“But I thought we were going to spend the night here.” Charley said.
“No point in it,” Sam said. “They have their own way of working. Maybe it’s slow, maybe I don’t understand it. Maybe it will cost twenty cents more. But they know what they’re doing and it will be worth it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
One moment he was sitting there, alone in the last row of the projection room, and reflected light from the screen flickering across his impassive face; the next moment, when they looked back, he was gone.
Wearily, Jack Savitt held up his hand. “Okay, fellers, that’s it.”
The film stopped as the lights in the room came on. Jack got to his feet. Jimmy Jordan, head of TV production for Trans-World Pictures, looked at him. “What happened?”
“How the hell do I know?” Jack answered.
“It’s a perfectly good show,” Jordan said. “What turned him off?”
“Whatever it is, you can be sure he will tell you. Himself.”
“We put a lot of money into that pilot,” Jordan said.
“So did Steve,” Jack said. “A hundred grand ain’t peanuts.” He started for the door. “I’m going back to my office. I’ll call you from there.”
Steve was seated in the car when he came out of the building. Silently he got in beside him and turned on the motor. “Back to your office?”
Steve shook his head. “I’ve had enough for the day. Take me back to the hotel. I’m going to try for a little sleep.”
“Good idea,” Jack said. “You’ve been hitting it pretty hard the last two days. You don’t get over that time lag without some rest.”
He put the car into gear and they drove off the lot, past the guards at the studio gate who waved to them and onto the freeway back to Los Angeles. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He passed it over to Steve and took another for himself.
“They cheat,” Steve said suddenly.
Jack was startled. “What did you say?”
“They cheat.” Steve’s voice was flat and angry. “They promise one thing, then deliver another. They lie, they cheat, they steal. What makes them think just because they have a big film factory that they can slough off the things they do for us? If it wasn’t for our money, they would all be out of business.”
Jack turned off Highland Avenue and swung right on Sunset Boulevard heading for Beverly Hills. “They have problems,” he said. “The picture division is always holding the budget on the TV division.”
“That’s a lot of shit,” Steve said. “We gave them a hundred grand for that pilot. It cost a hundred and fifty according to their figures. That includes their twenty-five percent overhead charge, which means all they laid out was another twelve thousand five hundred. Then they try to tell us they got a lot of money in it. No wonder all we get from them is crap.”
“It’s not Jimmy’s fault,” Jack said. “He’s a good man. He’s doing the best he can.”
“I know that,” Steve said. “I’m not blaming him.”
“They’ll want an answer on the show.”
“They can keep it. I don’t want it.”
“You’re blowing a hundred grand.”
Steve put the cigarette out in the ashtray. “It won’t be the first time.”
They were silent until they were passing Sunset Plaza Drive. “Turn up here,” Steve said suddenly.
Jack made a sharp right, followed by some curses from the driver of the car behind him. “Where do you want to go?”
“Just drive,” Steve said.
They followed the winding road for a few minutes, then came to another small street. “In here.”
The street came to a dead end after three hundred yards, just beyond a small apartment house. “You can pull in here,” Steve said, indicating a small parking area opposite the apartment house.
Jack cut the engine. “What now?”
“Come with me,” Steve said, getting out of the car.
Jack followed him across the parking area to an iron gate blocking a hidden driveway. Steven took a key from his pocket and opened the gate. He led the way up the driveway; it curved suddenly and there was the house, almost hanging over the road they had just left. The entrance was at the back of the house. Steven took out another key and opened the door.
They entered at the top and walked down a flight of stairs. On the first landing Steve gestured to a big picture window cut into the inside wall. “The bedroom.”
He pressed a button and the bedroom lit up. Through the window it looked like a stage setting. The giant round bed almost in the center of the room. He opened the door and they went inside.
Jack looked at him. “No outside windows?”
Steve pointed at the ceiling as he pressed a button at the side of the bed. There was a low humming sound as the ceiling rolled back and light flooded into the room. He pressed another button and the glass that separated them from outside moved back into the wall. Overhead the sky was a bright blue and already the evening stars were beginning to shine in it.
“The bed rotates also,” Steve said, pressing still another panel. The bed began to turn toward them; at the same time a television screen came down from a recess in the corner. “There are three sets,” Steve explained. “No matter which way you turn the bed.”
“Jesus!” Jack said.
Steve hit a master switch and everything began to roll back. “Come on.”
He led the way down to the main floor to an enormous living room. Jack stared at it. The house was a giant A-frame chalet with windows that went thirty feet up. Everything was there. The kitchen, cleverly recessed behind the bar, the dining area, the enclosed terrace. Outside on the small terrace was an oval-shaped pool about twenty feet by twelve, which seemed suspended over the city. Below them the traffic crawled along the Strip.
“You bought it?”
“I built it.”
Jack shook his head. “You’re full of surprises.”
Steve looked at him.
“I never figured you for a Hollywood Hills type,” Jack said. “More like Beverly or Holmsby Hills, even Bel Air.”
