Cut!

Whispers of a production shutdown

have been dogging the
project in recent weeks.

And not far away, one of the
picture's stars, Joan Crawford,

recovers from what her doctors
are calling a mystery ailment.

Insiders say that Joan

may just have a bad case of the B.D.s,

as in Bette Davis.

Rumors are that Bette's new role

as a producer on the picture

have made her even more
demanding than ever.

And after a string of
lackluster follow-ups

to the triumph of Baby Jane,

Bette really needs this one to work.

Nobody should be praying harder

for Joan's speedy recovery
than Bette Davis.

Hedda, darling,

tell your readers this:

I am bedded here with the
script, making notes

and coming up with all
sorts of wonderful ideas

for improvements.

And, as a result of my convalescence,

Charlotte is sure to be
a much better picture

once I recover.

Well, Bob, what a lovely surprise.

Mamacita, turn that off.

Uh, c-could you give us
a few moments, please?

Seeing you is a tonic.

Has it really been 12 days?

I would have come sooner, Joanie, but...

I've been busy trying to
keep a train on track.

Well, I'm touched you could
find a spare moment.

I have nothing but spare moments.

I've run out of material to sh**t.

If I don't roll cameras
on you tomorrow morning,

the studio's threatening
to close us down.

I need you to come back to work, Joanie.

Bob, you know that's all I want.

Great.

Now, Bette's agreed to behave herself.



Otherwise the show's off.

Or is that what you want?

Perhaps now would be a good time

to discuss some of my
thoughts about the script.

I've given it a very close read

and I have a few
suggestions that I think

could make all the difference.

First of all, Bob,

we know so little about Miriam.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to see
her in the bloom of her youth?

Is it really believable

that Miriam has only one suitor?

Shouldn't she have more beaus?

How many more beaus?

Two.

A politician and an attorney.

And, really,

her entrance into the picture?

Oh, it's all wrong.

A taxi cab, Bob? No.

Well, how about a flying carpet?

Oh, Bob.

No, but it is the South.

She should be greeted back home

with a big Southern ball.

I mean, just think of
the production value.

Think of the money.

But, of course,

I'm not a producer.

I'm only an actress.

But it would be money well spent.

Charlotte's a recluse.

She wouldn't be hosting a ball

in a decaying mansion.

I'm not suggesting she host it.

She can be there, of course.

In a corner, hidden.

Under the stairs, watching.

All we see are her big eyes.

You know, Joan,

the last time I let an
actor call all the sh*ts,

I made 4 for Texas.

I can't afford another b*mb.

If Charlotte doesn't work,
I'm back making crap TV.

So I suggest you put
down your f*cking script

and pick up your f*cking contract

and give that a close f*cking read.

Tomorrow morning, 7:00 a.m.,

and not a minute later.

Oh, Jake, how great to see you.

Thank you.

Oh, Sonny, nice to see you again.

Christ on a crutch.

She thinks we're still
doing the last picture.

Oh!

This is good here, dear.

Oh, yes, thank you.

Oh, thank you, thank you all so much.

I can't tell you what it
means to me to be back here.

I guess this old workhorse
is only really happy

when she's out in the field.

Welcome back, Lucille.

I removed the thorns.

And... action.

Oh, come on, Miriam.

Don't make fun of an old man.

You know I never was any
good at expressin' myself.

Well, that's not so at all, Drew.

You were always very quick
with your compliments.

It was your intentions that
sometimes were a little vague.

We used to slide down this banister,

the three of us, and I was

always the champion.

Oh, we just let you win

'cause you were the youngest.

Stop it.
Cut.

What?

I'm sorry, it's too long.
I mean, she's here

to see Charlotte, she
should just get on with it.

No, I have another page of dialogue

with Mr. Cotten.

Yes, we should cut that.

You okay, Joan?

No, I just felt a little
dizzy, I'm sorry. I...

I had a rather light breakfast.

Oh...

I can't breathe.

I can't believe you let
her get away with it.

You know I was right about the scene.

You know what, Bette? Being
right doesn't mean sh*t

if you're driving talent off the stage.

You want to be a producer?
Well, a producer gets results.

You want to be a lion tamer? Great.

Go tame the g*dd*mn lion.

That's a wrap!

You won't have to bother now.

Oh, yes, I do. My share...

Fine.

You can get married,

but I'm in charge of everything.

Better, Joan?
Thank you.

Ray, is there some reason
we're not getting started?

It's very taxing

for Miss Crawford to be out
of bed in her condition.

Bed is the last place
that woman gets any rest.

Gentlemen.
Miss Davis,

please remember what we discussed.

Gentlemen.

There's now been 29 days since
Miss Crawford completed

a full day's work on
Charlotte, resulting in

expensive delays and cost
overruns for this studio.

Our insurer, to this point,

has covered those losses on the basis

of Miss Crawford's diagnosis

of a rare form of pneumonia.

