The Carpetbaggers

by Robbins, Harold

  Nevada returned his smile, pleased by the man's obvious warmth. He shook his hand. "Good to see you again, Harry."

  "It's been a long time," Richards said.

  "Yeah." Nevada smiled. "Seven years." The last time he'd been at the studio was just after The Renegade had been released, in 1930. "I’ve got an appointment with Dan Pierce."

  "He's expecting you," Richards said. "He's in Norman's old office."

  Nevada nodded. He shifted into gear and Richards stepped back from the car. "I hope everything works out, Mr. Smith. It would be like old times having you back."

  Nevada smiled and turned the car down the road to the executive building. One thing, at least, hadn't changed around the studio. There were no secrets. Everybody knew what was going on. They obviously knew more than he did. All he knew was what he'd read in Dan's telegram.

  He'd come in from the range and found it lying on the table in the entranceway. He picked it up and ripped it open quickly.

  HAVE IMPORTANT PICTURE DEAL FOR YOU. WOULD APPRECIATE YOU CONTACT ME RIGHT AWAY.

  DAN PIERCE.

  Martha came into the hall while he was reading it. She had an apron on over her dress, having just come from the kitchen. "Lunch is about ready," she said.

  He handed her the telegram. "Dan Pierce has a picture deal for me."

  "They must be in trouble," she said quietly. "Why else would they call you after all these years?"

  He shrugged his shoulders, pretending a casualness he didn't feel. "It doesn't have to be that," he said. "Jonas ain't like Bernie Norman. Maybe things have changed since he took over the studio."

  "I hope so," she said. Her voice took on a little spirit. "I just don't want them using you again." She turned and went back into the kitchen.

  He stared after her for a moment. That was what he liked about her. She was solid and dependable. She was for him and nobody else, not even herself. Somehow, he had known it would be like that when they were married two years ago. Charlie Dobbs's widow was the kind of woman he should have married a long time ago.

  He followed her into the kitchen. "I’ve got to go up to Los Angeles, to see the bank about the thousand acres I’m buying from Murchison," he said. "It wouldn't do any harm to drop by and see what Dan has on his mind."

  "No, it wouldn't," she said, putting the coffeepot on the table.

  He straddled a chair and filled his cup. "Tell yuh what," he said suddenly. "We'll drive up there. We'll stay at the Ambassador an' have ourselves a high old time."

  She turned to look at him. There was a sparkling excitement hidden deep in his eyes. It was then she knew he'd go back if there was anything for him. It wasn't that they needed the money. Nevada was a rich man now by any standards. Everything was paying off – the Wild-West show, which still used his name; the dude ranch in Reno in which he and her late husband had been partners; and the cattle ranch here in Texas, where they were living.

  No, it wasn't the money. He'd turned down an offer of a million dollars' down payment against royalties for the mineral rights to the north quarter. Oil had been found on the land adjoining it. But he wanted to keep the range the way it was, didn't want oil derricks lousing up his land.

  It was the excitement, the recognition that came when he walked down the street. The kids clamoring and shouting after him. But they had other heroes now. That was what he missed. That – and Jonas.

  In the end, it was probably Jonas. Jonas was the son he'd never had. Everything else was a substitute – even herself. For a moment, she felt sorry for him.

  "How about it?" he asked, looking up at her.

  A feeling of tenderness welled up inside her. It had always been like that. Even years ago, when they'd been very young and he'd come up from Texas to the ranch in Reno where she and Charlie had settled. Weary and beaten and hiding from the law, he'd had a haunted, lonely look in his eyes. Even then she'd felt the essential goodness in him.

  She smiled. "I think that would be real nice," she said, almost shyly.

  "It's a rat race," Dan said. "We don't make pictures any more. We're a factory. We have to grind out a quota of film each month."

  Nevada slid back in his chair and smiled. "It seems to agree with you, Dan. You don't look none the worse for it."

  "The responsibilities are killin' me. But it's a job."

  Nevada looked at him shrewdly. Pierce had put on weight. "But it beats the hell out of workin' for a livin', don't it?"

