The Carpetbaggers

by Robbins, Harold

  A sudden memory of Aida and the routine she'd made her perform before a small but select group of wealthy men in New Orleans flashed through her mind. "Oh, I've worked in front of an audience before." Then when she saw the look of surprise on his face, "When I was in college," she added dryly. She turned back to watch Bob Hope. Somehow, the memory made her feel better.

  Al turned to the soldier standing next to him. "Now, you know what you got to do, Sergeant?"

  "I got it down perfect, Mr. Petrocelli."

  "Good," Al said. He glanced out at the stage. Hope was nearing the end of his routine. Al turned back to the soldier, a twenty-dollar bill appearing magically in his hand. "She'll be going on any minute," he said. "Now, you get down there in the front near the stage. And don't forget. Speak up loud and clear."

  "Yes, Mr. Petrocelli," the soldier said, the twenty disappearing into his pocket.

  "There'll be another after the show if everything goes right."

  "For another twenty, Mr. Petrocelli," the soldier said, "you don't have to worry. They'll hear me clear to Alaska."

  Al nodded worriedly and turned toward the stage as the soldier went out and around the wings. Hope was just beginning Jennie's introduction. "And now, men," he said into the microphone, "for the high spot of the evening- " He paused for a moment, holding up his hands to still the starting applause. "The reason we're all here. Even the entire officer's club." He waited until the laughter died away. "Girl-watching!"

  "Now, men," he continued, "when I first told the War Department who was coming here tonight, they said, 'Oh, no, Mr. Hope. We just haven't enough seat belts for that many chairs.' But I reassured them. I told them you soldiers knew how to handle any situation." There was laughter again but this time, there was an expectancy in its sound. Hope held up his hands. "And so, fellers, I give you- "

  The lights suddenly dimmed and a baby spot picked up Jennie's head as she peeked out past the curtain. "Fasten your seat belts, men!" Hope shouted. "Jennie Denton!"

  And the stage went to black except for the spotlight on Jennie. A roar burst from the audience as she cautiously and tentatively, in the manner in which she had thoroughly rehearsed, walked out on the stage, covered completely by the full mink coat.

  The noise washed over her and she felt its vibrations in the wooden floor beneath her feet as she came to a stop in front of the microphone. She stood there quietly, looking at them, her blond page-boy haircut catching and reflecting the gleaming light. The soldiers whistled and screamed and stomped.

  After a few minutes had passed, during which the noise showed no signs of abatement, she leaned toward the microphone. "If you men will give me just a minute," she said in a low voice, letting her coat slip from one shoulder. "I'll take my coat off."

  If possible, the noise grew even louder as she slowly and deliberately took off the coat. She let it fall to the stage behind her and stood there, revealed in a white, diamond-sequined, skin-tight evening gown. She leaned toward the microphone again and one shoulder strap slipped from her shoulder. Quickly she caught at it. "This is most embarrassing. I've never been with so many men before."

  They roared enthusiastically.

  "Now I don't know what to do," she said in a soft voice.

  "Don't do nothin', baby," came a stentorian roar from down front, near the stage, "Jus' stand there!"

  Again, pandemonium broke loose as she smiled and peered in the direction of the voice. She waited until the sound died down slightly. "I have a little song I'd like to sing for you," she said. "Would you like that?"

  "Yes!" The sound came back from a thousand throats.

  "O.K.," she said and moved closer to the microphone, clutching again at her falling strap. "Now, if you'll just pretend you're at home, listening to the radio, if you'll close your eyes- "

  "Close our eyes?" the stentorian voice roared again. "Baby, we may be in the Army but we're not crazy!"

  She smiled helplessly at the roar of laughter as the music slowly came up. Slowly the spot narrowed to just her face as silence came down on the audience. The music was the studio arranger at his best. An old torch song but done in beguine rhythm with the piano, the winds and the violins playing the melody against the rhythm of the drums and the big bass.