“That’s family style,” Steve said. “I’m a loner type.”
Jack laughed. “You giving up girls?”
“Does this look like it?”
Jack shook his head. “I guess not,” he laughed. “But you’re young yet, you’ll marry again.”
“Maybe.” Steve’s voice was even.
“I suppose you’ve got the stereo to go with the setting?”
“Of course.” Steve pressed a panel. Music suddenly filled the house. It seemed to come from everywhere.
Jack held up his hands. “Okay. You got me. Let’s go to bed.”
Steve laughed and turned off the music.
“You got to have a housewarming,” Jack said. “When are you moving in?”
“Not for a while yet.”
“It looked ready to me,” Jack said. “What else do you have to do?”
“Nothing else,” Steve replied. He turned and started back up the steps. “Let’s go.”
When they were back in the car and on their way down the hill, Jack glanced at him. “When do you think you will be ready?”
“In time.” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? One year, five, ten. The job won’t last forever. No job does. Then I’ll come out here to live.”
“And what will you do?”
“I’ll figure that one out when I get to it,” Steve said. He was silent for a moment. “Do you like the house?”
“I’m crazy about it,” Jack answered. “There’s only one thing wrong with it.”
“What’s that?”
“By the time you get to it, you’ll be too old to enjoy it.”
Jack turned the car into the driveway of the Beverly Hills Hotel. A bellboy stopped him as he walked into the lobby. “A telegram just came for you, Mr. Savitt.”
Jack tipped him and walked over to the desk. He took it from the room clerk and opened it.
He read it quickly and made a face. “Damn!” he said.
“Anything wrong?” Steve asked.
“Your friend Sam Benjamin’s really done it this time. He’s got checks bouncing all over town.”
“I didn’t know he was in trouble,” Steve said.
“The Barzini picture went way over budget and he ran out of money. I just got word that Supercolor Labs are closing in on him for their two-hundred-grand loan.”
“You don’t seem sorry about it,” Steve said.
“I couldn’t care less,” Jack answered. “He’s a loud-mouthed little bastard. He’s been overdue for this one.” He became aware of Steve’s sudden silence. “I forgot. You like him.”
Steve’s voice was flat. “Yes.”
“I don’t get it. He’s not your kind of guy.”
“You also thought I wasn’t the Hollywood Hills type.”
“Okay, okay,” Jack said. “But just between us. Why?”
Steve was silent for a moment. “Maybe it’s because he’s the only man around who isn’t always trying to suck my ass. Or maybe it’s because he knocks down doors.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was after ten o’clock when Denise closed the door behind them. She turned the safety lock and slumped against the door, drained and exhausted. After a moment, she went into the living room.
There was still some ice in the bucket. Maybe a drink would pick her up. She put the ice in a glass and poured some Scotch over it. She added a little water and, sipping at the drink, turned on the television set. She went back to the couch and sank into it. The set blared into life, but she didn’t see it. It wasn’t the same without Sam. Nothing was the same without him.
All through dinner, they had been careful not to talk about him. Not until the very end. Then it had been Roger who had brought him up.
“When’s Sam coming back?” he had asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s trying to rush the picture through editing and music.”
“Is it going well?” he asked.
“Sam says it is,” she had answered.
“I hope so,” Roger said phlegmatically. “For the children’s sake, if no other reason.”
It was Anne, always a little stupid and tactless, who brought up the subject they had all been carefully avoiding. “Where’s your engagement ring?” she asked pointedly.
Unconsciously, Denise had looked down at her empty finger, then up at them. She had been very proud of the ten-carat diamond that Sam had bought her after the success of Icarus. She rarely took it off, sometimes even slept with it. “At Provident Loan,” she said. Then a little defiantly she added, “Along with the diamond wristwatch and wedding band. We needed the money.”
Roger looked at her, then at his wife. After a moment, he turned back to her. “The money couldn’t have lasted very long,” he said.
“It didn’t.”
“What are you doing for money now?” he had asked.
She hesitated a moment. “We’re managing.” They were managing all right. That is if you could call being two months behind on the rent and owing the butcher and grocer, managing. “Sam’s parents sent some money up from Miami,” she added. His mother and father had moved down there a few years ago when he sold the tailor shop and retired.
Awkwardly Roger put his hand inside his jacket. He took out a check and pushed it across the table to her. She looked at it. It was made out in her name for one hundred thousand dollars.
Her voice was not quite steady. “What’s that for?”
“You’re my sister,” he said in a gruff voice. “I don’t like to see you struggling.”
She fought back the tears that were threatening to come to her eyes and pushed the check back to him. “No.”
He stared at her. “Why not? It will cover the checks that Sam has out and put an end to your problems. Then maybe he can come home and not have to hide out over there in Italy.”
“If you want to give Sam the money,” she said, “you’ll have to give it to him. He would never forgive me if I took it from you.”
“I can’t talk to Sam, you know that,” he said. “You don’t have to tell him that I gave it to you. Tell him it was the last payment due you from Papa’s estate.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do it. I never lied to him before and I’m not going to start now.”
