The Dream Merchants
Page 34
Al didn’t look at the papers. He never did. They were always ready to show him papers containing budgets and plans and results. He turned them over to his loan and collateral departments for study. Let them try to figure it out and make sense of it. He never could. Whether he lent a man one dollar or one million he always based his loan on his personal opinion of the borrower. “How are you going to do it?” he asked Peter.
Peter cleared his throat nervously. Sometimes he wondered why he kept pushing himself to make more money in this business. The bigger he got, the more he had to worry about. He didn’t understand it, but that was the fascination the business had for him. There seemed to be no limit to how far a man could go. “This is my idea.” He leaned toward Al and unconsciously lowered his voice. “We’ll convert the present loan into seventy-five-thousand-dollar notes, one payable each week. That way this loan would be paid off within the year and would go through a process of reduction that your board can’t object to. Against the new loan we’ll give you a ten-year chattel mortgage on all the Magnum theaters. They’re worth approximately twice what I want to borrow and I don’t think your board would mind that.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Al, satisfied with himself.
“Seventy-five thousand is a lot of money to pay off every week,” Al said thoughtfully. “You sure you can do it?”
“I’m sure I can,” Peter said, more confidently than he felt. “We’re grossing three hundred thousand and better each week now, and by the end of the year, when the foreign offices are moving in full swing, we should be doing four.”
In his mind Al checked the figures Peter quoted against the figures he knew. They were right. Magnum was grossing fifteen million a year. “Who would run the theaters if George left?” he asked.
Peter answered: “Johnny,” his head nodding toward him.
Al turned to Johnny. “And you think this will be okay?”
Johnny looked at him. He had been silent while Peter presented his request. “It will take a lot of hustling,” he answered honestly, “but I think it will work out all right.”
Al turned back to Peter and puffed his cigar thoughtfully. He wasn’t entirely satisfied about George’s viewpoint, but the other bases for the loan were good. Four million collateral against a two-million mortgage was reasonably safe. He stood up, indicating the interview was at an end. “It sounds all right to me,” he said to Peter, picking up the papers on his desk. “I’ll turn these over to Vittorio and I’ll let you know in a day or two.”
Peter smiled in relief. Past experience had taught him that when Al said it would be all right, it generally was, no matter what Vittorio thought. He got to his feet and held out his hand. “Thanks, Al,” he said.
Al shook his hand and they started toward the door. At the door Al put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder and said reproachfully: “You’ve only been out to the farm once since you been here.”
Johnny looked at him swiftly. It was true, but he had been busy and Dulcie didn’t want to go out to the farm. She said the place depressed her because it was so quiet. “I’ve been working pretty late,” he said apologetically.
Al smiled at him. His eyes were warm and fond as they looked at Johnny. “Well, don’t be a stranger,” he said. “After all, I’d like to see more of your pretty wife. I’m an old man, but I’m not that old I can’t appreciate a beautiful woman, especially when she’s practically in the family.”
Johnny’s face colored and Al smiled at it. He turned to Peter and laughed. “These newlyweds are all alike.”
He walked them through the bank and watched them get into Peter’s car and drive away. Then he turned and walked back to his office, shaking his head a little. Something was bothering Johnny. It wasn’t only business, either. He knew Johnny too well for that. Maybe it was his wife, he guessed shrewdly. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who would stay at home and raise a family. Especially after once working in a picture. He closed the door of his office behind him and walked over to his desk and sat down heavily. He picked up the papers on his desk and pressed the buzzer for Vittorio.
While he waited for Vittorio, he thumbed idly through the papers. They were covered with figures, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was thinking about Johnny. Too bad he hadn’t got anywhere with Peter’s kid. For a while it looked like they would. She was more his style. The door opened and Vittorio came in.
“What do you want, Al?” Vittorio asked, standing in front of his desk.
He held the papers toward him. “Take a look at these and let me know if they look all right,” he said heavily. “We’re going to lend Kessler another two million dollars.”
Vittorio didn’t answer. He took the papers from his employer’s hand and went out the door.
Al stared at the closed door. He let out a heavy sigh and lighted up a fresh cigar. He felt suddenly depressed. He looked at his thin cigar. It was his fourth of the day already. The doctor had told him not to smoke more than three. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. “I guess I’m getting old,” he said aloud in the empty room.
***
Peter was quiet almost all the way back to the studio. When they neared the studio gates he finally spoke to Johnny. “I walked down the back lot this morning,” he said, “and I found out Marran wasn’t out with his crew. A kid named Gordon was running it. He was doing good, too.”
“I know,” Johnny answered. “Marran was cockeyed when he came in this morning.”
Peter looked at him in surprise. Johnny didn’t miss much. “I guess I’ll have to fire him,” he said heavily. He didn’t like to fire anybody.
“I already did this morning,” Johnny answered shortly.
Peter looked at him, relief showing on his face. “We’ll put Gordon in charge, then.”
“Yeanh,” Johnny answered. “I’ve watched him. He’s a worker.”