  She came in right on cue, her eyes half closed against the spotlight, her lower lip shining. "I wanna be loved by you," she sang huskily. "And nobody else but you.

  "I wanna be loved by you.

  "A-low-oh-ohne."

  The roar that came rolling out from the audience all but drowned out her voice and for a moment she was frightened by all the repressed sexuality she heard in it.

  13

  Maurice Bonner walked into the Hollywood Brown Derby, the thick blue-paper-bound script under his arm. The headwaiter bowed. "Good afternoon, Mr. Bonner. Mr. Pierce is already here."

  They walked down to a booth in the rear of the restaurant. Dan looked up from a copy of the Hollywood Reporter. He put down the paper next to his drink. "Hello, Maurice."

  Bonner dropped into the seat opposite him. "Hello," he said. He looked over at the trade paper. "See the write-up our girl got?"

  Dan nodded.

  "That wasn't the half of it," Bonner said. "Al Petrocelli told me he never saw anything like it. They wouldn't let her get off the stage and then when it was over, they almost tore her clothes off while she was getting to the car. Hope called me first thing this morning and said he wants her any time she's available."

  "More proof that I’m right," Pierce said. "I think she's bigger now than Marlowe ever was." He shot a shrewd glance at Bonner. "Still going up there one night a week?"

  Bonner smiled. There were no secrets in this town. "No. After The Sinner opened in New York, Cord tore up her old contract and gave her a new one."

  "I don't get it."

  "It's simple," Bonner said. "The morning she got the contract, she came into my office. She borrowed my pen and signed it, then looked up at me and said, 'Now I don't have to fuck for nobody. Even you!' And she picks up the contract and walks out."

  Pierce laughed. "I don't believe her. Once a cunt, always a cunt. She's got an angle."

  "She has. Jonas Cord. I got a hunch she's going to marry him."

  "That would serve the son of a bitch right," Pierce said harshly. "He still doesn't know she was a whore?"

  "He doesn't know."

  "Just shows you. No matter how smart you think you are, there's always some bint that's smarter." Pierce laughed. "How's Jonas doing?"

  "Making nothing but money," Bonner said. "But you know Jonas. He still isn't happy."

  "Why not?"

  "He tried to get into the Air Corps and they wouldn't take him. They refused to give him a commission, saying he was too important to the war effort. So he leaves Washington in a huff and flies to New York and enlists as a private, the schmuck."

  "But he still ain't in the Army," Pierce said.

  "Of course not. He flunked the physical – perforated eardrums or something stupid like that. So they classify him 4-F and the next week, they take Roger Forrester back as a brigadier general."

  "I hear David's going up for his physical soon," Pierce said.

  "Any day now, the jerk. He could easily get a deferment. Married, with a baby; especially now the industry's got an essential rating. But he won't ask for it." He looked across the table at Pierce. "Even Nevada's taking his Wild-West show out on the road to work for free on the War Bond drives."

  "It just proves that there are still some people around who think the world is flat," Dan said. He signaled the waiter for another round of drinks. "All those guys. I practically started them in the business. Today they all got it made and where am I? Still trying to make a deal."

  Bonner looked at him. He didn't feel sorry for Pierce. Dan was still one of the most successful agents in Hollywood. "Yeah," he said sarcastically. "My heart bleeds for you. I already heard the story of your life, Dan. That isn't why I came to lunch."

  Dan
was a sharp enough agent to know he was in danger of losing his audience. He turned off the complaints and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "You read the script?"

  Bonner picked the script up from the seat beside him and placed it on the table. "I read it."

  "Great, isn't it?" Pierce asked, the selling enthusiasm beginning to creep into his voice.

  "It's good." Bonner nodded his head pedantically. "Needs a lot of work, though."

  "What script doesn't?" Pierce asked with a smile. He leaned forward. "Now, the way I see it, this script needs a strong producer like you. Wanger, over at Universal, is nuts about it. So is Zimbalist, over at Metro. But I can't see it for them. They just ain't got the feel and showmanship you got."

