JC1 The Carpetbaggers

by Robbins, Harold

  He nodded.

  "It's like that with me," she said. "You got a friend. This time it's Irv Schwartz. You're playing gin and he looks at you and says, 'I had a great piece last night. The greatest. Jennie Denton. Give her a blast.' So you come over and put your money on the table. You climb up, you climb down. You get filled with air like a balloon and float around the world. I’ll bet it's a long time since you popped three times in as many hours. Do you still feel cheated?"

  He laughed, suddenly feeling young and strong. She was right. He hadn't felt like this in a long time, maybe twenty years. He felt the warmth return to his loins. He got up, letting the towel fall to the floor.

  She laughed. "You're younger than I thought. Look, its midnight."

  "So?" He stared at her.

  "The deal was two bills till midnight," she said. "You're all paid up. It's three bills from here till morning. But that includes breakfast."

  He laughed. "You're worse than MCA. O.K., it's a deal."

  She smiled and got to her feet. "Come on."

  He followed her into a large bathroom with a giant square marble tub sunken into the floor. There was a rubbing table against the wall under the window. She gestured to it. "Get up there.'

  He sat on the edge of the table and watched her open the medicine cabinet. She took down a safety razor, a tube of shaving cream and a brush. She filled a tumbler with water and soaked a washcloth under the tap. These she placed on the edge of the sink near the table. "Lie down," she said, dipping the brush into the tumbler and working up a lather with the cream.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "What does it look like?" she asked. "I’m going to shave you."

  "I shaved this evening."

  She laughed. "Not your face, stupid." She reached out a hand and pressed him back onto the table. "I want to see what you look like underneath all that fur."

  "But— "

  "Lie still," she said fiercely, already beginning to brush the lather on his chest. "I won't cut you. I used to do this all the time when I worked in the hospital."

  The lather was oddly soothing. "You worked in a hospital?"

  She nodded. "I graduated from nursing school when I was twenty," she said. "Cum laude, too."

  "Why'd you leave it?"

  He scarcely felt the razor moving over his body. She turned to rinse it under the tap. "Sixty-five a month, eighteen hours a day," she said, turning back to him. She began to lather the other side of his chest. "And too many jokers thinking it was free."

  He laughed as the razor glided across his stomach. "That tickles."

  She rinsed the razor again. "Turn over," she said. "I want to do your back and shoulders."

  He rolled over on his stomach and rested his face on his arms. The faint menthol smell of the lather came up into his nostrils. He felt the razor moving quickly over him. He closed his eyes.

  She tapped him on the shoulders and he opened his eyes. She reached into the cabinet and took out a bar of soap. Breaking off the wrapping, she handed it to him. "Now take a hot shower and scrub yourself clean."

  The water shot down at him in a needle spray, filling the stall with steam and the scent of jasmine from the soap. He could feel his skin beginning to tingle and glow. When he came out, his face was ruddy and smiling.

  She held a large bath sheet toward him. "Dry yourself and get back on the table."

  He toweled himself quickly and stretched out. She took a small hand vibrator from the cabinet and plugged it into the socket. She began to massage him slowly. The buzzing sound of the vibrator seemed to stretch and loosen the muscles in his body. "This is better than a Turkish bath," he said.

  "This is a Turkish bath," she said dryly, then switched off the vibrator and threw the towel over him. "Now, you just lie there for a few minutes."

  He watched as she leaned over the marble tub and turned on the water. She tested it carefully until it was just the temperature she wanted, then let it run. When the water had risen about four inches up the side of the tub, she turned it off. "O.K.," she said. "Get up."

  He sat up, the towel falling behind him. "You know," she said, "you don't look half bad with all that hair off." She kicked the bathroom door closed, revealing a full-length mirror on the back.

  He looked into the mirror and a smile broke over his lips. She was right. Suddenly, he looked twenty years younger. His body was clean and white under all that hair. He even felt slimmer.

  She smiled at him in the mirror. "Enough narcissism," she said. "Get into the tub."

