There is a detail in this chapter about Blanche's experience with pets. Here I am relying on the original book in which Blanche did not own a pet canary, as opposed to the 1962 film.
"Can you get the telephone?" Lynn asked, carrying the ringing contraption over and placing it on the coffee table in front of Blanche. "I don't want to be late."
Blanche closed her book and leaned forward to pick up the receiver as the young woman skipped back into her room. "Hello?"
"Hello, Blanche, darling," the voice at the other end of the line greeted her merrily. "It's Pauline."
Blanche listened with an absent-minded smile as the cheerful woman chattered away, watching her maid standing in the gallery and carefully buttoning up her dress. For the first time since Blanche had met her, Lynn was going out with a friend, but Blanche refused to linger on that regretful fact.
"The reason I'm calling," Pauline finally got to the point after explaining in elaborate detail how much damage the recent rains had caused in her garden, "is actually that I wanted to ask you for a tremendous favour. You see, my husband's family has invited us all over for the holidays, and I have a real problem with Cecil." Blanche remembered well the little lazy dog who had attempted many a time to climb onto her lap when she had visited Pauline in the autumn. "My mother-in-law is terribly allergic, so I couldn't possibly take him with me. I would ask Harriet—remember, I told you about Harriet—but she's up in Canada at the moment. I can't imagine what possessed her to go up there when it's so cold. Anyway, as you can see, I'm in a bit of a pickle here, and I thought maybe you and Lynn could help me out. It would only be for a week."
Staring at her maid's curious face, Blanche shook her head blankly. "I don't know the first thing about looking after a dog," she admitted, as she had never had a pet of any kind.
"A dog?" Lynn exclaimed with elated excitement, jumping forward.
"Oh, there's nothing complicated to it," Pauline promised with spirited enthusiasm.
Lynn, who hadn't heard Pauline's part of the conversation but who was obviously thrilled about the prospect of spending the holidays taking care of a canine, was nodding eagerly. "I can do it, Miss Blanche!"
And so, without Blanche really having a say in the matter, it was decided that Pauline would leave her dog with the two of them for Christmas.
Another decision in which Blanche didn't seem to have much of a say concerned Bill's gracious, if rash, offer to revive her career. After that night at the premiere party Bill had given her time to sleep on the idea—a whole week actually—until he'd called to confirm her answer, which by that time had waned from a categorical, "No," to an insecure, "I don't see how I could do it." The latter reply seemed to meet the actor's expectations, for he launched into a series of carefully-thought-through reassurances and gentle but determined coaxing, which by the end of their phone call succeeded in making Blanche rather amenable to the prospect of appearing in a motion picture.
In spite of having spent well over a decade in this world of dazzling glamour, or perhaps because of it, the sound stage quite simply took Blanche's breath away. Everything was new, from the technology to the set designs, from costumes to make-up, from the stars to the whole pace of the production. As soon as Bill left her side to find the director, Blanche felt completely lost in the endless building and the feverish chatter and bustling of the crowd of crew members, in a sea of unfamiliar faces, of people who had all worked hard to get there and knew exactly what they were there for. And yet, although she felt completely out of place, a distant feeling of excitement made its way gradually into her system. She recognized the oddly delicious feeling of disorientation from her early years at the studio, the years she hadn't dared think about for a while, back when she had still been new to the spotlight and to the stunning absence of her older sister's stifling presence. The intoxicating mixed smell of cigarette smoke, sawdust and cheap perfume hit her with an almost numbing sense of recognition.
She was relieved of its strange impact almost instantly, however, when a group of young people, who judging by the articles in their arms must have been from the costume department, rushed past Blanche's chair. Startled, her hands moved instinctively to the wheels and she drew backwards. A sharp, "Ai!" stopped her abruptly, and she turned in her chair already with a sinking feeling in her stomach to see whom she had retreated into. "I'm so dreadfully sorry." The words fell from her lips even before she had faced them.