  "Let's skip the bullshit, Dan. We both know the script is good only if we can get a certain girl to play in it. And we both know who that is."

  "Denton," Pierce said quickly. "That's my thinking, too. That's why I brought it to you. She's under contract to your studio."

  "But Jonas has the final say on what pictures she makes. And he's turned thumbs down on some pretty good ones."

  "What's he trying to do?" Pierce asked. "Hide her away in a closet and keep her for himself? You can't do that to a star. Sooner or later, she busts out."

  Bonner shrugged. "You know Jonas. Nobody asks why."

  "Maybe he'll like the script."

  "Even if he did," Bonner said, "once he sees you're the agent, the whole deal goes out the window."

  "What if the girl puts the pressure on and says she's got to do it?"

  Bonner shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. But I’m not going to give it to her. I'm not getting into trouble over any script. No matter how good it is, there's always another."

  Pierce stared at him, his fleshy lips tightening grimly. "I got an idea we can make her see it our way," he said. "I got my hands on- "

  Bonner stopped him. "Don't tell me. If it happens, let it come as a pleasant surprise. I don't want to know anything about it."

  Pierce stared at him for a moment, then relaxed back into his seat. He picked up the menu. "O.K., Maurice," he said, smiling. "What you going to eat?"

  The mail was on the small desk in the living room when Jennie got back from the studio. She walked over to the desk and sat down. "We'll have dinner about eight thirty," she said. "I want to take a bath and rest up first."

  "Si, senorita," Maria answered and waddled away.

  Jennie looked at the mail. There were two envelopes, one large manila one, which from experience she guessed contained a script, and a letter. She opened the letter first. The letterhead across the top read: St. Mary's College of Nursing. Her eyes flicked down the page. It was in Sister M. Christopher's precise script.

  Dear Jennie,

  This is just a short note to express the appreciation of the students and the staff of St. Mary's College for the special screening of your picture which you were kind enough to arrange for us.

  The Reverend Mother and the sisters, including myself, were all most impressed by the moving expression of the faith and love for our Saviour, Jesus Christ, that you brought to your interpretation of what must have been a most exacting and difficult portrayal. It is unfortunate indeed that the makers of the motion picture thought it necessary to include certain scenes which we felt could very easily have been omitted without impairment to the story of the Magdalen. But on the whole, we were extremely pleased that in these troubled times, so noble a demonstration of the Redeeming Grace to be found in the Love of Our Lord is available for all to see.

  Now I must close for I am soon due in Surgery. Since the war, all of us in the school, and in the hospital, are working double shifts due to the shortages of help. But with Our Lord's Grace, we shall redouble our poor efforts to extend His Mercy.

  The Reverend Mother extends to you Her Most Gracious blessing and prays that you may continue to find success and happiness in your new career.

  Sincerely yours in J. C.,

  Sister M. Christopher

  A vision of the sister's austere, observant face flashed through her mind, together with a twinge of nostalgia for the years she had spent at the college. Somehow, it seemed such a long time ago. It was as if she were a completely different person from the wide-eyed, nervous girl who first appeared in the Reverend Mother's office.

  She remembered the quiet hours of study and the long hours of training and the exhausting hours of sheer drudgery in the hospital. There had been times when she'd cry out of sheer frustration at her inability to learn all that was taught her. It was during those moments that the mask of austerity would disappear from the sister's face and she would place her hand comfortingly on the girl's shoulder. "Work hard and pray hard, Jennie," she'd say gently, "and you will learn. You have the true gift of healing within you."

  And she would feel comforted and her strength would be renewed as she saw how unsparingly the sister gave of herself to all, both patients and students. It seemed that no matter what hour of the day or night Jennie was on duty, Sister Christopher was always nearby.

  Jennie reached for a cigarette. All of them must be working terribly hard if the sister mentioned it in a letter. Sister Christopher was never given to make much of her own efforts. A feeling of uselessness swept through Jennie as she thought of the comparatively easy life she led. She looked down at her strong, lean hands. She did so little with them now. The knowledge that was in them seemed to tingle in her fingertips. There must be something she could do to help the sisters.