  He sat down in the water. It was just slightly warmer than body temperature. "Stretch out. I’ll be right back."

  He leaned back in the tub and in a moment, she came back into the bathroom. In one hand she carried a magnum bottle of champagne, in the other a small vial. She put the champagne on the floor, opened the vial and let a few drops from it fall into the water. The heavy scent of jasmine immediately filled the room. She put the vial back on the basin and picked up the champagne bottle.

  Expertly she ripped the foil and sprung the wire from around the cork. The cork popped and the champagne flowed over her fingers. "You forgot the glasses," he said, watching her.

  "Don't be silly. Only fools drink this stuff. This is for the tub. It's better than bubble bath." She began to empty the bottle into the water around him.

  The wine fizzed and tickled his skin with a refreshing sensation. She put the empty bottle on the floor and took a cigarette box from the cabinet. Opening it, she took out a cigarette and lit it. He smelled the dull, acrid pungency of marijuana.

  She dragged once on the cigarette and held it toward him. "Here," she said. "Two puffs. No more."

  He shook his head. "No, thanks. I don't go for that stuff."

  "Don't give me a hard time," she said. "I only want to slow you down a little."

  He took the cigarette from her hand and gingerly put it between his lips. He drew on it. The smoke went down deep inside him. There was no need for him to blow it out. His body had soaked it up like a sponge.

  He looked down at himself in wonder. Suddenly he felt so buoyant. His body was so clean and strong. He looked up at her as she stepped into the tub. He dragged on the cigarette again. He could feel himself floating lightly in the water.

  "That's enough." She took the cigarette from his lips and tossed it into the bowl.

  "This is crazy," he said, smiling, as she stretched out in the water beside him.

  "It had better be," she said, lowering her head to his chest, where he lay covered with a shallow layer of water. He gave a start of surprise as he felt her teeth scrape lightly across his breast. She raised her head, smiling as she looked at him. "It had better be," she repeated. "That bottle of champagne cost me twenty bucks."

  * * *

  He never knew exactly when the idea came to him. It was probably while he was asleep. But it didn't matter. It was there when he came down to breakfast that morning. And he had the confidence that came with the success of many such ideas in the past.

  She looked up from the dining-room table when she heard the sound of his feet on the staircase. "Good morning, Mr. Bonner. Hungry?"

  He returned her smile with appreciation. "Starved," he said, surprising himself. It had been a long time since he'd felt like eating a good breakfast. Juice and coffee was his usual routine.

  He saw her foot move as she pressed a button on the floor under the table. A chime echoed from the kitchen in the back of the house. "Drink your juice," she said. "Your breakfast will be out in a minute."

  He sat down opposite her and lifted the large glass of tomato juice out of the ice in which it had been resting. "Cheers."

  He looked at her with approval. In the clear light of morning, there wasn't a trace of a line on her face. Her eyes were clear and dark and there was only a light touch of color on her lips. Her pale-brown hair was secured neatly behind her head in a pony tail. Her arms were tan against her white, short-sleeved sport blouse, which was tucked neatly, a
lmost primly, into a casually tailored, gored skirt.

  The door behind her opened and a heavy-set Mexican woman waddled in carrying a large tray, the contents of which she transferred to the huge Lazy Susan in the center of the table. Then she deftly removed the empty glass from in front of him and replaced it with a large dinner plate. "Café, un momento," she said quickly and vanished.

  "Help yourself, Mr. Bonner," Jennie said. "You'll find ham, bacon, steak, kippers and kidneys on the plates with the green covers. There are fried eggs, scrambled eggs and French fries under the yellow covers."

  He spun the Lazy Susan until he found the ham and served himself. As he filled his plate, the Mexican woman came back with a pot of coffee and hot rolls and toast. He looked down at his plate. The ham was just the way he liked it.

  Jennie was helping herself to a generous portion of steak. "You set a hell of a fine table," he said as the Mexican woman filled his coffee cup.

