Blanche and Jane and the Hollywood Vampire
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~

I worked for the movie studio in the 1920s and ‘30s. I knew Blanche and Jane on a professional level. Blanche started in movies in the late ‘20s, when she was about eighteen. She had her first movie role around 1927. Of course, this was still the silent era. She didn’t become a star overnight, but she did well enough to get offers in other silent pictures. When sound pictures came in, she made the transition easily enough. That’s when she became a star. Every picture she made was a hit, and everybody liked her. She was going places. She was young, beautiful and talented.

Her sister Jane, though, was another story. She was a big deal in Vaudeville, with her singing and dancing, but after she became too big for her little girl act, she was headed for obscurity. Sure, she tried the movies, certain she could match Blanche’s success, but it just didn’t happen for her. Producers and directors hired her as a favor to Blanche, but they soon regretted their generosity. She was drunk all the time, couldn’t remember her lines and cues, and kept everybody waiting and wondering where she was and what she was doing. She was fired from three pictures in a row. She was finished as an actress.

Remembering her success as a child performer, though, Jane believed she was destined for stardom, if not in the movies, then on the stage. She had already had her run in Vaudeville, and Vaudeville was dead. People preferred movies to the corny Vaudeville fare, but that didn’t stop Jane. She practiced her old act night and day. If it worked for her as a child, it would work for her as an adult. The problem was that by this time she was just plain grotesque. The heavy drinking had spoiled her figure and her once-youthful face. Her beautiful blond hair now looked like a mop that had scrubbed too many floors. The more tactful agents told her she didn’t have what they were looking for. The ones who weren’t so kind called her a has-been and booted her out the door.

It was the mid-1930s, and Blanche was riding high. She had just been signed by the studio to a multi-million dollar, seven-year contract. She received sacks full of fan mail every day. She had to hire a secretary just to take care of her mail.

And then, on New Year’s Eve, it all came crashing down.

Blanche was invited to a party at the home of Chester Siler, the director of her latest cinematic triumph. Hating to leave Jane all alone on New Year’s Eve, she phoned Chester and asked if she might bring Jane along. “Of course,” he said. “Anybody you want to bring along will be most welcome.”

Jane was reluctant to go to a party of Blanche’s friends, but after she thought about it for a while, she saw how it might benefit her professionally. There would be producers and directors at the party and she might make some important showbiz connections. If nothing else, she might be able to humiliate Blanche.

The party was a glittering affair, filled with Hollywood luminaries. Everybody wanted to talk to Blanche and sit next to her. Some of the handsomest men in Hollywood waited to dance with her.

Jane was well-behaved at first. She sat with the older ladies, and when a gentleman asked her to dance, she smilingly complied. After hours of steady drinking, though, she became raucous. She stood on a table and announced to everybody that she was Blanche Hudson’s sister, and that she too was an actress. She was just as good as her damn sister, and she wanted the world to know it. She just hadn’t had all the lucky breaks.

When Blanche tried to calm Jane down and stop making a spectacle of herself, Jane socked her in the jaw and began calling her whore and slut and tramp and any other name she could think of. She implied that Blanche only became a success in pictures because she had no morals and would spread her legs for anybody who might further her career.

Finally Blanche got Jane down off the table and, with several of the other women guests, got her into the kitchen, where they had a pot of coffee brewed for her. Blanche was humiliated. The party was ruined for her.

Right after the countdown to midnight, Blanche got Jane into her coat and corralled her out the door and into the car. Jane slept the whole way home, snoring and sputtering, trying to talk but making no sense.

At their home, finally, Blanche got out of the car to open the gate, letting the car idle. That’s when Jane got behind the wheel of the car and ran Blanche down in the driveway, nearly killing her.

Blanche lay in the driveway screaming. Neighbors heard the commotion and called an ambulance. Police came. They tried to piece together what happened, but it made no sense to them. Blanche was apparently by herself. Jane was nowhere to be found. She was located ten days later in a skid row hotel under an assumed name.

Blanche was in the hospital for many months. Her back was broken. Every spinal specialist in the state reviewed her case; they all said there was no chance she would ever walk again. When she was released from the hospital and sent home, she had to have somebody in her family to take care of her. Her only family was her sister, Jane.

Jane moved into Blanche’s big house with her. (Jane insisted the house belonged to her.) Since Blanche could no longer walk, she was confined to her upstairs bedroom. Jane prepared the food in the kitchen downstairs and carried it up to Blanche’s room. She did all the cooking, shopping, laundry, cleaning, etc., that needed to be done. With the tidy fortune Blanche had made in the movies, they could have hired a housekeeper, but Jane didn’t want any strangers in “her” house.

Blanche was allowed one extravagance, her maid Elvira. Besides being a maid, Elvira was also a friend and confidante. She came in two or three days a week and helped Blanche with her letter-writing and with anything else that needed to be done. Blanche paid her a small salary, but Elvira would have done it free of charge.

Elvira’s plan was to get Jane “put away.” She saw how unstable she was and how she was habitually drunk. She believed that Jane would someday “hurt” Blanche in some vengeful way, maybe even kill her. Elvira envisioned Jane setting the house on fire and leaving Blanche upstairs to burn to death.