  There was. She reached for the telephone at the same time she had the idea and dialed quickly. "Rosa? This is Jennie."

  "How are you, Jennie? David told me how you almost broke up the United States Army with the Hope show."

  Jennie laughed. "The poor kids have been away from women too long."

  "Don't hand me that. The trade papers said you were great."

  "Don't tell me David's got you reading them?"

  "Sure thing," Rosa said. "Isn't that what every wife in the business does? It's the only way they can keep track of what their husbands are doing."

  "How's little Bernie?"

  "Why don't you come over for dinner one night and see for yourself? It's been a long time."

  "I will. Soon."

  "Do you want to talk to David?"

  "If he's there," Jennie said politely.

  "Good-by, dear," Rosa said, "and dinner real soon? Here's David."

  "How's the pride and joy of the Norman lot?"

  "Fine. I’m sorry to disturb you at home, David, but I had a little problem I thought you could advise me on."

  His voice became serious. "Shoot."

  She cleared her throat. "I went to St. Mary's College of Nursing on a scholarship and I was wondering if I could arrange with the studio to take something out of my pay check each week and send it to them the way they do with the Motion Picture Relief Fund. It would be sort of paying them back a little for all they did for me."

  "That's easy." David laughed, a kind of relief in his voice. "Just send a note to my office tomorrow morning telling me how much you want taken off and we'll do the rest. Anything else?"

  "No, that's all."

  "Good. Now, you come to dinner like Rosa said."

  "I will, David. Good-by."

  She put down the telephone and looked at the letter again. She began to feel better. At least, even if she couldn't be there herself to help, her money would do some good. She put down the letter and picking up the manila envelope, ripped it open. She had been right. It was a script, a long one.

  Curiously she read the title on the blue cover. Aphrodite; a screenplay based on a novel by Pierre Louys. She opened the script to the first page and a note fell out. It was brief and to the point.

  Dear Miss Denton:

  It has been a long time since you made a motion picture and I believe you were wise to wait for the proper script with which to follow up your tremendous success in The Sinner.

  Aphrodite, I believe,
is that script. It is the one property I have seen that has the scope and the quality to add luster to your career. I shall be most interested in your reaction.

  Sincerely,

  Dan Pierce

  She folded the letter and put it back in the script. That Dan Pierce was a cutie. He knew better than to submit the script to the studio in the usual manner. She picked up the script and started upstairs to her room. She would read it in bed after dinner.

  14

  Dear Mr. Pierce:

  Thank you for sending me the enclosed script of Aphrodite, which I am returning. It is a most interesting screenplay. However, it is not one that I should particularly care to do.

  Jennie Denton

  She wondered whether she had been right in so summarily dismissing the script. She had mixed feelings about it. At night, in bed, reading it for the first time, she could not put it down. There was a fascination about the story that brought to her mind Standhurst's description of the courtesan who helped rule the world. The screenplay seemed to capture the sensual imagery and poetry of the original work and yet bring it all within the limitations and confines of the Motion Picture Code. Yet, the more she read, the less enthusiastic she became.

  There was not one single line or scene that could be found objectionable. On the surface. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an acute awareness of the erotic byplay that would subtly work on an audience's subconscious. By the time she reached the end of the screenplay, she felt this was the writer's only purpose.

  She fell asleep, oddly disturbed, and awoke still disturbed. At the studio, the next morning, she'd sent to the library for a copy of the original novel, then spent all of that day and part of the next reading it. After that, she again read the screenplay. It was not until then that she realized how boldly the beauty and purpose of the story had been distorted.

  Still, there was no doubt in her mind that it could be made into a great motion picture. And even less doubt that the actress who played Aphrodite would become the most talked about and important actress of that season. The Aphrodite of the script was truly the goddess and woman who was all things to all men.