  Jennie smiled at him. "There's nothing cheap in this house."

  The Mexican servant walked over and filled Jennie's cup, then waddled back into the kitchen. "You look like you're playing tennis this morning," he said.

  She nodded. "That's exactly what I'm doing. I play for two hours every morning."

  "Where do you play?"

  "Bel Air. I have a standing date with Frankie Gardner."

  He raised an eyebrow. Frankie Gardner was one of the top tennis pros in the country. He was expensive — at least twenty-five dollars an hour. "Is he one of your customers?" he asked curiously.

  "I don't play with my customers. It's bad for business. I buy his time like anybody else."

  "Why?"

  "I like the exercise," she said. "It helps me keep in shape. You know by now that sometimes I put in some pretty long hours."

  "I see what you mean. Have you ever thought about doing anything else?"

  "What do you mean?" she asked. "I told you I studied nursing."

  "I don't mean that. How come you never tried the movies?"

  She laughed merrily. "I'm a native Californian, Mr. Bonner. I've seen what happens to the kids that come out here. Better-looking than I ever was. They wind up as car hops, hustling hamburgers, or five-dollar whores working the Strip. I know better."

  "I mean it," he said earnestly. "Do you know who I am?"

  "Of course, Mr. Bonner. I read the papers. You're one of the biggest producers in Hollywood."

  "So maybe I know what I'm talking about, eh?"

  "Maybe you do." She smiled. "But I know myself and I'm no actress."

  "That wasn't what you said last night."

  "That's something else," she said. "That's my business. Besides, you see the way I live. It would be a long time before I could earn a grand a week in pictures."

  "How do you know? We've had a script around for five years that we haven't been able to find a lead for. It was written for Rina Marlowe. I think you could do it."

  "You're crazy!" She laughed. "Rina Marlowe was one of the most beautiful women on the screen. I couldn't hold a candle to her."

  He was suddenly serious. "There are things about you that remind me of her."

  "Could be," she said. "I hear she was pretty wild."

  "That, too," he said, leaning toward her. "But that isn't what I'm talking about. Come down to the studio tomorrow and I’ll set up a screen test. If it doesn't work, we forget about it. If it does — well, there's just one man's approval I need and you're good for two grand a week."

  "Two grand?" She stared at him. "You're joking."

  He shook his head. "I don't joke about money."

  "Neither do I," she said seriously. "Who is this man whose approval you'd need?"

  "Jonas Cord."

  "We might as well forget about it," she said. "From all I heard around town from some of the girls, he's a real nut."

  15

  Irving followed David into the living room as Rosa began to clear the dishes. "I never saw her looking so good," he said, stretching out in a chair in front of the fire.

  David nodded absently. "Yeah."

  Irving looked at him. "You got something on your mind, Davy?"

  "The usual things," David said evasively.

  "That ain't the way I hear it."

  Something in his voice made David tense. "What do you hear?"

  "The word is out they're giving your boy the squeeze," Irving said in a low voice.

  "What else do you hear?"

  "The new crowd wants to make you top dog if you throw in with them," Irving said. "They're also saying that Bonner has sold out to them already."

  David was silent. He couldn't believe that Jonas didn't know about what was happening. But it was possible.

  "You ain't talking, Davy," Irving said quietly. "You didn't bring me out here for nothing."

  "How did you find out?"

  Irving shrugged his shoulders. "We got stock," he said casually. "Some of the boys called up and told me that their brokers were contacted. They want to know what we should do."

  "How much stock?"

  "Oh, eighty, ninety thousand shares around the country. We figured it would be a good deal the way you were running things."

  "Have you— " David corrected himself. "Have the boys made up their minds yet which way they're going?" That stock could be important. It was over three per cent of the two and a half million shares outstanding.

  "No, we're pretty conservative," Irving said. "We like to go where the money is. And they been making it sound real pretty. Complete financing, doubling the profits, maybe even splitting the stock in a couple of years."

