“Magnum has under option almost a thousand acres of land in Hollywood. Enough land to build a hundred studios. When Lasky, Goldwyn, and Laemmle came out there, Peter got the brilliant idea that all you independents would come out too and make Hollywood the motion-picture capital of the world! And so he has authorized me to offer you the following deal. In return for your many past kindnesses and favors to him, he will transfer to you his option on as many acres and as much land as you may require for the same price that he has paid for those options! One hundred dollars an acre!
“Of course he does not expect you gentlemen to buy a pig in a poke. He will give you the option for as many acres as you wish now, subject to your approval of the site when you see it. The opportunity to select the site will be given in the same order as the option is made. That is, the first person to take an option will have the first choice of the site. If any man is not satisfied, his option money will be refunded without protest.”
Borden was as amazed as any of them. “You didn’t say anything about this to me before,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Bill,” I said, turning to him. “I was under orders from Peter not to say anything until he gave the okay. He just gave me the okay inside.”
“But what about our studios here?” Bill said. “We’ve got a lot of money tied up in them.”
“You can still use them for shorts and other subjects,” I answered, “but for big pictures and big money you will have to come to Hollywood. How big is your studio here? About three blocks square. Can you drive a hundred head of cattle through here as we did in The Bandit? Can you run a group of men on horses and photograph them here as we did in The Bandit? The answer is obvious. If you stay here, you’re limited. Limited by space, limited by time, and limited by opportunity.”
I stopped and looked around me. Their faces showed that they were impressed. I knew I had them. There was only one hitch. If any of them asked me where Peter had got the money necessary to take all these options, I was sunk. But I didn’t have to worry, because Borden was the first to sucker for it.
He took out his fountain pen and began writing a check. “I want fifty acres,” he said.
In an hour I had sold options on land we didn’t have amounting to sixty thousand dollars. The others, seeing Borden leap to the bait, fell all over themselves trying to get on the hook. It was easier than getting the yokels to buy a ticket to see Salome and her Dance of the Seven Veils.
At three o’clock in the morning I had Peter on the phone again, this time from my hotel, where no one could hear me.
He answered the phone. I could hear the sound of other voices talking excitedly in the room behind him. “Hello,” he said.
“Peter, this is Johnny.”
His voice grew excited. “I thought I told you you shouldn’t call me. It’s too expensive.”
“Damn the expense,” I said, “I had to call you. I just sold sixty thousand dollars’ worth of land out there and you have to buy some right away!”
“My God,” he shouted, his voice rising to a shrill scream, “have you gone crazy? You want us all to go to jail?”
“Calm down,” I said as quietly as I could. “I had to do it. The suckers were falling all over themselves to get out to California. It’s better that we make some dough out of it than the land sharks. What can we get an acre of land out there for?”
“How should I know?” he asked, his voice still shaking.
“Is Al there?” I asked. “If he is, ask him.”
I heard Peter turn away from the phone. A few seconds later his voice came on again. “Al says about twenty-five dollars an acre.”
I could feel the blood running into my face. I let out a sigh. I had guessed right. “Buy a thousand acres,” I told him. “That’ll cost us about twenty-five thousand dollars. I just sold six hundred acres at a hundred bucks apiece and we’ll net thirty-five thousand on the works and have enough dough left over to build a studio with.”
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the wire, then Peter’s voice came on again. There was a peculiar tone in it that I didn’t quite recognize; if I hadn’t known him better, I would have called it awe.
“Johnny,” he said slowly, “you’re a gonif. But a smart one.”
***
I turned back from the window, sat down behind my desk, and finished my drink. That was a long time ago, but somehow it seemed like only yesterday. Hollywood was built on a swindle and it never changed. It lived on a swindle today, only the swindlers of yesterday were beginning to meet their masters. The swindlers of today were taking them—not as we had in the old days, out of necessity, but because of greed. Today’s swindlers not only practiced on one another, but the whole world was their feeding-place.
My eyes were tired. The lids felt hot and heavy. I thought I would shut them for a little while to rest them.
***
The dull sound of voices kept tugging at my ears. I turned my head to shut them out, but they persisted. I sat back in my chair and opened my eyes and rubbed them. My body ached, my back was stiff from the uncomfortable position in which I had fallen asleep. I stretched and looked around the office. My gaze fell on the clock on the desk and I snapped up with a start. It was three thirty in the afternoon. I had been sleeping almost all day.
I got out of my chair and went into the little room next to my office. I turned on the cold water and splashed it over my face. Its chill woke me up thoroughly. I took a towel from the rack and dried my face in it. I looked in the mirror. I needed a shave.
I turned and started out of the little room to go to the barber shop when Gordon’s voice came through the wall.
“I’m sorry, Larry,” it was saying, “but I don’t see how I can agree to that. After all, my agreement with Johnny was that I was in charge of all production. Dividing it up in the manner you suggest will only lead to duplication of work and further unnecessary confusion.”