They were silent again as the car rolled through the gates and stopped in front of the administration building. They got out of the car and Johnny followed Peter into his office. In the office Peter turned to him. His voice was humble. “I guess you’ll have to hustle back to New York right away if we get that loan. We’ll have to keep after business to make that seventy-five every week.”
Johnny looked at him. He didn’t answer. He walked over to a window and looked out. From the window he could see a truck rolling over to Stage Number One.
Peter walked over and stood beside him looking out. “You’ve done everything here that needed to be done. I’ll be able to manage all right now. We need you back in New York to make sure things will be all right.”
“What about Dulcie?” The words sprang bitterly from Johnny’s lips.
Peter looked at him uncomfortably. It was a shame to break up their honeymoon. They had been married just a little over a month. He walked back to his desk and sat down. “I’ll look after her,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll send her back as soon as the picture is finished.”
Johnny walked over to the desk and looked down at him. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The picture had been working two weeks already and too much money had gone into it to be thrown away. Besides, Peter was right. If they got this loan he had to return to New York. They couldn’t take any chances, having to pay out seventy-five thousand every week.
He looked down at Peter. “Remind me not to bring any of my wives out here in the future,” he said angrily. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. It wasn’t Peter’s fault. It was this crazy business. You never knew what was going to happen next.
12
“Rock!” His voice seemed to echo in the lighted apartment. He stood there listening for an answer, a puzzled look on his face. There was no answer.
He turned and went back into the hall and brought in his valise. He closed the door behind him and, valise still in hand, walked to Rocco’s room and opened the door. “Rock,” he called softly.
There was no answer. He turned on the light. The room was empty.
Still puzzled, he took off his hat and coat and began to unpack. The first thing he took out was a photograph of Dulcie, which he placed on the dresser, and then he stood back smiling fondly.
It had been taken by one of the still photographers out at the studio just a few days ago. It was a good photograph, bringing out the depth of her eyes, the attractive curve of her lips over the even white teeth, and the careless line of her hair falling down to her shoulders.
Good kid, he thought as he turned back to his unpacking. She had been upset over his having to leave so suddenly. She wanted to quit the picture. He smiled to himself as he thought of how he had had to argue to persuade her to stay on while he went back. A few weeks before, she wanted to make the picture more than anything in the world and he didn’t want her to. Now she wanted to quit and he had to persuade her to stay with it.
She had no idea of how much there was involved once a picture got under way. It wasn’t only the money, he had told her, there were a lot of other things too. The people that worked with her would suffer if she pulled out. What really convinced her was what he said about pictures being like the theater. The-show-must-go-on business and all that kind of crap. He remembered the way her face had lighted up. She could understand that. Not for nothing had her family been in the theater for so long.
Her face smiled warmly at him from the photo on the dresser, where it leaned against the mirror. He smiled back at it. Good kid. He’d have to get a frame for it in the morning. He’d do it before he went into the office. She deserved it. She had even cried a little before he left. She had tried to hide it from him, but he had noticed it. He felt good remembering it.
His unpacking was done. He straightened up and began to take off his shirt. Unconsciously he glanced at his wristwatch. It was after two in the morning. His brows knitted together. Where the hell was Rocco?
Suddenly he laughed aloud. “You’re getting to be a regular old woman,” he told himself accusingly. “A guy’s entitled to have some fun out of life.”
He finished undressing and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he came out he put on his pajamas and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his leg. He paused for a moment. He felt uncomfortable. Alone.
He looked over at the clock on the night table. It was nearing three o’clock. Maybe Rock had left a note for him in his room. He got up and walked back to Rocco’s room.
The light was still on; he had forgotten to turn it off. He walked into the center of the room and looked around. No note. Acting on impulse, he pulled open a dresser drawer. It was empty. He pulled open the other drawers. They were empty too.
He turned and walked over to the closet and looked in. Rocco’s clothes were gone. He shut the door slowly and walked out of the room thoughtfully. Where had Rock gone and why hadn’t he told him, he wondered.
Rocco couldn’t tell him, he remembered; they hadn’t spoken to each other since they had parted that night in California, and when he had called New York he had had no occasion to speak with him. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the edge of his bed.
It was strange not having Rocco around. The apartment seemed empty without him. It was almost lonely.
Suddenly he brightened up. That was the answer. Of course, Rocco had thought he would return with Dulcie, and that was why he had moved out. Silly of him not to think of it before. It was like Rock to do something like that.
He smiled to himself as he put out the cigarette. He would tell the guy off when he saw him in the morning down at the office. What was the idea of worrying him half to death?
He loosened the straps that held the leg in place and lay down on the bed. He reached over and turned off the light. For a long time he lay there in the dark staring upward in the room. He would miss having Rock around all the time. Dulcie’s face intruded on his thoughts. “Hell, you can’t have everything,” he thought as he drifted off into slumber.