“You’re a fool—” Anne began to say.
“Shut up!” Roger said quickly. He picked up the check and put it back in his pocket. He looked at his watch. “We’ll have to be going now. It’s almost time for the baby’s feeding.”
They got to their feet and she walked to the door with them. She waited while Anne got into her mink coat.
“The dinner was delicious,” Anne said, kissing her cheek.
“Give the baby a kiss for me,” Denise replied. She turned to her brother. “Thank you,” she said. “You know I mean it.”
He nodded heavily. “Yes. By the way,” he said as if it were an afterthought. “I’ve paid up the rent and the back bills so you don’t have to worry about them.”
“How did you know?”
“You forget, the accountant who works for Sam also works for me.”
***
The program ended and the late news came on just as the telephone began to ring. She jumped from the couch and ran to the telephone. She hadn’t heard from Sam in almost a week. “Hello.”
The long-distance operator’s voice sang through the wires. “Mr. Sam Benjamin, please. Long distance calling.”
“Mr. Benjamin isn’t here just now. This is Mrs. Benjamin, can I help you?
“Do you have another number at which he can be reached?” the operator asked.
Another voice cut in. It was a man’s voice and had a familiar sound. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Benjamin,” it said. “Hello, Denise, this is Steve. Stephen Gaunt.”
“Steve,” she said.
“How are you? And the kids?”
“We’re all fine,” she said. “Sam isn’t here. He’s in Italy.”
“Do you have a number at which I can reach him?” Steve asked. “It’s very important.”
“He’s at the Excelsior Hotel in Rome,” she answered. “If you can’t reach him there, try Cinecittá Studios. They’re editing the picture out there.”
“How’s it coming?” Steve asked.
“Sam says it will be a great movie.”
“I’m sure it will,” he said. “I liked the project from the very beginning. Matter of fact, that’s why I’m calling. I think I have a deal for him.”
“I hope so,” she said. Then the dam broke and she began to cry and the whole story spilled out of her. The fight with Roger, the shortage of money, the struggle to finish the movie before the creditors closed down.
He listened quietly, letting her talk herself out. “Why didn’t Sam call me when he got into trouble?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “You know Sam. It was his pride that led to the fight with Roger. Maybe it was that. Maybe he didn’t want you to know that he got into trouble. Maybe he didn’t want to bother you because you have your own problems.”
“That’s stupid,” Steve said. “What are friends for anyway if you can’t call on them when you need them?”
She was silent.
“Anyway, stop worrying about it now,” he said calmly. “Everything will be all right.”
There was a quality in his voice that reassured her, that gave her confidence. “I feel better now, Steve,” she said. “I’m sorry I broke down.”
“Forget it,” he said. “Do you still make that wild brust flanken with white horseradish?”
“Yes.” She had to laugh at the way he pronounced the Yiddish words.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll call you when I get back to New York and you’ll invite me up for dinner.”
The telephone clicked off and she put it down. She turned off the television set and went into the bedroom. Steve had said it would be all right. And i
t would be. She knew it. She felt it. For the first time in weeks she slept without taking a pill.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Los Angeles offices of Sinclair Broadcasting were on the top floor of a new twenty-story office building on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills. Steve’s office was on the southeast corner of the building, facing toward Hollywood and downtown Los Angeles. When Jack came into his office the next morning, Steve was standing, a cup of coffee in his hand, looking out the windows.
“On a clear morning you can see Mount Baldy from here,” Steve said. “That’s almost forty miles away.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “But how many clear mornings do you get out here?”
“More than you think,” Steve said. “The smog gets better Nielsens than it deserves.”
A secretary’s voice came from the intercom on Steve’s desk. “I have Mr. Brachman of Supercolor on the line from New York for you, Mr. Gaunt.”
“I’ll pick it up,” Steve said. He went back to his desk, pressed a button, and picked up the telephone. “Ernie, good morning.”
“It’s morning for you, baby,” Brachman said. “But it’s almost lunch time for us slaves here in New York. We got half a day’s work under our belts already.”
“Tough titty.” Steve laughed. “I read your annual report. You guys are the only people in the business making any money. All you do is print the film and rake it in.”
Brachman laughed. “It’s not bad,” he admitted. “But what’s on your mind? The service all right?”
“The service is fine,” Steve said. “I just wanted a favor from you.”
There was a note of relief in Brachman’s voice. “Anything. Just ask for it.”
“I hear that you’re closing down on Sam Benjamin. I want you to lay off.”
There was a moment’s silence. “I don’t know whether I can do that, Steve. It’s out of my hands now. It’s in legal.”
“You’re the president of Supercolor, aren’t you?” Steve’s voice was expressionless. “Nothing’s out of your hands.”
“Wait a minute, Steve. I’m like you. I got stockholders to answer to. We loaned Benjamin two hundred grand for his picture and he used the money to pay off his brother-in-law. If we hold off we can lose the picture to other creditors and where would that leave us?”
The Inheritors Page 17