Elvira and Jane disliked each other with equal fervor. Jane was always looking for a reason to fire Elvira, but it was out of her hands. Blanche paid Elvira’s salary and all the rest of the bills for the household. Jane didn’t have a dime to her name except what Jane gave her. It was just another humiliation added to all the other humiliations she had had to endure.

Elvira was never shy about giving her opinions.

“That sister of yours is like a volcano waiting to erupt,” she said to Blanche one rainy Saturday afternoon when the two of them were alone in Blanche’s room.

“She’s not as bad as she seems,” Blanche said. “I’ve talked to her many times about her drinking. She tries to control it, but sometimes it’s too much for her.”

“You’re too easy with her. If she was my sister, I’d slap her in a mental hospital where she belongs.”

“Life hasn’t been easy for her. She showed great promise as a young person, but she’s been disappointed so many times.”

“I know all that, but it doesn’t excuse her behavior. She’s got a barrelful of liquor bottles in the corner of the kitchen.”

“I know, but we have to be kind with Jane.”

“She’s bad for you! She shouldn’t be taking care of you! You could afford to hire a real nurse and a good housekeeper to boot.”

“Jane and I get along quite well.”

“You could have her committed! You are the only person in the world to do it.”

Blanche laughed merrily. “Have Jane committed! Don’t you think that’s a little drastic, Elvira? Who would treat their own sister that way?”

“Do you know she’s hired a pianist? She’s been rehearsing her act night and day, just the way she did it when she was a little girl!”

“Yes, she still dreams of being a star.”

“It just isn’t healthy.”

“Well, I suppose we must indulge her in her whims.”

“Speaking of whims, I have one I want you to indulge me in.”

“What is it?”

“I have somebody I want to you to meet.”

“Another movie fan?”

“No. This is somebody who can really help you!”

“Another doctor? I think all the doctors agree I’m a hopeless cripple.”

“No. Not a doctor in the way you mean.”

“It’s not a faith healer, is it?”

“No, not a faith healer.”

“What is it, then?”

“All right, now, honey! Get ready for this! He’s a vampire!”

“Oh, Elvira! Not a vampire! You know how I feel about supernaturals.”

“Yes, but you need to keep an open mind.”

“Absolutely not! I will not agree to see a vampire!”

“What have you got to lose?”

“Will he want to drink my blood?”

“Not if you don’t want him to.”

After a sustained argument, Blanche agreed to meet the vampire for ten minutes.

The next week on a Tuesday evening, Jane went nightclubbing with her pianist friend. She might not be back home until morning, she said. It was the perfect chance for Blanche to meet the vampire.

Elvira was waiting for him downstairs. He arrived punctually at seven o’clock. She took his coat and hat and escorted him upstairs to meet Blanche.

She was sitting in her wheelchair in the middle of the room, waiting for him. He advanced toward her and took her hand in his.

“So this is the divine Blanche,” he said. “In preparation for this evening, I watched all your movies, even the silent ones. You have a special radiance that’s unique to the screen.”

“Thank you,” Blanche said. “Won’t you sit down?”

He was not what she expected. He was old Hollywood. He was more Adolphe Menjou than Bela Lugosi. He was dressed in a dark, old-fashioned, double-breasted suit. He wore a white carnation in his buttonhole. His eyes were piercing and his skin white, but there wasn’t anything frightening about him. His name was Ramon Valentino. No doubt a Hollywood alias.

He pulled the guest chair closer so that their knees were almost touching. Again he took her hand.

“I can help you,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

“How can you help me? Every doctor has told me I’m a helpless cripple.”

“You’re withering here. You’re wasting away. I see it in your eyes.”

“My sister Jane takes care of me.”

“Where is this sister?”

“She’s out for the evening.”

“I believe your sister is a large part of your trouble. She is not good for you. You need to get away from her.”

“How am I going to do that? She takes care of me. She’s the only family I have in the world.”

“Why not take care of yourself?”

“I’m not able.”

“What if I told you I could make you able?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

“With your permission, I’m going to give you an injection.”

“An injection of what?”

“Vampire blood, among other things.”

“Will it turn me into a vampire?”

“No need to worry about that now.”

He wheeled Jane’s chair over to the bed and helped her onto the bed. When she was settled comfortably, he administered the injection.

“This shot will make you sleep soundly and peacefully. You’ll wake up in the morning feeling better than you’ve felt in a long time. I will return in one week and give you another injection. There are ten in all. At the end of the ten injections, you will see a miraculous difference.”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“I don’t care about money. If you’re not happy with the results, you pay me nothing.”

“It sounds too good to be true.”

“You must embrace the fantastic!”

After ten injections, Blanche’s spine fused and healed and she was able to walk again, to dance again if she cared to. She was young and beautiful again. She would be able to resume her screen acting career again that was so cruelly interrupted. When people heard about her miraculous recovery, she would be the toast of the town. Every producer would want her for his next film. People all over the world would be enthralled by her story and would eagerly anticipate her return to the screen.

Jane also benefited from Blanche’s recovery. She wouldn’t have to take care of Blanche anymore, but, better than that, her career was also revived. Introduced to vampire audiences by Mr. Ramon Valentino, she began dancing and singing in vampire theatres all over the world. Vampire audiences loved her act. What’s better than a worn, middle-aged, white-faced woman singing and dancing to songs from a bygone era, in the style of a woebegone child? What a sensation she created!

Copyright © 2023 by Allen Kopp