That put an end to my shave. Something was going on in Gordon’s office that I should know about. I put my hand on the door and opened it. Gordon was seated behind his desk, his face flushed and angry. Opposite him Ronsen and Dave Roth were seated. Ronsen’s face was as calm and imperturbable as usual, but Dave looked like the cat that had just got away with the canary.
I stepped into the room. Their faces turned toward me with varying expressions written on them. Gordon’s showed relief, Rosen’s annoyance, Roth’s fear. I smiled. “What’s the matter with you guys?” I asked. “Can’t you let a feller sleep?”
They didn’t answer. I walked over to Gordon and held out my hand. “Hi ya, boy, good to see you.”
He played along with me. No sign of our having met last night appeared in his voice. He took my hand. “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “I thought you were still in New York.”
“I got here last night,” I answered. “I came out to see Peter.” I turned to Ronsen. “I didn’t expect you out here, Larry.”
He looked at me searchingly a minute. If he was trying to find out what I knew, he didn’t succeed. My face was as bland as his. “Something turned up after you left, and as you weren’t there, I thought I’d fly out here and handle it for you.”
I let interest show on my face. “Yeah? What was it?”
“We got a call from Stanley Farber,” he replied. I could see that even his calm had been shaken by my unexpected appearance; he seemed to fumble a little for words. “He made us the proposition that we put Dave here in charge of our top pictures. In return for that he would see to it that we played off in all the Westco theaters and in addition loan us a million dollars.”
For the first time since I walked into the office I looked at Dave Roth. But I spoke to Ronsen. “I know Stanley,” I said. “He must want something else from us for a million bucks besides putting his protégé in charge of production.”
I didn’t take my eyes off Dave’s face while Ronsen answered: “Well, naturally we’d have to give him stock as security. You don’t expect any
body to advance us that much money without some sort of security.”
I nodded my head slowly. Dave’s face had grown paler under my gaze. Ronsen’s voice cut in eagerly; he couldn’t keep the tension from showing in it. “You mean you think it’s a good idea?” he asked.
Slowly I turned my head back to look at him. His eyes were burning brightly and fiercely behind his bifocals. More than ever he reminded me of a big, moon-faced tiger waiting to pounce on its prey. “I didn’t say I thought it was a good idea,” I said, my eyes meeting his. “But I’ll think about it. A million bucks is a lot of cabbage.”
Ronsen was pressing now; I could see he wanted me to agree with him. “That’s it, Johnny,” he said eagerly, “Farber wants an immediate answer. His offer isn’t good forever.”
“But once we accept it, we’re hooked,” I said dryly. “I know Stanley, as I said, and it won’t be anything we can get out of easily if it doesn’t work out. Dave here is a bright boy. I know he can run theaters. But he never made a picture in his life and, with all my respect for him, what do we do if he turns out bad? I’ve seen it happen to others; it could happen to him.”
I turned to Roth. His face had gone white. I smiled at him reassuringly. “No offense meant, kid,” I said easily, “but this is a practical business and it takes a little experience to find out just how a thing is going to work out before you do it. I know Larry means well, but I’ll have to think about it first. Supposing we talk some more about it tomorrow.”
With those words I succeeded in impressing Ronsen with my disregard for his judgment, Dave with my opinion of his inexperience, and closed the discussion.
Out of the corner of my eyes I could see the white anger on Larry’s face, but by the time I turned to him he had it under control. I smiled at him. “If you have a few minutes, Larry,” I said, “I’d like to talk to you after I get a shave.”
His strangely deep voice was back to normal. “Sure thing, Johnny,” he said. “Give me a buzz when you get back.”
I walked to the door. At the door I turned and looked back at them. They were all facing me now. Gordon, who sat behind the others, gave me the wink. I smiled at them. “See you later,” I said, shutting the door behind me.
***
Gordon was waiting for me when I got back from the barber. I felt good. It’s wonderful what a shave and a hot towel can do for you. I grinned at him.
“What’sa matter, boy?” I said. “You don’t look so good.”
He let out a string of curses.
I smiled at him easily. “I gather you don’t think much of our eminent chairman of the board.”
Gordon’s face turned red. “Why in hell can’t he confine himself to presiding over the lousy board meetings and keep his God-damn long nose out of the studio?” he roared. “He’s only screwing up the works.”
I walked over to my chair and sat down behind the desk. I looked at him. “Now, take it easy, boy.” I reached for a cigarette and lit it slowly. “You gotta remember that he don’t know nothin’ about the picture business. You know what he is. A guy with dough who got greedy when he saw there was a fast buck to be made in pictures. When he found out that the racket wasn’t all peaches and cream like he thought, he got a little nervous and now he’s scratchin’ around looking for something that will either guarantee his dough back or give him an out.”
When he saw how calmly I was sitting there, he simmered down a little. He watched me closely for a moment. “You got an angle?”
“Sure.” I smiled reassuringly. “I got an angle. I’m gonna sit tight and let him beat his brains out. When he gets tired of that he’ll come back to papa.”
He looked skeptical. “He’s a stubborn bastard,” he said. “What if he insists on giving Farber an in?”
