The Carpetbaggers

by Robbins, Harold

  "What about Nevada's voice?"

  "It's good," she said. "Very good. We made a sound test the other day."

  "Well, that's one less thing to worry about."

  "Are you going to do it?" she asked.

  "What's in it for me if I do?" I countered.

  "You could make a lot of money," she said.

  "I don't need it," I said. "I’ll make a lot of money, anyway."

  Her eyes turned to me, her voice was cold. "You haven't changed, have you?"

  I shook my head. "No. Why should I? Does anybody? Did you?" I reached for her hand. It was cold as ice. "Just how much are you willing to give to bail Nevada out?"

  Her eyes were steady on mine. "I'd give everything I've got if it would help."

  I felt a kind of sadness creeping into me. I wondered how many people would say that for me. Right then, I couldn't think of one. I let go of her hand and got out of the car.

  She leaned toward me. "Well, Jonas, have you made up your mind?"

  "Not yet," I said slowly. "There's a lot more I have to know about."

  "Oh." She leaned back disappointedly.

  "But don't you worry," I said. "If I do it, you'll be the first one I come to for payment."

  She signaled the chauffeur. He put the car into gear. "Knowing you," she said quietly, "I never expected anything else."

  The limousine rolled away and I turned and walked into the hotel. I went up to my room and opened up the script. It took about an hour and a half to go through it. It was almost six o'clock before I closed my eyes.

  6

  The telephone kept banging away at my head. I shook my head to clear it and looked at my watch. It was a few minutes past seven. I picked up the phone.

  "Mr. Cord? Von Elster here. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I'm down in the lobby with Mr. Norman. It's very important we see you before you meet with Nevada."

  "Who's Norman?" I asked, still trying to clear my head.

  "Bernard B. Norman of Norman Pictures. That's the company releasing the picture. Mr. Norman feels he can be of help to you in making the right kind of deal with Nevada."

  "Why should I need any help?" I asked. "I've known Nevada all my life."

  His voice grew confidential. "Nevada's all right, Mr. Cord. But his agent, Dan Pierce, is a very sharp man. Mr. Norman just wants to give you a few pointers before you tangle with him."

  I reached for a cigarette. Von Elster hadn't lost any time. He'd run right back to his boss the minute he smelled my money. I didn't know what they wanted but I was damn sure it boded no good for Nevada.

  "Wait down there until I can get dressed. I'll call you."

  I put down the phone and finished lighting the cigarette. The blue cover of the script caught my eye. I picked up the telephone again. I gave the operator Tony Moroni's home number out in the valley.

  "Sorry to wake you up, Tony," I said. "This is Jonas."

  His soft voice chuckled over the phone. "That's all right, Jonas. I get up early, anyway. By the way, congratulations on your marriage."

  "Thanks," I said automatically, suddenly remembering I hadn't even thought about Monica since I came to town. "Did you bank Nevada Smith's new picture?"

  "The Renegade?"

  "Yeah."

  "Yes, we did," he answered.

  "What's the story on it?" I asked.

  "Its a good picture," he said. "It would have a bettor chance if it were a talkie, but it's a good picture."

  "If you think it's good, why are you calling your loan?"

  "Let me ask a question first, Jonas," he said. "Exactly what is your interest?"

  "I don't know yet," I said frankly. "Nevada's my friend. I want to find out what's happening. Why are you calling the loan?"

  "You know how we work," he explained. "We made the loan to Smith on his collateral plus the guarantee of the Norman Pictures Company. Now Bernie Norman needs credit to remake some of his own pictures, so he's withdrawing his guarantee. Automatically, that means we have to call in the loan."

  No wonder Von Elster and Bernie Norman were down in the lobby waiting to see me. They didn't want anybody to interfere with their fingering Nevada.

  "Exactly what happens to Nevada?" I asked.

  "If he can't pay the loan, we foreclose on the picture, then all his collateral goes into an escrow account. Then we liquidate until we recover."

  "What do you do with the picture then?" I asked. "Junk it?"