  Dan held up his hands. "I knew there'd be no point in looking for sympathy from you, Nevada." They both laughed and Dan looked down at his desk. When he looked up again, his face was serious. "I suppose you're wondering why I sent you that telegram?"

  Nevada nodded. "That's why I'm here."

  "I appreciate your coming," Pierce said. "When this deal came up, you were the first one I thought about."

  "Thanks," Nevada said dryly. "What's the hitch?"

  Dan's eyes grew round and large and pretended hurt. "Nevada, baby," he protested. "Is that the way to talk to an old friend? I used to be your agent. Who got you your first job in pictures?"

  Nevada smiled. "Who sold my show down the river when he found he could get more money for the Buffalo Bill show?"

  Pierce dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "That was a long time ago, Nevada. I’m surprised you even brought it up."

  "Only to keep the record straight, Dan," Nevada said. "Now, what's on your mind?"

  "You know how pictures are being sold nowadays?" Pierce asked, then went on without waiting for Nevada to answer. "We sell a whole year in advance. So many A pictures, so many B's, so many action-adventures, so many mystery-horrors and so many Westerns. Maybe ten per cent of the program is filmed when the sale's made, the rest as we go along. That's what I meant by rat race. We're lucky if we can keep ahead of our contracts."

  "Why don't you accumulate a backlog for release?" Nevada asked. "That ought to solve your problem."

  Dan smiled. "It would but we haven't the cash reserve. We're always waiting for the buck to come in from the current release so we can produce the next one. It's a vicious cycle."

  "I still haven't heard your proposition," Nevada said.

  "I’m going to lay it right on the line. I feel I can speak frankly to you."

  Nevada nodded.

  "Jonas has us on a short budget," Dan said. "I’m not complaining; maybe Jonas is right. At least, we didn't lose any money last year and it's the first time in almost five years we broke even. Now, this year, the sales department thinks they can sell fourteen Westerns."

  "Sounds fine," Nevada said.

  "We haven't got the money to make them. But the bank will lend us the money if you'll star in them."

  "You know?" Nevada asked.

  Fierce nodded. "I spoke to Moroni myself. He thought it was a great idea."

  "How much will they advance you?" Nevada asked.

  "Forty thousand a picture."

  Nevada laughed. "For the entire negative cost?"

  Dan nodded.

  Nevada got to his feet. "Thanks, pal."

  "Hold on a minute, Nevada," Dan said. "Wait until I finish. You didn't think I'd get you up here unless I thought you could make a buck, did you?"

  Nevada sank back into his seat silently.

  "I know how you feel about quickies," Dan said. "But believe me, these will be different. We still have the sets we used for The Renegade, out on the back lot. Dress them up a little and they'll be good as new. I’ll use my top production staff. You can have your choice of any director and cameraman on the lot. That goes for writers and producers, too. I think too much of you, baby, to louse you up."

  "That's fine," Nevada said. "But what am I supposed to work for? Spit and tobacco?"

  "I think I've got a good deal for you. I had our accountants look into it and figure out a way you can keep some money instead of paying it all out in these damn taxes Roosevelt is slapping on us."

  Nevada stared at him. "This better be good."

 
; "We'll salary you ten grand a picture," Dan said. "That breaks down to five grand a week, because each picture will only take two weeks to shoot. You defer your salary until first profits and we'll give you the picture outright after seven years. You'll own the entire thing – negative and prints – lock, stock and barrel. Then, if you want, we'll buy it back from you. That'll give you a capital gain."

  Nevada's face was impassive. "You sound just like Bernie Norman," he said. "It must be the office."

  Pierce smiled. "The difference is that Norman was out to screw you. I'm not. I just want to keep this factory running."

  "What would we use for stories?"

  "I didn't want to look into that until after I’d talked to you," Dan said quickly. "You know I always had a high regard for your story sense."

  Nevada smiled. He knew from Pierce's answer that he hadn't even thought about stories yet. "The important thing would be to hang the series on a character people can believe in."

