Part 3 (2/2)

There was a definite note of triumph in her voice when she agreed to meet me.

The b.i.t.c.h insisted that we go to a movie. So we went. I didn't pay any attention to the film. Allison's nearness was too distracting.

I had to face facts. I had to play the game her way. That's the only way I'd get what I wanted. I was beginning to have a suspicion that shead be getting what she wanted too.

So we left the movie and went to dinner in the Village and then to another gay bar. We drank and talked. I wanted her so much I would have raped her on the spot if I had thought I could get away with it.

We stayed at the bar late and then took a cab uptown. Allison squeezed my hand as she got out of the cab at her house. Big deal. I stayed in the cab and went on home. Boy, was I hung.

On Monday Judy told me I had been promoted to Production a.s.sistant. That meant the same salary, same kind of work but I'd be working at the studio part of the time and the rest of the time in the office.

I lit out for the studio like a bat out of h.e.l.l. Allison would be rehearsing there.

They were rehearsing in a big studio. All around them technicians were arranging lights, measuring camera angles and distances, and taking light readings. Carpenters were still working on some of the sets. The painters were sitting around looking bored waiting for the sets to be ready for painting. Happy was running around getting in everybody's way and screaming about how much it was costing him for the painters to be idle.

It was utter pandemonium. Compared to this the noise in the office was nothing.

Allison was feeding lines to one of the actors in a corner of the studio. I ran towards her, nearly breaking my neck a hundred times on cables, lumber and miscellaneous workingmen that were strewn all over the floor.

I was brought up short by the impact of an arm suddenly thrust across my diaphragm. ”What the h.e.l.l...?” I gasped.

It was Perry Matthews, the director. ”Sloane, am I glad to see you here! Look, I called Judy and asked her to have you put on this job this morning so that you'd get Happy out of our hair. He's driving everybody nuts. We'll never get anything done this way. Darling, Happy's a great guy. Salt of the earth. But I'll strangle him if he tells me how to do my job once more,” he said.

”Take it easy, Perry,” I said. ”I'll get rid of him for you.”

I found Happy lying on a huge four-poster bed that was one of the props. He was talking to the crew manager and giving him h.e.l.l about not having the sets ready. The crew manager was trying to point out that they didn't need the sets for rehearsals and that shooting wouldn't start for two days and everything would be ready by then. Happy wouldn't let him get a word in earwise.

I waited until the great man paused for breath and then marched over and started to give him the treatment Judy-style.

”Happy, you look awful. I talked to Mrs. Broadman today” (a lie) ”and she told me you only got two hours sleep last night and that you didn't even have any breakfast this morning.” (a good guess.) You had to treat Happy like a child, a backward one at that, if you wanted to get anywhere with him.

”Darling, you should have my troubles. I don't have time to blow my nose with all these schlemiels trying to screw me right and left,” he said.

”I should have your money,” I said. ”Come on, take me out to breakfast and I'll let you tell me all your troubles.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed and gave me a pathetic look from behind his horn-rimmed gla.s.ses. ”I can't leave, baby. This place would fall apart without me.”

”We'll give them an object lesson. We'll leave them all alone. Then, when we come back, we can show them how they've done everything wrong and how much they need us.”

”Jesus, you're beginning to talk like Judy. Can't I even get some respect from my own employees?” he asked.

”I doubt it,” I said. ”Come on, let's get some coffee.” I walked him out of the place fast before he could change his mind. Allison hadn't even noticed that I had been there.

We found a luncheonette about a block away. It was one of those frighteningly sterile places. You know, tile floor, marble topped counter, white walls, s.e.xless waitress. We took a table near the window and then both started giggling when we noticed the cafe espresso machine. It was sandwiched in behind the counter between a chrome-plated electric juicer and a chromier milkshake machine.

Over breakfast Happy let me in on some of the ins behind the ins of the Harold Broadman Office. It took a lot of effort to keep from vomiting.