But her health does not
seem to be improving.

That's because her condition is mental.

Is Miss Davis' presence

in this meeting
constructive or necessary?

I'm a producer on this picture.
I'm in all the meetings

whether your client likes it or not.

According to Bob, it's a vanity title.

It was. And that was my fault.

But not anymore.

From now on, my stamp is on everything.

As I was saying, given that
Miss Crawford's condition

does not seem to be improving,

the studio would like to give
her the freedom to devote

all her energy to getting well again.

In that spirit, we're offering
to release her from all

contractual obligations.

Mr. Aldrich is ready to start looking

for somebody else to play Miriam.

Ray, we all know there is no

Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte

without a reteaming of
Crawford and Davis.

Wrong. This is not a
sequel to Baby Jane.

And there will be no need to
resort to a poor substitute.

Miss Crawford is following all
her doctor's instructions

to the letter, with
the genuine intention

of returning to work
as soon as possible.

Well, Leonard, I'll be candid.

Our insurer has doubts

about how genuine those intentions are.

They insist that your client

submit to an independent medical exam.

Tiny Tim over there isn't
going to let your doctors

get anywhere near her.

She's gassing us all with
her VapoRub for show.

She's not sick. She's on strike.

Until Bob accepts all her
loony script changes

and makes her the star of Charlotte.

Miss Davis, if you're incapable
of restraining yourself,

I'll have to ask you to leave.

I would be perfectly happy

to submit to an independent exam.

Very well.

But before you reject our initial offer,

know that if our doctor

clears Miss Crawford to return to work

and she fails to do so, we will sue her

to recoup every cent of our losses.

Splendid. And I want chimes to ring

the moment they become man and wife.

Just as their lips touch.
Can that be arranged?

We have bells at the church. They toll.

Oh, I don't want a funeral bell.

I want a glorious, joyful chime.

Uh...

what do you think of that, B.D.?

Sure.

Do you like it or not?
It's your wedding.

Whatever you think's best.

Could you all please go
into the dining room

and give us a moment? Thank you.

Darling, I want you to
answer me truthfully,

and don't for a second worry
about the consequences.

Are you having second thoughts

about marrying Jeremy?

What? No. I just don't see

why we have to make such a big
production out of the wedding.

Well, I'll tell you why.

A wedding is a big,
special party because

everything after that is
hard work and repetition.

It's work to keep a house.

It's work to fix him the
same g*dd*mn glass of scotch

every night and feign interest
while he rants about his boss.

It's work to tolerate

his forgetting to ask
you about your day,

and your feelings, and your thoughts.

And it's work to feel
like a staging ground

for someone else's ambitions.

You just described my life with you.

Well, then I've prepared
you to be a good wife.

And I'm gonna miss you
terribly when you're gone.

This wedding is something
I can give you.

And if you want it,

I want it to be perfect.

Your first wedding is the one
that you remember the most.

My first wedding?

Jeremy and I are forever.

Of course, darling, I...

Of course.

And however long that forever lasts,

I want you know that you will always

have a place to come home to.

Christ, is that why
you agreed to this...

because you thought I'd
come running back?

No, no, no, no, no, no...
No, Mother.

I'm leaving.

I'm going to be Jeremy's
wife, not yours.

Oh, and guess what...

for your information,

my first wedding was perfect.

It was Saturday.

At City Hall.

We did it the minute you
signed the consent form.

And there were no chimes
for our first kiss

and it was beautiful.

So all of this...

you're not doing it for me.

You're doing it for you.

Just a slightly elevated temperature.

Really? I feel so warm. Feverish.

Do you suppose it's neurological?

What other symptoms
are you experiencing?

Well, light-headedness and...

dizzy spells in the most
inopportune moments.

Breathe in.

Deeper, please.

Oh.

Excuse me.

Lately I've only been
able to manage the...

shallowest of breaths.

Bob can call me if he needs, but
there's really not much to it.

Officially, she's completely clear.

You've got to be kidding me.

Good luck with her.
Thank you.

Well, he says you can
come back to work, Joan.

Said he'll clear you for
a marathon, if you want.

He's the studio's doctor.

What did you expect him to say?

He also said you tried to seduce him.

That is ridiculous and offensive.

Mamacita, take me to the car.

This whole experience has
been very fatiguing.

I'm asking you as a fan.

Do not do this to yourself.

And what is it you imagine I'm doing?

Losing every ally. They
are going to sue you.

No one will stop them.
You're ending your career.

How dare you? You're a secretary.

Stop following me around,
nipping at my heels,

impugning my integrity.

The moment I get home, I'm calling Bob

and demanding you be
taken off of Charlotte.

Don't bother. I've already told
Bob that I am done after this.

I came out here to work.

That seems to be the last thing
that anyone cares about.