  "Exactly how I felt about it," Dan exclaimed. "I was thinking maybe we'd have you playing yourself. Each time, you'd get into another adventure. You know, full of the old stunts, tricks and shoot-outs."

  Nevada shook his head. "Uh-uh. I can't buy that. It always seems phony. Gene Autry and Roy Rogers do that at Republic. Besides, I don't think anybody else would believe it. Not with this white hair of mine."

  Pierce looked at him. "We could always dye it black."

  Nevada smiled. "No, thanks," he said. "I kinda got used to it."

  "We'll come up with it," Dan said. "Even if we have to pick up something from Zane Grey or Clarence Mulford. Just you say the word and we're off."

  Nevada got to his feet. "Let me think about it a little," he said. "I'll talk it over with Martha and let you know."

  "I heard you got married again," Dan said. "My belated congratulations."

  Nevada started for the door. Halfway there, he paused and looked back. "By the way," he asked, "how's Jonas?"

  For the first time since they had met, Pierce seemed to hesitate. "All right, I guess."

  "You guess?" Nevada asked. "Why? Haven't you seen him?"

  "Not since New York, about two years ago," Pierce answered. "When we took over the company."

  "And you haven't seen him since?" Nevada asked incredulously. "Doesn't he ever come to the studio?"

  Dan looked down at his desk. He seemed almost embarrassed. "Nobody sees him much any more. Once in a while, if we're lucky, he'll talk to us on the telephone. Sometimes he comes here. But it's always late at night, when there's nobody around. We know he's been here by the messages he leaves."

  "But what if something important comes up?"

  "We call McAllister, who lets Jonas know we want to talk to him. Sometimes he calls us back. Most of the time, he just tells Mac how he wants it handled."

  Suddenly, Nevada had the feeling that Jonas needed him. He looked across the room at Dan. "Well, I can't make up my mind about this until I talk to Jonas."

  "But I just got through telling you, nobody sees him."

  "You want me to do the pictures?" Nevada asked.

  Pierce stared at him. "He may not even be in this country. We might not hear from him for a month."

  Nevada opened the door. "I can wait," he said.

  9

  "Are you staying for supper, Duvidele?"

  "I can't, Mama," David said. "I just came by to see how you were."

  "How am I? I’m the way I always am. My arthritis is bothering me. Not too much, not too little. Like always."

  "You should get out in the sun more often. For all the sun you get, you might as well be living back in New York."

  "A son I got," Mrs. Woolf said, "even if I never see him. Even if he stays in a hotel. Once every three months, maybe, he comes. I suppose I should be glad he comes at all."

  "Cut it out, Mama. You know how busy I am."

  "Your Uncle Bernie found time to come home every night," his mother said.

  "Times were different then, Mama," he said lamely. He couldn't tell her that her brother had been known all over Hollywood as the matinee man. Besides, Aunt May would have killed him if he stayed out. She kept a closer guard on him than the government kept on Fort Knox.

  "One week you're here already and this is only the second time you've been to see me. And not even once for supper!"

  "I’ll make it for supper soon, Mama. I promise."

  She fixed him with a piercing glance. "Thursday night," she said suddenly.

  He looked at her in surprise. "Thursday night? Why Thursday night, all of a sudden?"

  A mysterious smile came over her face. "I got someone I want you should meet," she said. "Someone very nice."

  "Aw, Mama," he groaned. "Not another girl?"

  "So what's wrong with meeting a nice girl?" his mother asked in hurt innocence. "She's a very nice girl, David, believe me. Money her family's got. A college girl, too."

  "But, Mama, I don't want to meet any girls. I haven't the time."

  "Time you haven't got?" his mother demanded. "Already thirty years old. It's time you should get married. To a nice girl. From a nice family. Not to spend your whole life running around in night clubs with those shiksas."

  "That's business, Mama. I have to go out with them."

  "Everything he wants to do he tells me is business," she said rhetorically. "When he doesn't want to do, that's business, too. So tell me, are you coming to dinner or not?"