  "Oh, no." He laughed softly. "Then we turn it over to Norman to release. That gives Bernie a chance to get his money out. He has about four hundred thousand in it. After he recovers, the overage is paid to us. When our loan is paid off, we turn over what's left to Smith."

  The whole thing was beginning to make sense. By the time any money got to Nevada, he'd have had it. "What's the chances on any overage?" I asked.

  "Not very good," Tony answered. "Under the present deal, the distribution fees are very low and Nevada Smith's money comes out first. When we take over, the fees will triple and his share will come out last."

  "Who gets the fees – the bank?"

  He laughed again. "Of course not. Bernie does. He's the distributor."

  Now I had it. The boys downstairs were going to make it real big. Screw Nevada. That way, they could grab themselves off a big one for practically nothing. I wondered just how smart Nevada's agent could be if he let him stick his head into a trap like that.

  "One more question, Tony," I said, "and I'll stop bothering you. How much more money should it take to make The Renegade over as a talkie?"

  He was silent for a moment. "Let's see," he said. "The sets are still standing, they have all the costumes. That's about half the cost. Maybe another million, less, if they're lucky."

  "Is it worth it?"

  He hesitated. "I usually don't venture opinions on pictures. Too many things can happen."

  "This time, venture," I said. "I need an opinion from somebody who hasn't any ax to grind."

  "From every report I've had, it could be a very good gamble."

  "Thanks," I said. "Now do me a favor. Hold off any action on the loan until I talk to you later in the day. Maybe I’ll come in on the guarantee in place of Norman."

  "You'll still need another million after that."

  "I know," I answered. "But my writing hand's still good. I can always sign another note."

  Moroni laughed pleasantly as we said our good-bys. He wasn't worried. He knew I could cover the money easily out of the advance I got from the syndicate that leased the patents on my plastic mold. Bankers always were ready to lend you as much money as you wanted, so long as you could put up collateral.

  I looked down at my watch as I put down the phone. It was almost seven thirty and I felt fuzzy. I started to pick up the phone, then changed my mind. The hell with them. Let them wait if they wanted to see me. I turned and went into the bathroom to take a shower.

  The telephone rang three different times while I was under the shower. I stood there letting the hot water soak into my skin and wash away the weariness. It was almost eight o'clock when I came out of the bathroom and the telephone began ringing again.

  It was Von Elster again. His voice was low and conspiratorial. "Nevada, his agent and Rina are on their way up," he whispered. "They didn't see us."

  "Good," I said.

  "But how are we going to meet?"

  "I guess it's too late now," I said easily. "I'll just have to take my chances with Nevada's agent, I guess. Tell your Mr. Norman I appreciate his offer, though. If there's anything I need, I’ll call him.''

  I heard his gasp of shock as I hung up. I laughed and wondered how he was going to explain that to his boss. I climbed into my trousers and was reaching for a shirt when a knock came at the door.

  "Come in," I yelled from the bedroom. I heard the door open and finished buttoning up my shirt. I looked for my shoes but they were over on the other side of the bed. It wasn't worth walking over to get them so I came out in my bare f
eet.

  Rina was already seated on the big couch. Nevada and another man were standing in the middle of the room. A slow smile came over Nevada's face. He held out his hand. "Jonas," he said warmly.

  I took his hand awkwardly. It seemed funny to shake hands with him as one would with a stranger. "Nevada."

  There were faint lines of strain in the corners of his eyes, but for a moment they disappeared as he looked up into my face. "You're lookin' more like your pappy every day, son."

  "You're lookin' pretty good yourself. Where'd you get them duds?"

  A faint tinge of sheepishness came into his face. "That's part of the act," he said. "I got to wear 'em. The kids expect it." He fished in his pocket with that familiar gesture and came up with a package of makin's. He began to roll a cigarette. "I been readin' a lot about you in the papers. Flyin’ from Paris to Los Angeles, gettin' married an' all. Your wife with you?"

  I shook my head.