I don't know if this town
attracts narcissists

or actually creates them.

But I have no intention
of sticking around

to find out.

Good luck, Joan.

What did I think

of what Joan did?

I thought it was pretty great.

You didn't think it was...
undignified?

Faking sick?

Let me tell you something.

At a certain point, a
woman becomes invisible.

You get fat or old...

people don't even see you anymore.

Oh, come on, think of it this way:

you've been eating in a
restaurant your whole life.

You're a great customer.

Good tipper. Staff loves you.

You spend all your money there.

And then one day, they won't serve you.

Won't take your money.

Won't even let you see the menu.

Well, who could blame you

for wanting to stand up and
rip the tablecloth off?

Mamacita?

Will you get the door?

Tell them I'm in the bath.

Mamacita!

Yes?

Good morning, ma'am. Are
you Miss Joan Crawford?

They make me ask that.

Please sign for documents

from 20th Century Fox.

What is it?
That's above my pay grade.

I just make sure you can't
deny receipt in court.

Have a happy day, ma'am.

Wearing a
$100,000 sapphire necklace

over a hospital gown by Dior,

Joan Crawford is the most
glamorous and popular patient

in the celebrity wing of
Cedars-Sinai Hospital.

Each day, doctors and nurses
line up for the privilege

of taking care of the
ailing movie queen.

Meanwhile, production
on her latest picture,

20th Century Fox's Hush...
Hush, Sweet Charlotte

has been halted indefinitely.

And with cast and crew
still on full salary,

Charlotte's shaping up to be one
of 20th's priciest pictures

this year.

What can you possibly hope to
gain by delaying production

any further?

You'll get no concessions.

Concessions? Oh, no.

We're way beyond that. I
don't want concessions.

I want blood. I want to
shut this picture down.

Oh, Joan.

I'll lose hundreds of
thousands of dollars

but so will Bette.

And I can live happily and
frugally just knowing that.

And Bob Aldrich can shutter
his production company

and end his career directing
shitty television.

f*ck them both.

You were always ambitious.

But when did you become so vindictive?

I've always been valued for my beauty.

And more times than not,

nothing else.

But now the only bed I
can find any power in

is this hospital bed.

Well, why don't you free
yourself from all this?

Tell 'em you're too ill to continue.

Let them recast the role.

Oh, they've already tried. I know that.

They've gone out to Loretta
Young, to Stanwyck.

Both dear friends of mine. No,
there isn't an actress in town

who would take food out of my mouth.

That's because most of them don't eat.

Don't fool yourself, Joanie.

You watch and see, George.

Next week at this time,

that picture will be canceled,

and Joan Crawford will make a sudden

and remarkable recovery.

Tell Zanuck no. Absolutely not!

I am not going to do
this slice of Americana

with the very British Miss Vivien Leigh.

Who would believe her
as a Southern belle?

She played Scarlett O'Hara.

Unconvincingly.

Do you want to make this movie, Bette,

or don't you?
I don't want to just make it.

I want to make it properly.
And it's got to be

someone I can work with.
Someone I trust.

Someone who's right
for the g*dd*mn part.

Now call her!

Darlings,

I'm so flattered you thought about me.

But it's impossible.

I've only just aired out my
Swiss chalet for the season.

And, besides, I've done my
turn at Grand Guignol already.

Help!

Please help!

I'm trapped in a small private elevator!

The whole experience just left
me feeling... humiliated,

and I'd rather not repeat it.

Oh, no, Olivia. This
is completely different.

This time you're not the victim.

You'd be the villainess.

Oh, no. I don't do b*tches.

They make me so unhappy.

You should call my sister.

So you can imagine my surprise

two days later when I opened my door

to a very disheveled Mr. Robert Aldrich.

He had taken three planes, a train,

a taxi up a goat trail,
just to get to see me.

So of course I heard him out.

And, what do you know, he
had a very different image

for Cousin Miriam.

News from Tinseltown!

It looks like 20th Century
Fox's beleaguered production,

Hush... Hush, Sweet
Charlotte is back on again.

The studio is saying
bye-bye, Joan Crawford,

and hello to Miss Olivia de Havilland!

Miss de Havilland, another two-time
They can't do that.

Academy Award-winning actress,

joins her old pal, Bette Davis.
No!

The pair last worked together
in 1942 on In This Our Life.

No! No!

They played sisters whose
lives are destroyed...

Oh, no!

No! No.

Wait, what are you doing?

Mamacita.
Leaving.

I told you the next time you
throw something at my head,

I leave.

Now I leave.

No! No, wait!

No. Mamacita, wait!

Please.

You can't leave me now!

Not after what they've done to me.

You have done this to yourself.

No!

No!

Livvie!

Livvie! Oh, my darling.

And do you feel guilty at all

about ending Joan Crawford's career?

Time did that all on its own.

As it does to us all.