I didn’t answer him for a second. If Ronsen insisted on that, I couldn’t stop him and then I was through. Maybe it would be a good thing. I’d spent thirty years here and I had enough dough not to worry no matter what happened. Maybe it would be nice just to sit back and forget about everything. But it wasn’t as easy as that. A good piece of my life had gone into this and I couldn’t let it go so easy.
“He won’t,” I finally answered, more confidently than I felt. “When I get through with him, he’ll be afraid to take Farber in if he was offered the United States mint.”
He walked to the door. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said as he went out.
I looked after him. “That makes two of us,” I thought.
The phone rang and I picked it up. It was Doris.
“Where were you?” she asked. “I called all over and couldn’t get you.”
“I fell asleep in the office,” I answered ruefully. “I came here after I left you and nobody knew I was in.” I changed the subject. “How’s Peter doing?”
“The doctor just left. He’s sleeping normally now. The doctor thinks he’s improving.”
“Good,” I said. “And Esther?”
“She’s right next to me,” Doris replied. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Put her on.”
I heard the receiver change hands, then Esther’s voice came on. For a moment I was shocked, it had changed so much. The last time I had heard it, it was young and firm, but now it sounded old and shaken. As if suddenly she had found herself in a room filled with strange people and wasn’t at all sure of her reception.
“Johnny?” It was more a question than anything else.
My voice softened. “Yes,” I answered.
For a moment she was still, I could hear her breathing; then in the same strangely hesitant voice: “I’m glad you came. It means a lot to me, it will mean more to him when he learns it.”
Something was wrong inside me. I wanted to cry out: “This is me, Johnny! We’ve got thirty years together behind us. I’m not a stranger, you don’t have to be afraid to talk to me!” But I couldn’t say that, I could hardly manage to say what I did. “I had to come,” I answered simply. “You two mean an awful lot to me.” I hesitated a little. “I’m terribly sorry about Mark.”
It was her old voice that answered me now as if suddenly across the wire she recognized the someone she knew. And yet, deep within her, a feeling of pain and resignation and acceptance came and somehow spilled into her voice. It had the sound of a people that had long known the sorrows of living. “It’s God’s will, Johnny, there’s nothing we can do now. We can only hope that Peter—” She didn’t finish her sentence, her voice broke. Across the wire came the silent sound of her crying for her son.
“Esther,” I said sharply, trying to bring her back.
I could almost see her fighting for control of herself—fighting to hold back the tears that were so ready to flow, the tears to which she was entitled. At last she answered: “Yes, Johnny.”
“You have no time for tears,” I said, feeling like a fool. Who was I to tell her when to cry? It was her son. “You’ve got to get Peter well first.”
“Yes,” she said heavily, “I must get him well again so he can say the Kaddish for his son. So we can sit shiveh together.”
Shiveh was the Hebrew ritual of mourning. You covered all the mirrors and pictures in the house and sat on the floor or on boxes for a week after the death of a loved one.
“No, Esther, no,” I said gently. “Not so that you can sit shiveh, but that you may live together.”
Her voice was docile and meek when she answered. “Yes, Johnny.” It was almost as if she were talking to herself. “We must continue to live.”
“That’s better,” I said. “That’s more like the girl I used to know.”
“Is it, Johnny?” she asked quietly. “Until this happened, I might have been the girl you knew, but I’m an old woman now. Nothing ever really changed me before, but this did and I’m afraid.”
“It will pass,” I said, “and then things will seem the same in time.”
“Things will never be the same,” she said with a quiet sort of finality.
We spoke a
few more words and then hung up. I sat back in my chair and lit another cigarette. My first cigarette had burned itself out, forgotten, in the ashtray.
I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the phone. I remembered Mark when he was a kid. It’s funny how the things you don’t like about a person are forgotten when they’re gone. I had never liked Mark the man, so I thought about him when he was a kid. He used to like me to swing him in the air and give him rides on my shoulders. I could still hear his little voice yelling in glee as I tossed him up. I could almost feel his fingers digging into my hair and pulling it as he rode upon my shoulders.
My leg began to ache. My leg. I always thought of it as my leg, but it was only a stump. The rest of it had been in France somewhere for the last twenty years. I could feel the pain shooting down my thigh. The stump was sore. I hadn’t had the prosthetic off except for a few minutes in the past three days.
I loosened my trousers. Then I leaned back, drew in my belly and reached in and unfastened the strap around my waist that held the artificial leg in place. Through the trouser leg I loosened the other strap that tied around my thigh, and the leg came loose. It thumped on the floor.
I began to massage the stump with the even circular motion I had learned so many years ago. I could feel the blood begin to circulate in it and the ache ease away. I continued the massage.
The door opened and Ronsen came in. He saw me sitting at the desk and walked over to me. His step was springy, his frame big and strong. His eyes were bright and piercing behind his glasses. He stopped in front of my desk and looked down at me.
“Johnny,” he said in that strangely sure voice, “about that Farber matter. Couldn’t we…”
I stared up at him. For some reason I couldn’t focus my mind on what he was saying. My hands, still massaging my stump automatically, began to tremble.
Damn him! Why couldn’t he wait until I called him?
The Dream Merchants Page 18