  He glanced at me shrewdly. In that moment, I knew he knew how it was with Monica and me. He could read me like a book. I could never hide anything from him. "Too bad," he said. "I'd like to have met her."

  I looked at the other man to change the subject. Nevada caught himself quickly. "Oh, this is Dan Pierce, my agent."

  We shook hands and I came right to the point. "I saw your picture last night," I said. "I liked it. Too bad you have to make it over."

  "I thought talking pictures wouldn't last," Nevada said.

  "That’s not the whole story, Nevada," Pierce broke in angrily. He turned to me. "Nevada wanted the picture silent, sure, but by the time we'd started shooting, he saw he was wrong. We tried then to turn it into a talkie but we couldn't."

  "Why?"

  "Norman wouldn't let us," Pierce said. "He only had one sound stage at that time and he was using it for one of his own pictures. He insisted we start shooting right away or he'd withdraw his guarantee."

  The picture was clear now. The whole thing had been a sucker play from the start. I looked at Nevada. I didn't understand it. He was a better poker player than that.

  Nevada read me again. "I know what you're thinkin', boy," he said quickly. "But I wanted to make this picture. It said something that none of the other phonies I’d been in even came close to."

  "What about Norman?" I asked. "How come they won't advance you the money to shoot it over?"

  "They've run out of credit," Nevada said. "That's why the bank is calling the loan."

  "That's a lot of crap!" Pierce exploded again. "We're caught in a squeeze play. Bernie Norman makes the bank call our loan and the bank turns the picture back to him. He gets it for peanuts – about a third what it would have cost him to make it."

  "How much would it take to make the picture over?" I asked.

  Nevada looked at me. "About a million bucks."

  "Plus the loan the bank is calling," Pierce added quickly.

  I turned to him. "Would you still have Norman release the picture?"

  He nodded. "Sure. They've got ten thousand contracts on it an' if it's a talkie, not a theater will cancel out."

  "If it’s silent?"

  "We'll be lucky to get fifteen hundred," he said. "They all want talkies."

  "What do you think I should do?"

  Nevada hesitated a moment, then his eyes came squarely on mine. "I wouldn't do it if I was you," he said frankly. "You could blow the whole bundle."

  I saw the look that Pierce threw him. It was filled with anger but also with a peculiar sort of respect. To Pierce I was just another sucker. But to his credit, he recognized that I was something more to Nevada.

  I stared at him for a moment, then turned and looked down at Rina, sitting on the couch. Her face was impassive. Only her eyes were pleading.

  I turned back to Nevada. "I'll take the shot," I said. "But only on one condition. I’ll buy you out and it will be my picture. And when we make it again, we'll make it the way I want it. There'll be no arguments; everybody will do as they're told. You included. If I'm going to lose the hand, at least I want to deal the cards."

  Nevada nodded. He'd heard my father say the same words often enough. And he'd been the one who taught me always to reach for the deal when the stakes were high.

  "But what do you know about making pictures?" Pierce asked.

  "Nothing," I said. "But how many people do you know who have made a talking picture?"

  That stopped him. I could see the comprehension come into his eyes. What I had said was true. It was a new business. There were no veterans any more. I turned back to Nevada. "Well?"

  "I don't know," he said slowly. "I'm lettin' you take the whole risk. I can't lose anything."

  "You're wrong!" Pierce said quickly. "If it's a stinker, your career is shot!"

  Nevada smiled at him. "I got along pretty good before," he said. "I'm a little old to worry about anything I fell into by accident."

  "Well, Nevada?"

  He stuck out his hand and the worry lines around his eyes lifted suddenly and he was young again. "It's a deal, Junior."

  I took his hand and then went over to the telephone. I called Moroni at the bank. "Make arrangements to transfer the loan to Cord Explosives," I said.

  "Good luck, Jonas," he said with a chuckle. "I had the feeling you were going to do it."

  "Then you knew more than I did."

  "That's what makes a good banker," he said.

  I hung up and turned back to the others. "Now, the first thing I do is fire Von Elster."

  Nevada's face was shocked. "But Von is one of the best in the business," he protested. "He's directed every picture I ever made. He discovered me."