With a perfectly straight face Happy filled me in on the mechanics of financing his various projects. It seemed perfectly logical to him that he milked one client to pay for the schemes of another. He had corporate setups with most of his clients, Broadson, Inc. with Amy Ferguson; Banman, Inc. with Marv Banner; Dalman, Inc. with Dallas Weaver, etc. As president and treasurer of the corporations he was able to manipulate the funds.

So, for instance, if he saved money for Broadson, Inc. when making the Ferguson pilot he would use the dough for backing Marv Banner, the comedian. And if Marv Banner got his own show that way then Happy would make more money in commissions. Very simple, very crooked.

I had thought before this that something was peculiar but I hadn't quite understood what was going on. There were little things like making personal long-distance calls on one of the corporation's phones, charging a corporation for office supplies that hadn't been ordered, taking money for his own use from the petty cash box, etc. The whole set-up stank to high heaven.

But if I wanted to stay in that business I had to expect shady goings-on. At least I knew how Happy Broadman stole his money. If I had gone to work for another producer, I might have had to wait longer to figure out his angles. Like I've said before, there's no business like show business.

Happy and I checked back at the studio before heading downtown. We were both due back at the office in a half hour and it was a forty-five minute ride back but I had to fight like a tiger to get him out of the place.

While Happy was bugging Perry Matthews about something or other, I went over to Allison.

”How about dinner tonight?” I asked.

”I'd love to, Sloane. But I can't. Miss Ferguson wants to rehea.r.s.e with me tonight,” Allison said.

”What?”

”She has to do her show in the afternoon so she called a rehearsal for tonight at her apartment.”

”Full cast?” I asked.

”No, just me. She wants to rehea.r.s.e the scene where she comes into the office and I interview her for a job. What's wrong with that? You don't look like you like the idea.”

”Nothing's wrong, Goldilocks. Not a thing. And it better stay that way,” I said. ”Forget it. I suppose she could really want to rehea.r.s.e with you. Call me when you get home, will you?”

Back at the office Judy was waiting for me so that she could go out to lunch. As soon as she left I started prowling through the files and checking up on some of the things Happy had told me about.

It was incredible. An accountant probably would have spotted more conniving than I did but I saw enough. Happy had those contracts so set up that no matter what happened he would always come out on top.

He's a crook, I thought, but he's something else besides, he's a d.a.m.n fine agent. Some of these people came into this office when they couldn't make enough to pay the rent and he built them up to where they are now. Maybe that's the price an actor has to pay for success. While your agent is pus.h.i.+ng you toward the top he's also got a knife in your back but you're moving so fast it only feels like a pin-p.r.i.c.k.

Marv Banner's files were the most horrifying. Happy had him coming and going. Poor Marv didn't see half the money he made.

That was a typical case. I knew Marv's history. He had come into the office when he was so poor he couldn't afford a pair of gloves. Judy told me that he came into her office one winter afternoon when his hands were so chapped they were bleeding. He had kept her laughing for four hours straight. She had been so impressed that she had talked Happy into seeing Marv. Happy usually didn't handle people who weren't already near the top but he had seen Marv's potential and had taken him on. So now, five years later, Marv was getting $5000 and more for one night appearances.

It was a knotty moral problem. All I could figure out was that I didn't like it. I determined to get away from that office and the whole lousy set-up as soon as possible.

That meant making it on my own. No more offices of any sort. I wanted to be a playwright. That meant writing plays. No more goofing.

I rushed home after work and got my typewriter out from under the couch. It was covered with dust. I hadn't touched it in months.

I went through the usual routinea”laying out paper and carbons, sharpening pencils, making coffee, re-arranging the paper, day-dreaming, cursing myself out for being lazy, typing page one at the top of the sheet, making more coffee, etc. I've been writing for years now and I always go through the same stalling process each time before getting to work.

What I needed first was a plot. Brilliant thought. I chewed the erasers off three pencils trying to think of one. I went through ideas for scripts about everything from a despoiled virgin trying to make her way in a hostile world to one about a cowboy who made some rustlers take to them thar hills. I was getting nowhere.

At last I hit on an idea. A play about a woman Governor. A comedy. I'd have Tullulah Bankhead play the Governor and Jack Benny would be her husband. Bright are the dreams of youth.

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