Part 30 (2/2)

She smiled at me. ”Good afternoon, Mr. Edge.”

”h.e.l.lo, Ginny,” I answered. ”What's good for lunch?”

”The sweetbreads,” she answered, ”sauteed. Just the way you like 'em.”

”Sold,” I told her.

She went away and I looked around the room. Gordon was just coming in. He saw me at the table and began to make his way toward me. I waved him to a chair. ”h.e.l.lo, Robert,” I said.

He plumped himself into the chair heavily. ”Scotch old-fas.h.i.+oned, dry, no sugar,” he said to Ginny, who hovered next to him. He looked at me. ”I need a drink.”

I smiled at him. ”I've heard those words before.”

”You'll hear them a lot more before this picnic is over,” he said. ”Farber's on the lot already, making like a big shot.”

I didn't answer.

He looked at me. Ginny put his drink before him. He picked it up and finished it in one draught. ”I thought you weren't going to give him an in,” he said flatly.

”I changed my mind.”

”Why?” he asked. ”I thought you didn't want him. Yesterday-”

I cut in on him. ”I still don't want him. But a million bucks is a million bucks. It saves a lot of trouble.”

”It can also make a lot of trouble,” he said sarcastically. ”Ronsen, Farber, and Roth were in to see me this morning. They say it's all set for Dave to take over on The Snow Queen. They said it was okay with you.”

The Snow Queen was the biggest picture we had working at the time. It was a musical starring a kid that Gordon had gone to a lot of trouble to steal from Borden. She was only fourteen years old, but Bob had worked hard on her already. She had a voice like a mature woman's. Bob had planted her on a radio program featuring one of the biggest comedians and she had made a big hit. He had spent a lot of dough s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her tests at Borden and fixing it that they would drop her option. The minute he got her, he had gone to work. He had whipped up a story for her, and from the script we knew it had that intangible something that spelled hit before it came out. It wouldn't cost us a h.e.l.l of a lot to make either, and already we sensed the dough coming in. It was his pet project, and now that everything was set to roll, all the glory would go to Dave if he took over. I didn't blame Bob for being sore.

Bob was on his second old-fas.h.i.+oned before I spoke. ”That's interesting,” I said casually.

He almost choked on his drink. ”That's all you got to say?” he asked.

I nodded my head.

His face went red and he started to get up from the table.

I grinned at him. ”Sit down, sit down. Keep your s.h.i.+rt on. I'm not letting anybody screw you. We'll let Dave get a.s.sociate-producer credit if we have to, but it will still be a Robert Gordon production.”

”That ain't the way I heard it,” he said indignantly.

”That's the way it's gonna be, an' if they don't like it, they can go hump 'emselves.”

He settled back in his chair. He sipped slowly at his drink now, his face was thoughtful. ”Got an angle, Johnny?” he asked.

That was Hollywood too. Everything had to have an angle. You could get a guy to hang himself with pleasure if he thought he was in on an angle to screw somebody he didn't like.

”A million-dollar angle,” I said smiling.

He was smiling now. ”I should have known better, Johnny. I'm sorry for blowing my top.”

”Forget it, Bob,” I said generously. I could afford to be generous. I wasn't giving anything away.

”What's the gimmick?” he asked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone.

I looked around the room and lowered my voice to match his. The best actors in this business weren't always on the screen. There was more acting in every minute of our end of the business than went on in a year before the cameras. ”This is no place to talk about it, Bob,” I said softly. ”I'll talk to you later.”

He was completely happy now. He looked around the room expansively. He even smiled and nodded to some people. His every gesture exuded confidence. It was amazing how that changed the atmosphere in the room.

Before this, people had been talking quietly, looking at us apprehensively out of the corners of their eyes. They were wondering whether we'd still be their bosses tomorrow. They were already making plans in case we weren't. New people had to be cultivated, flattered, new a.s.ses to be kissed. Maybe new jobs would have to be found by some. But now, from the way Gordon looked, most of them figured they were good for a while.

I looked over Gordon's head to the doorway. Ronsen, Farber, and Roth were standing there. Ronsen caught my eye and started toward me. He and Farber walked together, his hand most deferentially on Farber's arm. Dave brought up the rear like a puppy trailing after its masters.

Watching them, I almost smiled. Peter was right. I looked at Ronsen. His every action indicated solicitude for Farber.

Ronsen had changed a little since he had first muscled his way into the place. He was confident then. I remember what he said: ”The trouble with this business is that there is too much dependence on personalities and too little faith in the good old American principles of running a business. There need be no such conditions. It's very simple, really. The studio is nothing but a factory. All they have to do is make pictures and have them marketed properly. That's my job here. To show the picture business how it should be run. Before I get finished with this place it will run like the Ford Motor Company.”

I almost laughed aloud when I thought of that. The Ford Motor Company. He took a leaf right out of their books and the first thing he tried to do was break our contracts with the unions. He almost broke us instead. For nine weeks not a picture rolled on our lot. He had raged up and down the place, yelling: ”Communistic labor principles.” It didn't do any good. Then, in the last week of the strike, when the projectionists across the country refused to run a single Magnum picture in their theaters and we were faced with a complete loss of revenue, he finally gave in and I had to go out and straighten up the mess.

Peter was right. In the final a.n.a.lysis they had to come back to us. Maybe it was because we had nothing to lose and they had everything. We were broke when we started. We could afford to go out broke if we had to. We knew that the business was built upon a hypothecation, a gamble. We knew that every picture we turned out was a gamble, and like gamblers we were not satisfied to wait for the results of one bet. Before that picture was out we bet that it was good and hocked it against another picture, another gamble, and kept on going.

That was something they couldn't afford to do. They came to us with pockets loaded, with money that they had had for years, that their fathers had had before them, and if they lost that their world was at an end and there was nothing left for them.

They had to come to us.

I stood up as they neared my table. I looked at Stanley. The years had changed him but little. He was still the same guy. Maybe his hair had gone gray, his face had filled out along with his stomach, but he still had the same ready smile that lacked warmth. His eyes still gave the impression that they were constantly adding and subtracting. He hadn't changed much. I still reacted to him the same way I had when I first met him. He rubbed me the wrong way. I didn't like him.

Larry spoke first. ”h.e.l.lo, Johnny,” he said in that deep voice of his that carried to every corner of the room. ”You know Stanley, don't you?”

Every eye in the room was on us. I smiled and held out my hand. ”Sure,” I said, ”recognize him anywhere.” He took my hand. It was still the same old handshake-just like picking up a dead fish. ”How are yuh, boy?” I continued. ”Glad to see yuh.”

His face was a little pale under its ruddy color, but his eye had an unmistakable glint of triumph in it. ”Johnny,” he said, ”it's been years.”

He let go my hand and we stood there smiling at each other. To all outward appearances we were buddies who had just seen each other after a long while. And all the time we would have gladly cut each other's throat if there was any way we could get away with it.

”Sit down, gentlemen.” I waved them to the chairs.

There were only four places at my table. Since Bob and I were already seated, there were only two more places. Larry dropped into the chair on my right and Stanley seated himself heavily on my left. That left Dave standing up and looking for a place to sit.

Ginny saw him standing there and made a motion to get a chair for him; but I caught her eye. She stopped and, half smothering a smile, turned and went toward the kitchen.

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