But all the same he slept restlessly. There was a feeling of being alone in the world that haunted him even in his sleep. Strange that Dulcie’s face in his dreams didn’t drive that feeling away.
***
He walked into the office briskly. “Good morning, Janey,” he said, smiling.
She got up from her desk and ran over to him. She held out her hand. “So you went and done it.” She laughed with mock seriousness. “You got away from me, dammit.”
He laughed aloud. He looked pleased as he took her hand. “Is that the way you talk to your boss when he gets married?” he asked.
She looked at him for a moment. Her eyes were still laughing as she pretended to look behind him. “Well, the coast seems clear enough,” she said. “I don’t see your wife around. I guess I could kiss you.”
He still held her hand. “I guess you could,” he nodded.
She kissed his lips swiftly and then looked up at him. Her gaze was serious now. “Good luck, Johnny,” she said sincerely. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”
“I will be,” he said confidently, “I’m a very lucky guy.” He took off his hat and coat, gave them to her, and walked to the door of his office. He looked back at her. “Tell Rock to see me when he comes in,” he said, still smiling. “I got something to tell that guy.”
She nodded as she hung up his coat, and he disappeared into his office.
He sat down at his desk. The mail was spread out before him. He began to look through it. His phone rang. He picked it up.
“Irving Bannon wants to talk to you,” Jane’s voice said.
“Okay,” he answered. “Put him on.” He heard the click of the phone. “Hello, Irv.”
“Johnny, you old son of a bitch, you been holding out on us.” Irving’s voice was effusive.
Johnny smiled into the phone. He supposed he would have to listen to this all day. He might as well get set to expect it. “I wasn’t, Irving,” he said. “It was as much a surprise to me as anybody.”
“Don’t gimme that,” Irving laughed. “But I promise to forget you’re keeping it a secret if you’ll gimme a knockdown to the missus when she comes back to town. I seen some pitchers of her from the studio and she’s a beauty.”
Johnny felt pleased at the flattery. “I’ll do that,” he promised.
“I’ll hold you to that, Johnny,” Bannon laughed. “Now I can wish you luck, and may all your troubles be little ones.”
Johnny winced at the old wheeze. “Thanks, Irv,” he said. “I’ll tell my wife you called. She’ll be pleased. I told her a lot about you.”
“Wait’ll she hears what I got to tell her about you,” Irving laughed. “Good-by, Johnny, and the very best to you both again.”
“Thanks, Irv. Good-by.” Johnny hung up the phone, smiling. He guessed there must be a great deal of curiosity about Dulcie around the office. When she got back and they settled down, he would have to give a party and have her meet the gang.
He picked up the phone again. “Get me George Pappas,” he told Janey.
He waited. George’s voice came on the phone. “Hallo, Johnny.” It sounded pleased. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, George,” he said.
“When I read in the papers you were married, my brother Nick and me we said: ‘Just like Johnny to get married where his friends can’t make excitement for him,’ so instead we decide to wait till you come back. How it happen?”
Johnny laughed. “Don’t ask me, George,” he replied. “I still can hardly believe it myself. I’m just a lucky guy, I guess.”
“You sure lucky,” George agreed. “Your wife, she’s one beautiful woomans.”
A thrill of pleasure ran through Johnny. Everybody said that. He felt proud of the fact that he had been able to win a woman whom everybody admired. “Thanks again, George,” he said, changing the subject. “I spoke to Peter a
nd I’ve got news for you.”
George chuckled. He was still thinking about Johnny’s sudden marriage. What a pretty girl! She must be nice, too, or Johnny wouldn’t have married her. “What news?” he asked absently.
“Peter doesn’t want to sell the theaters,” Johnny answered.
George was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was businesslike. “Then what he want to do, Johnny?” he asked.
“He would like you to continue the joint operation of the theaters.”
“And if not?” George asked.
“Then he wants to buy your share if the price can be arranged,” Johnny said.
George thought about what Johnny meant by “if the price can be arranged.” Did he mean the price they had paid? That would be foolish. It wouldn’t only be foolish, it would be bad business. The theaters were worth more now than when they had bought them. Peter must know that. “The price can be arranged,” he said cautiously, “based on the present market values, of course.”
“You know they’re inflated,” Johnny said.
“Sure,” George agreed readily. “But that’s what they’re worth today.”
Johnny laughed suddenly. “Look, George, we’re old friends, so we can stop kidding each other and talk honestly. We got a million and a half that we can afford to shell out for your share of stock in those theaters. We’ll pay all the legal expenses in connection with the transfer, and that will leave you a half million to the good.”
George hesitated. The offer was fair enough based on what he had invested, but the properties were worth much more than that right now. Besides, he needed more than that to embark on the theater-building program he contemplated. He had some ideas that would cut the present costs of building theaters almost in half. “Make it a million and three quarters and it’s a deal,” he said.
“Done,” replied Johnny promptly. “I’ll have the lawyers go to work on it immediately.” He felt good. Peter would be pleased that he had been able to save that two hundred and fifty thousand. It was more than he expected.