Part 42 (2/2)

”But you ain't got to worry about nothing,” Peter objected. ”You're a ten-percenter. All you gotta do is collect your cut of the clients' pay. We gotta worry about making them worth the pay. We gotta worry about whether the people who count come to the party. We got all the trouble building them up.”

”I still say it's worth the trouble,” Sam insisted. ”It brings customers to the boxoffice.”

Peter shook his head and walked to a cabinet. He opened it and took out a bottle of liquor. He took down three gla.s.ses and poured a measured drink in each. He handed the gla.s.ses around. ”This is the real stuff,” he announced proudly, ”not the junk I got out there.” He held up his gla.s.s. ”L'chaim,” he said.

”L'chaim,” Borden replied.

”Here's luck,” Sam said.

They swallowed the drinks.

Peter sank into a chair in front of the fire. He leaned forward and slipped off his gleaming black shoes. With a sigh he put his feet up on a ha.s.sock. ”Sit down, sit down,” he said to them, waving to the comfortable chairs in front of him. ”Ah, this is good, my feet were killing me. Esther made me put on my new shoes.”

Borden sat down opposite him, and Sharpe sank into the chair next to him. They were silent for a while, each man thinking his own thoughts.

”Another drink?” Peter asked at last. Without waiting for a reply he refilled their gla.s.ses.

Borden looked at him. ”You look tired,” he said.

”I am,” Peter answered.

”Maybe you're working too hard,” Borden suggested.

”It's not that,” Peter denied. ”I feel upset like. Ever since Johnny got here the day before yesterday, I'm worrying.”

They both knew what Peter meant.

”His wife?” asked Sharpe.

Peter nodded his head wearily.

”I've met women like that before,” Borden said. ”In this business you can't help it, but I've never met any as bad as she is. The stories I've heard about her!” He shook his head. ”It's almost unbelievable.”

”She's a mental case,” Sam said bluntly. ”If she keeps on the way she's going I don't think there will be a man left in Hollywood she hasn't shared her bed with.”

Peter looked at them. ”You fellas don't know the half of it. If she stayed in her own bed all the time, it wouldn't be so bad. But any place, any time, whenever she feels like it. Already I got to fire three men because they were talking about it. One day a guy comes to me with some pictures he took. She was in a corner of a set with one of the gaffers. Her dress was up around her waist and she was leaning against the wall. It cost me a thousand dollars for the negatives and prints and I still don't know whether he didn't hold out on me and keep some.” He looked down at the drink in his hand for a moment, then back at them. ”I called her into my office and handed her the pictures. I was too ashamed to say anything to her. I just put the pictures in her hand without a word. And what do you think she said? You wouldn't believe it. She looked at me and laughed. 'The man who took this picture must have been an amateur,' she says. 'If he'd waited another minute he could have caught me at a better angle!'”

He waited for them to speak. They were silent. He continued: ”'Dulcie,' I said to her, 'You should be ashamed acting like that. People will talk.'

”'They'll talk anyway,' she says.

”'But, Dulcie,' I said, 'there's no reason for it. You got a nice husband. What if he should hear about it? How would he feel?'

”She looks at me with a funny look on her face, 'Who's gonna tell him?' she asks. 'You?'

”I didn't answer. She knew as well as me that I wouldn't say nothing to Johnny. How could I tell him something like that? When I didn't answer her, a funny smile came on her face and she says to me: 'I thought you wouldn't.' She half turns as if to go out of my office and then turns back to me. She stands there almost a minute without talking. I could see she's thinking. I wait for her.

”Then I could see tears come to her eyes slowly. Her lips began to quiver. 'You don't understand, Peter,' she says, crying. 'I'm a very emotional person, and when I married Johnny I thought I would be very happy. But I wasn't. Johnny's wound is more than just his leg. He can't do anything. And I'm an actress and sometimes it's important for me to feel the emotions I project, otherwise I wouldn't be any good to you at all.'

”For a second I'm feeling almost sorry for her. Then I think that's no excuse for a woman to act like a wh.o.r.e. If it's that important for her she could do it discreetly and n.o.body would be any the wiser. I told her to behave better or I would have to put her off the lot. She promised she would and I chased her out of the office. I was so glad it was over.”

”Poor Johnny,” Borden said, looking into the fire. ”Is he really like that?”

Peter's face seemed to grow redder. ”She was lying,” he said.

”How do you know?” Sam asked.

”Later in the day I was thinking about what she said and I called Johnny's doctor in New York. He said there was nothing the matter with him that way.” He coughed embarra.s.sedly.

”I wonder what would happen if Johnny should find out,” Sam speculated aloud.

”I'm afraid to think,” Peter said quickly. ”She's got him fooled a hundred percent, she's such a good actress.”

”That's just the trouble,” Borden said. ”Why couldn't such talents have been given to a nice girl? It doesn't seem right that a b.i.t.c.h like that should have so much.”

Peter nodded his head in agreement. ”It doesn't seem right, but that's the way it goes. The good always have to struggle for what they get, the bad just stand there with their hands out and everything comes to them.”

Sam reached over to the bottle and refilled the gla.s.ses. He turned to Borden. ”When are you planning to leave for New York?”

”In a week or two,” Borden replied. ”As soon as I straighten up a few things. I bought a place out on Long Island and my wife is filled with excitement over furnis.h.i.+ng it.”

”You're going through with that deal?” Peter asked, looking at him curiously.

”Sure,” Borden said. ”Why not?”

Peter didn't answer for a moment. Borden was going to put his stock on the open market, keeping only the amount sufficient to ensure him control of his company. He had made arrangements with a group of bankers down on Wall Street to represent him and was following their advice to the letter. The entire company was being refinanced in accordance with their suggestions. There were two cla.s.ses of common stock being issued, one with voting privileges, the other without. A preferred stock issue and debenture issue would be floated later. From the proceeds derived from the sale of these stocks Borden hoped to reduce his outstanding bank loans and eliminate expensive borrowings in the future.

”I don't like it,” Peter answered at last.

Borden laughed. ”You're too old-fas.h.i.+oned, Peter,” he said. ”You should learn that that's how they do business today. No longer does one man try to run everything by himself. It's crazy. Today everybody is a specialist. Why should I try to be a banker, a borrower, a producer, a theater operator, a sales manager, all at the same time? My idea is to hire the best specialists in each field and watch over them and guide the whole thing. This business is still growing. Who knows how big it will get? And for big business there are specially trained men too. Men who all their lives are in big business.”

”I don't trust them,” Peter insisted. ”They're all right now when everything looks good, but who knows how they will act when things are bad? I remember what they used to say years ago when we walked into the banks in New York. They used to look down at their noses on us. You could see them thinking: 'Jew pushcart business,' when they turned down our loans. Now that they see we're making money, they want to come in and help us. I don't trust them. Where were they when we really needed help? Looking down their noses. When we needed money we went to Santos. He trusted us, took a chance on us.”

”At practically twelve-percent interest,” Borden interrupted.

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