  David nodded. He reached for a cigarette thoughtfully. It hung in his lips unlit. Why hadn't Jonas replied to his messages? Three times he'd tried to locate him and each time there had been no reply. Surely he must know by now. The last place he checked had sent word that Jonas was out of the country. If that was true, the whole thing would be a fait accompli by the time he returned.

  "What are you going to do, Davy?" Irving asked softly.

  "I don't know," he said. "I don't know what to do."

  "You can't ride the fence much longer, chum," Irving said. "There's no way on earth to live with the loser."

  "I know." David nodded. He finally struck a match and held it to his cigarette. "But it's like this. I know Cord doesn't pay much attention to us, maybe sometimes he even holds us back a little. But I also know he can make a picture, he's got a real feel for this business. That's why he bought in. It's not just all cold ass like it is with Sheffield and the others. Plain banker-and-broker arithmetic and to hell with everything except the profit-and-loss statement and balance sheet."

  "But the bankers and brokers hold all the cards," Irving said. "Only a fool bucks the house."

  "Yeah," David said almost savagely, grinding out his cigarette.

  Irving was silent for a moment, then he smiled. "Tell you what, Davy. I’ll get all our proxies together and deliver 'em to you. When you decide what's best, vote 'em for us."

  David stared at him. "You'd do that?"

  Irving laughed. "The way I see it, I got no choice. Didn't you haul that alky for us from Shocky's garage?"

  "Here comes the coffee," Rosa announced, carrying in a tray. "Jesus!" Irving exclaimed. "Lookit that choc'late layer cake."

  Rosa laughed in a pleased voice. "I baked it myself."

  * * *

  Irving leaned back against the couch. "Oh, Doctor!" he said, looking at Rosa and rolling his eyes.

  "Another piece?"

  "I had three already. Another and you'll have to do a plastic job on my stomach to get me back in shape."

  "Better have some more coffee, then," she said, refilling his cup. She began to gather up the cake plates.

  "I meant to ask you, Davy," Irving said. "You ever hear of a broad named Jennie Denton?"

  "Jennie Denton?" David shook his head. "No."

  "I forgot," Irving said, glancing up at Rosa. "You been out of circulation."

  "What ab
out her?" Rosa asked. "I knew a Jennie Denton."

  "You did? Where did you know her, Doc?"

  "At the hospital. Four years ago there was a nurse there by that name."

  "About five six, dark eyes, long, light-brown hair, good figure and an interesting way of walking?"

  Rosa laughed. "Sexy, you mean?"

  Irving nodded. "Yeah, that's what I mean."

  "Sounds like the same girl," Rosa said.

  "What about her?" David asked.

  "Well, Jennie is probably the most expensive hooker in L.A. She has her own six-room house in the hills and you want to see her, it's by appointment only and you go there. She won't walk into a hotel room. She's got a real exclusive list and you want a date, you got to wait maybe two, three weeks. She only works a five-day week."

  "If you're recommending her to my husband," Rosa interrupted, smiling, "you'd better stop right there."

  Irving smiled. "Well, it seems one night, earlier this week, Maurice Bonner went there and she gave him the full treatment. So, nothing will do the next day but he has Jennie down to the studio for a screen test. He shoots her in color, some scenes from some old script he's got laying around. While he's at it, he decides to make it real good. He dresses her in a white silk sheet. It's supposed to be a baptism scene and when she comes up out of the water in the big tank on Stage Twelve, you can see everything she's got. In two days, that test becomes the biggest picture on the home circuit. Bonner's got more requests for it than Selznick's got for Gone With the Wind!"

  There was only one script David remembered that had a baptism scene. "You wouldn't remember the name of the script?" he asked. "Was it The Sinner?"

  "Could be."

  "If it was, that's the script Cord had written especially for Rina Marlowe before she died."

  "I don't care who it was written for." Irving smiled. "You gotta see that test. You'll flip. I sat through it twice. And so did everybody else in the projection room."