  "He's a lousy little shit," I said. "The minute he thought you were in trouble, he tried to sell you out. He had Bernie Norman up here at seven o'clock this morning. They wanted to give me some free advice. I didn't talk to them."

  "Now maybe you'll believe me when I say Bernie was behind the squeeze," Pierce said.

  "Like it or not, Nevada," I said, "we made a deal. It's my picture and what I say goes."

  He nodded silently.

  "The next thing I want is for Pierce to arrange for me to see as many of the talkies as possible in the next three days. Then, next weekend, I'll fly you all to New York. We're goin' to spend three or four days goin' to the theater. We might even pick up a stage director while we're there. We'll see." I paused to light a cigarette and saw a sudden look come over Nevada's face. "What are you smiling at?"

  "Like I said, you're gettin' more like your pappy every day."

  I grinned back at him. Just then, the waiter came in with breakfast. Nevada and Pierce went into the bathroom to wash up and Rina and I were left alone.

  There was a gentle look on her face. "If you'd only let yourself go, Jonas," she said softly, "I think you might become a human being."

  I looked into her eyes. "Don't try to con me," I said. "We both know why I did it. You and I made our deal last night."

  The gentle look faded from her face. "Do you want me to blow you right now?" she asked.

  I knew I had hit her from the way she spoke. I smiled. "I can wait."

  "So can I," she replied. "Forever, if I have to."

  Just then the telephone rang. "Get it," I said.

  Rina picked it up and I heard a voice crackle for a moment, then she handed the phone to me. "Your wife."

  "Hello, Monica."

  Her voice was filled with anger. "Business!" she shrieked. "And when I call you up, some cheap whore answers. I suppose you're going to tell me it's your stepmother!"

  "That's right!"

  There was an angry click and the phone went dead in my hands. I looked down at it for a moment, then began to laugh. Everything was so right.

  And so wrong.

  7

  I LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW AT THE FIELD. There were several planes warming up on the line, the red, white and blue ICA gleaming in the circle along their sides and under their wings. I looked down at the planning board, then up at the design
er.

  Morrissey was young, even younger than I. He had graduated from M.I.T., where he'd majored in aeronautical engineering and design. He wasn't a flier; he was of a new generation that walked on the sky. What he proposed was radical. A single-wing, two-motor plane that would outlift anything in the air.

  He set his glasses lower on his nose. "The way I see it, Mr. Cord," he said in his precise manner, "is that by deepening the wings, we get all the lift we need and also increase our fuel capacity. Plus which, we have the added advantage of keeping our pilot in direct visual control."

  "What I'm interested in is the payload and speed," I said.

  "If my calculations are correct," Morrissey said, "we should be able to carry twenty passengers in addition to the pilot and copilot at a cruising speed of about two fifty. It should fly for about six hours before refueling."

  "You mean we could fly from here to New York with only one stopover in Chicago?" Buzz asked skeptically. "I don't believe it!"

  "That's what my calculations show, Mr. Dalton," Morrissey said politely.

  Buzz looked at me. "You can throw away your money on fool schemes like this," he said, "but not me. I've been through too many of these pipe dreams."

  "About how much would it take to build the first one?" I asked Morrissey.

  "Four hundred, maybe five hundred thousand. After we get rid of the bugs, we can produce them for about a quarter of a million."

  Dalton laughed raucously. "A half million bucks for one airplane? That's crazy. We'll never get our money out."

  First-class passage coast to coast by train was over four hundred dollars. It took almost four full days. Plus meals, it came to more than five hundred bucks per passenger. A plane like this would have a payload of seven grand a trip, plus the mail franchise, which would bring it up to about eighty-five hundred dollars. Flying five trips a week, in less than twenty weeks we could get all our costs back, plus operating expenses. From there on in, it would be gravy. Why, we could even afford to throw in free meals on the flight.

  I looked down at my watch. It was almost nine o'clock. I got to my feet. "I have to get down to the studio. They're shooting the first scene today."