The tall woman standing behind her was a breathtaking blonde, and Blanche was struck by an unaccountable sting of jealousy at the thought that she was probably an actress. The woman's sad eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. "No-no," she replied in a warm and heavily accented voice, "not your fault." She put her hand out to the back of Blanche's chair and reached down to brush her hand over the place where the wheel had hit her. "I was not looking."
Blanche saw with acute mortification that her left stocking had a large hole right in the middle of the shin. "Oh, I've ruined your stocking," she said with bitter regret.
"Ce n'est pas grave," the paragon of Gallic beauty told her reassuringly, flashing Blanche a radiant smile. "I have time to change before we film. Excusez-moi, mademoiselle."
As soon as she had said that, the woman turned on her pointed heel and strode in the direction she had most likely just come from. "I'm sorry!" Blanche called after her, unconvinced if the younger woman could still hear her. She felt a little silly at the girlish flicker of admiration she had felt upon meeting the charming lady. She supposed she had inspired a similar feeling in Lynn upon their first meeting, although Blanche didn't consider herself half as beautiful as the actress she had just met.
"Was that Danielle Duverger?" The young girl had appeared next to her again.
"Who?" Blanche asked distantly, still gazing in the direction in which the other woman had disappeared.
"Why, the star of the movie of course!" Lynn answered in the unmistakable tone in which one explains something completely obvious.
"Oh," Blanche replied quietly, unable to recall seeing the actress's face in any magazines. "I suppose she was."
During the hour leading up to the shooting Blanche's mood improved miraculously as she was treated with refreshing professionalism and only a few incredulous glares. With an exhilarating feeling of recognition she let the make-up artist work on her face and the assistant costume designer circle her as he searched with a critical squint for somewhere he could pull the dress tighter around Blanche's unexpectedly slender figure. All the while Blanche had been keenly concentrated on the few pages of dialogue that her character had been entrusted with.
Lynn, who had seized her chance to see everything and everyone she possibly could, had wandered around the stage and, slumped in a set chair as Blanche's hair was being pinned back up, had told her that the glamorous Frenchwoman had just finished a moving scene with Bill and some young model. In spite of her initial reservations, by the time she was ready for the cameras Blanche had found herself shamelessly giddy and excited about the upcoming filming.
Now, sitting alone in the harsh spotlight, Blanche didn't feel any of the previous thrill as it was slowly sucked out of her by numerous expectant eyes outside the ring of light and trampled upon by an increasingly restless director.
"Miss Hudson!" he called out, stopping the take once again. "The second camera! What did we just tell you? You have to turn to your right."
Pursing her lips with fierce determination, Blanche turned towards the camera on her right, but before she could even start her line, she saw the director waving his arms dismissively. "No-no, we can't hear you like that!" Wordlessly Blanche turned back to face the director, uncertain of what exactly he was demanding from her. "You have done this before, haven't you?" he asked with emphatic annoyance in his tone.
Disheartened, Blanche gave a faint nod and raised her unnaturally painted eyes to the camera again. "No! There is your mark!" the director hollered, pointing impatiently past the camera. "That's where you have to look!" Blanche jumped at his shrill tone and sank into her chair in an utterly unreasoning but at this moment extremely real fear of a physical blow.
Bravely she held back a weak sob of misery as the director paced up and down behind the cameras for a short moment and then returned to his previous position with an even stormier air of exasperation. "That is where our star will be standing if he ever chooses to grace us with his presence."
Blanche's eyes were drawn to the mark next to the camera and she tried to imagine the male lead standing there; all her mind managed to conjure up, however, was a furious duplicate of the livid director. Blanche shuddered and sat up again. "Pull yourself together now!" the director ordered brusquely, reminding Blanche in this moment eerily of her father. "And… Action!"
Blanche turned to face her mark with every intention of saying her lines and being done with it. But when her lips parted, not a sound came out, and she felt the pressure of the pregnant silence descend over her shoulders as tangibly as an actual weight. She sought for the words but her mind had gone completely blank. She could sense the impatient disappointment in the eyes of the crew members gathered around the set and her lengthening moment of inability stretched long enough for her to realize fully the utter ridiculousness of her situation.
