Vertigo Page #7

By now Scottie has got out his wallet and has shown his badge,

and the sight of it makes her stop abruptly, and for a moment

her face hardens and is not a bit motherly. But then she

recovers her innocent brightness.

MANAGERESS:

Oh, dear! Has she done something

wrong?

SCOTTIE:

Please answer my question.

MANAGERESS:

I can't imagine that sweet girl with

that dear face --

SCOTTIE:

(Urgently)

What is her name?

MANAGERESS:

Valdes. Miss Valdes.

(Pause. Then, brightly)

It's Spanish, you know.

SCOTTIE:

(Slowly)

Carlotta Valdes?

MANAGERESS:

Yes, that's it. Sweet name, isn't

it? Foreign. But sweet.

SCOTTIE:

(Holding in)

How long has she had the room?

MANAGERESS:

Oh, it must be two weeks. Yes, the

rent's due tomorrow.

SCOTTIE:

Does she sleep here? Ever?

MANAGERESS:

No... she only comes to sit. Two or

three times a week. And I never ask

questions, you know. As long as

they're well behaved. I must say

that I've wondered --

SCOTTIE:

(Cutting her off)

When she comes down, don't say that

I've been here.

And he turns away to go, wondering.

MANAGERESS:

(Brightly)

Oh, but she hasn't been here today.

Scottie whirls back on her.

SCOTTIE:

I saw her come in five minutes. ago.

MANAGERESS:

Oh, no! She hasn't been here at all!

I would have seen her, you know.

I've been right here all the time,

putting olive oil on my rubber plant

leaves!

Scottie stares at her smiling, innocent face. She looks over

at the key rack.

MANAGERESS:

And there! There you see? Her key is

on the rack!

SCOTTIE:

(Heavily)

Would you please go and look?

MANAGERESS:

In her room? Well, yes, of course if

you ask. But it does seem silly...

She puts down the can of olive oil and the sponge, and gets

out her passkey. She goes up the stairs. Scottie watches her

go, then stares down at the can of olive oil, stares at the

rubber plant, and waits, and looks up the stairs.

MANAGERESS (O.S.)

(Brightly)

Oh, Mr. Detective! Would you like to

come and look?

Scottie starts up the stairs on the run.

INT. LANDING OF SECOND FLOOR - (DAY)

The Manageress stands near the open door. Scottie brushes

past her and stands on the threshold.

INT. HOTEL BEDROOM - (DAY)

We are looking at the room over the shoulders of Scottie and

the woman. It is empty. Scottie crosses to the window and

looks down. From his viewpoint we see the empty space at the

street curb where stood Madeleine's Jaguar.

SCOTTIE:

Her car is gone.

MANAGERESS:

What car?

He turns to look at her sweet, smiling face, then turns back

to stare down out of the window in bewilderment.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BROCKLEBANK APARTMENTS - (DAY)

Scottie's sedan pulls up in the foreground, the building in

the distance. He looks across. There, half concealed around

the corner of the small car park, is the green Jaguar.

Scottie strolls over, inspects the cars, then looks inside.

On the seat is the small nosegay bought at Podesta's and

carried to the cemetery.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MIDGE'S APARTMENT - (DAY)

Midge is at work on a nightgown ad. The phonograph is playing

softly:
probably Bach, probably harpsichord, probably

Landowska. Scottie walks in, and Midge looks up, startled.

SCOTTIE:

Midge, who do you know that's an

authority an San Francisco history?

He walks over and turns the phonograph off, either here or a

bit later.

MIDGE:

Now, that's the kind of greeting a

girl likes. None of this "hello you

look wonderful" stuff. Just a good

straight "who do you know" --

SCOTTIE:

(breaking in)

Well, who? Come on, you know

everybody.

MIDGE:

Professor Saunders, over in Berkeley.

SCOTTIE:

Not that kind of history. The small

stuff! About people you never heard

of!

MIDGE:

Oh! You mean Gay Old Bohemian Days

of Gay Old San Francisco! The juicy

stories? Like who shot who in the

Embarcadero August, 1879?

SCOTTIE:

Yeah.

MIDGE:

Pop Leibel.

SCOTTIE:

Who?

MIDGE:

Pop Leibel owns the Argosy Book Shop.

What do you want to know?

SCOTTIE:

Who shot who in the Embarcadero in

August, 1879.

Starts for the door fast.

MIDGE:

Wait a minute! You're not a detective

any more. What's going on?

SCOTTIE:

(Pausing)

Do you know him well?

MIDGE:

Pop Leibel? Sure.

SCOTTIE:

All right, come on. Introduce me.

Where is your hat?

He looks about for it.

MIDGE:

(Speeding to the door)

I don't need a hat. Johnny, what's

it about?

She speeds right on through the open door.

SCOTTIE:

I'll tell you later. Wait a minute!

He races out after her.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. ARGOSY BOOK SHOP - (DUSK)

It is old, it is misty, it is filled with old books, but the

important thing to note is that it is filled with memorabilia

of California pioneer days: on the walls are not only the

familiar old maps and prints but also, and more striking,

such things as framed old mining claims, posters describing

outlaws wanted by the law, Wells Fargo Pony Express Posters;

and on the shelves, old whiskey bottles, gold-mining pans,

and such. The proprietor, Pop Leibel, is staring with a

nodding smile at the piece of paper Scottie has handed him,

and Scottie watches him keenly. In the bag, Midge wanders

about the shop, inspecting the prints on the wall, but always

listening.

POP LEIBEL:

Yes... the Beautiful Carlotta... the

Sad Carlotta...

SCOTTIE:

What does a big old wooden house on

the corner of Eddy and Gough Street

have to do with her?

POP LEIBEL:

It was hers. It was built for her.

Many years ago.

SCOTTIE:

By whom?

POP LEIBEL:

By... no... the name I do not

remember. A rich man, a powerful

man. It is not an unusual story.

She came from somewhere small, to

the south of the city... some say

from a mission settlement... young,

yes; very young. And she was found

singing and dancing in a cabaret by

the man... wait... wait... Ives!

His name was Ives! Yes. And he took

her and built for her this great

house in the Western Addition... and

there was a child. Yes. This was it.

The child.

Scottie hangs on his words. Pop looks up at him and smiles.

POP LEIBEL:

And now, fragments, you understand.

I cannot tell you how much time

passed, or how much happiness there

was. But then he threw her away. He

had no other children; his wife had

no children. He kept the child and

threw her away. Men could do that in

those days. They had the power...

and the freedom. And she became the

Sad Carlotta. Alone in the great

house... walking the streets alone,

her clothes becoming old and patched

and dirty... the Mad Carlotta...

stopping people in the streets to

ask, "Where is my child?... have you

seen my child?".

The store has darkened considerably and all the figures are

practically silhouettes. The CAMERA picks up a CLOSE SHOT OF

MIDGE, listening intently, her head turned away from the

wall toward the old man. And on the wall near her head is a

print of mission San Juan Bantista as it was in the old days.

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