Mildred Pierce Page #2

You see, we start out with nothing.

Just a corpse,

if you'll pardon the expression.

We look at the corpse and we say,

''Why? What was the reason?''

And when we find the reason,

we find the man that made the corpse.

ln this case, him.

Come on.

-But he didn't do it. l know he didn't.

-Do you?

The murder was committed with this.

-Do you know who it belongs to?

-No. l don't know.

We do. lt belongs to Pierce.

That's fact number one.

Fact number two:

He doesn't deny killing Beragon.

He seems to think it was a good idea.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

He's too gentle and kind.

Okay. He's kind and gentle.

He's wonderful.

But if he's so wonderful, Mrs. Beragon,

why did you divorce him?

Because l was wrong.

lt's taken me four years to find

that out, but now l know l was wrong.

Let's see. Four years ago he was

in the real-estate business, wasn't he?

Yes. He and Wally Fay were partners.

For a long time they made good money.

They built a lot of houses.

Suddenly, everybody stopped buying.

-The boom was over.

-Yes?

Then one day they split up.

Wally was in and Bert was out.

They weren't partners anymore.

That day when Bert came home,

he was out of a job.

-Here's the mail for you, Mr. Pierce.

-Thanks, Jack.

-Have you got a change-of-address card?

-Why, yes.

Thank you.

We lived on Corvalis Street

where all the houses looked alike.

Ours was number 1 1 43.

I was always in the kitchen.

I felt as though I'd lived

in a kitchen all my life...

...except for the few hours

it took to get married.

-That you, Bert?

-Yeah. Who else?

-l thought it might be Mrs. Whitley.

-Well, it isn't.

I married Bert when I was 1 7.

I never knew any other kind of life.

Just cooking and washing

and having children.

Two girls, Veda and Kay.

l pressed your pants. You might want

to see McLary about that sales job.

lt'd be nice if you left me alone once.

When the time comes, l'll get a job.

l know you will, Bert.

l was just trying to help.

Good afternoon.

Package from E. Langlin.

-Thank you.

-Thank you.

-What's that?

-A dress.

For Veda?

l thought so.

Where'd you get the money?

Making cakes and pies

for the neighbors. l earned it.

Right, throw it up to me that

l can't support my own family.

l don't say half as much as most women

would say with nothing but bills to pay.

There'd be less bills if you didn't

raise the kids like l was a millionaire.

No wonder they're so fresh

and stuck up. That Veda.

l'm so fed up with her high-hatting me,

one of these days l'll slap her face.

Bert, if you ever dare

touch Veda, l'll--

All right. All right.

You're trying to buy love from them,

and it won't work.

l make enough to get by,

but no, that isn't good enough.

Veda needs a piano, lessons

and fancy dresses...

...so she can smirk her way through

a piece a talented 5-year-old could play.

Veda has talent.

Just ask any of the neighbors.

She plays the piano like l shoot pool.

And Kay, a nice, normal kid who wants

to skip rope and play baseball.

But she has ballet lessons. She has to

be a ballerina so you can feel proud.

All right. What of it?

What if l do want them

to amount to something?

l'd do anything for those kids,

understand? Anything.

-You can't do their crying for them.

-l'll do that too.

-They'll never cry if l can help it.

-There's something wrong.

l don't know what. l'm not smart

that way. But l know it isn't right to--

-Hello?

-I just wanted to know if--

Yes? Yes, he is.

-Who's calling?

-Mrs. Biederhof.

Just a moment.

lt's for you. Mrs. Biederhof.

Maggie, l can't talk now.

l told you not to--

-I tried to call you at the office.

-l can't talk to you now. Later.

So the noble Mr. Pierce

can't talk right now.

You're busy saying what's wrong with

our marriage is how l treat the kids.

Maggie means nothing to me.

You know that.

l wish l could believe it.

You'd better apologize, or she won't

play gin rummy with you anymore.

-lt is gin rummy, isn't it?

-Now, don't go too far.

-One day, l'll call your bluff.

-You're not calling me. l'm calling you.

You might as well get this straight.

Those kids come first in this house.

Before either one of us.

Maybe that's right and maybe

it's wrong. But that's the way it is.

l'll do the best l can for them. lf l

can't do it with you, l'll do it alone.

You're looking for an excuse

to heave me out on my ear.

-l didn't say--

-l'm fed up.

Get along without me. When you

want me, you know where to find me.

Bert.

You go to that woman's house,

you're never coming back here.

l go where l want to go.

Then pack up, Bert.

All right, l will.

-Kids haven't come home yet, huh?

-No, not yet.

l don't want you to tell them l said

goodbye or anything like that.

-You can just say--

-l know. l'll take care of it.

Okay, then l'll leave it to you.

Goodbye, Mildred.

Go on, Bert. There's nothing

more to say. Just go on.

One, two, three, hike!

Pass it, pass it!

-Come on!

-Pass it!

-Kay, for goodness' sake!

-What's eating you?

-You're coming home with me.

-l ain't done nothing.

-You never let anybody have fun.

-Look at your clothes.

Honest, Kay, you ought to take

more pride in the way you look.

-You act like a peasant.

-Pretzels, what do l care?

You'll care someday, Miss Smarty!

Wait till you get interested in boys.

l got over that when l was 8.

-All right, l'll try. Hello, Mom.

-Hello, darling.

-Good afternoon, Mother.

-Hello, darling.

-Who's the cake for?

-Eddie Whitley. lt's his birthday.

That goon.

-How was your lesson?

-l'm learning a new piece.

-Are you?

-''Valse Brilliante.''

-That means ''brilliant waltz.''

-Does it really?

l saw Father go out.

Did you? Why don't you play your

new piece for me? l'd love to hear it.

All right.

When do we eat?

Now you stop that

or you'll spoil your dinner.

-Look at your clothes.

-l know. l should have been a boy.

Come on, bring me those dishes

off the sink, will you, darling?

-Father had a suitcase with him.

-Did he? That's a lovely piece, Veda.

-Where was he going?

-l don't know.

-How long will he be gone?

-That's hard to say.

Don't stop playing, darling.

ls he coming back?

Has he gone for good?

Look, you might as well know it now.

Your father and l

have decided to separate.

You mean, Dad's not

coming home anymore?

-Doesn't he like us?

-lt has nothing to do with you, honey.

lt just couldn't be helped. We'll have

to get along by ourselves now.

What did you and Father quarrel about?

l can't tell you now.

Someday l will, but not now.

lf you mean Mrs. Biederhof,

l must say my sympathy is all with you.

-She's distinctly middle class.

-Please, Veda. lt wasn't Mrs. Biederhof.

-lt was little things. Mostly about your dress.

-My dress?

-lt came?

-Yes, it's upstairs in your room.

-Come on.

-Okay.

You ought to do something

about your sit-down.

-What's wrong with it?

-Sticks out.

lt's the dress. lt's awful cheap

material. l can tell by the smell.

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