  He stared at his mother for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "All right, Mama. I’ll come. But don't forget, I'll have to leave early. I've got a lot of work to do."

  She smiled in satisfaction. "Good," she said. "So don't be late. By seven o'clock. Sharp."

  There was a message to call Dan Pierce waiting for him when he got back to the hotel. "What is it, Dan?" he asked, when he got him on the telephone.

  "Do you know where Jonas is?"

  David laughed. "That name sounds familiar."

  "Quit kidding," Dan said. "This is serious. The only way we'll get Nevada to make those Westerns is if Jonas talks to him."

  "You really mean he'll go for the deal?" David asked. He hadn't really believed that Nevada would. He didn't need the money and everybody knew how he felt about quickies.

  "He'll go," Dan said, "after he talks to Jonas."

  "I’d like to talk to him myself," David said. "The government is starting that antitrust business again."

  "I know," Dan said. "I got the unions on my neck. I don't know how long I can keep them in line. You can't cry poverty to them; they saw the last annual reports. They know we're breaking even now and should show a profit next year."

  "I think we better talk to Mac. We'll lay it on the line. I think two years without a meeting is long enough."

  But McAllister didn't know where Jonas was, either. As David put down the telephone, a faint feeling of frustration ran through him. It was like working in a vacuum. Everywhere you turned, there was nothing. All you did was try and make deals. Deals. Piled one on top of the other like a pyramid that had no end. You traded with Fox, Loew's, RKO, Paramount, Warner. You played their theaters, they played yours. All you could do was stand on one foot, then on the other.

  He wondered why Jonas took that attitude toward them. He wasn't like that with his other interests. Cord Aircraft was rapidly becoming one of the giants of the industry. Intercontinental Airlines was already the largest commercial line in the country. And Cord Explosives and Cord Plastics were successfully competing against Du Pont.

  But when it came to the picture company, they were just keeping alive. Sooner or later, Jonas would have to face up to it. Either he wanted to stay in this business or he'd have to get out. You had to keep pushing forward. That was the dynamics of action in the picture business. If you stopped pushing, you were dead.

  And David had done all the pushing he could on his own. He'd proved that the company could be kept alive. But if they were ever going to make it for real, they'd have to come up
with something really big. Deals or pictures – he didn't care which.

  Actually, he preferred deals. They were safer and much less risky than big-budget pictures. Disney, Goldwyn and Bonner were all looking for new distribution outlets. And they all came up with big pictures, which grossed big and, best of all, were completely financed by themselves. He was still waiting for replies to the feelers he'd put out to Goldwyn and Disney. He'd already had one meeting with Maurice Bonner. But the approval for any such deal had to come from Jonas. It could come from no one else.

  Bonner wanted the same kind of setup that Hal Wallis had at Warner's, or Zanuck had over at Twentieth Century-Fox – over-all executive supervision of the program, personal production of his own four major projects each year, stock and options in the company.

  It was a stiff price to pay but that was what you paid if you wanted the best. Skouras hadn't hesitated when he wanted Zanuck. One man like that could add twenty million to your gross. It was the difference between existing and reaching for the brass ring.

  But meanwhile, where was Jonas? Jonas held the one key that could unlock the golden door.

  "There's a Mr. Irving Schwartz calling," his secretary said on the intercom.

  David frowned. "What does he want? I don't know any Irving Schwartz."

  "He says he knows you, Mr. Woolf. He told me to say Needlenose."

  "Needlenose!" David exclaimed. He laughed. "Why didn't he say so the first time? Put him on."

  The switch clicked as the girl transferred the call. "Needlenose!" David said. "How the hell are you?"

  Needlenose laughed softly. "O.K. And you, Davy?"

  "Fine. I've been working like a dog, though."

  "I know," Needlenose said. "I been hearin' lots of good things about you. Makes a guy feel good when he sees one of his friends from the old neighborhood make it big."

  "Not so big. It's still nothing but a job." This was beginning to sound like a touch. He figured rapidly how much old friends were worth. Fifty or a hundred?