She couldn't find the right words to say, so instead she swore at herself in her head for letting herself be dragged into this vain re-enactment of a life that hadn't been hers for well over twenty years. A cripple didn't belong on a movie set. She had heard it so many times in her youth from jealous colleagues and nasty critics that it was stamped into her head—without her looks Blanche Hudson was nothing extraordinary. As the terrible moment of humiliating failure dragged on, Blanche experienced a powerful urge to cry at her pathetic situation, at the silly feeling she now recognized as gullible belief that she could still achieve something at her age and in her condition.
"Cut!" The director's slicing voice broke the terrible stillness on the set, and Blanche collapsed back into her chair with a forlorn sigh of anguish, which was muffled by the man's irritated, "Miss Hudson, we haven't got all day!"
It seemed to Blanche as if hours had passed before two large hands took her gently by the shoulders and through her tears she recognized a familiar kind face. "Oh, Bill!" she sobbed. "I can't do this. This is all too much for me. I can't do anything right." Her friend watched her with a sympathetic look of understanding in his eyes. "The director is so upset with me, and I don't even know what I did wrong. I just don't-" She sighed with misery, gesturing aimlessly around herself. "I've wasted so much time, and my co-star is missing and- and…" Blanche didn't trust her wavering voice enough to continue; in truth, she didn't really know what else to say except that she felt like an absolutely ridiculous failure and that Bill had better just let her leave as quietly as possible.
"Blanche, darling," Bill addressed her, his own rich voice almost breaking with emotion, "listen to me. You can do this." He must have been feeling guilty for dragging Blanche into this production in the first place, but at the moment Blanche could only think of how pathetic she must have looked to her successful and proficient friend. "I have seen you do this sort of thing dozens of times before."
Blanche shook her head hopelessly. "But that was all-"
"Brilliant, my dear," Bill wouldn't let her finish her thought on how frightfully long it had been since she had last been in front of a camera. "Look, Blanche, you are talented," Bill told her with insistent conviction, "and you look exquisite." The downhearted actress was surprised at the short cheerless laugh that left her. "Now, pay no mind to the director," Bill advised, withdrawing from Blanche and standing back. "I will take your co-star's place, see?"
He stood in front of the mark Blanche had been instructed to speak to, and an almost miraculous change took place in the woman. All of a sudden she was transported back to a time when her co-stars were still young and dashing men and when her on-screen wardrobe and make-up was considered the latest trend. She attempted a weak smile at her friend and with the back of her hand brushed at her tear-streaked cheeks. No one rushed forward to fix her face, and with decidedly airy indifference Blanche concluded that either the director had already decided to cut her from the movie or he had intended from early on for her character to be as unattractive as possible.
"That's it, girl," Bill grinned, although his expression still held the pale alarm of finding his friend in such a vulnerable state. "Just say the lines to me."
After that unfortunate interlude the director didn't interrupt any of Blanche's other takes, and by working with Bill, she quickly regained her composure. However, when Bill invited her along to look over the day's footage, she got the impression she had forgotten to replace a vital mask of professionalism and therefore her acting came off as too raw and unrefined. Lynn loved it, claiming she believed every word the actress had said on the screen as if they had been uttered in the comfortable privacy of their own fairy house.
In spite of how pessimistic she had been about her performance throughout the day, Blanche found she had made it into more frames than she had hoped. She was particularly surprised at the outcome of her first scene, where a young girl was supposed to conclude the scene by dancing into the room and coaxing the male lead away from her. What had originally been meant as an important introduction of a scene for the girl as she performed her little complicated dance had actually been cut in its majority and replaced with a long and invasive close-up of an awestruck Blanche, who had watched the young girl's skipping with ardent, open longing and tearful regret, unaware that one of the cameras was still focused on her. Watching her own face contort in agonized envy on the screen, Blanche realized with a belated twinge of self-awareness that her sincere reaction to the lively young creature's frolics fit her character perfectly. And although she had opened up more of herself to the cameras than she had intended, she experienced a long dormant feeling of proud accomplishment.