A small example of it was the time the phone on her desk rang. She answered it.
“Jane,” Peter’s voice came through the receiver, “tell Johnny I want to see him in my office.”
She hung up the phone feeling oddly disturbed. Ordinarily Peter would call Johnny direct on the interoffice communicator or walk into his office and call him. It was easy enough to do, since their offices were adjoining and had a connecting door. She pressed Johnny’s signal.
He came on the phone immediately. “Yes, Jane.”
“Peter wants to see you, Johnny,” she said.
There was a moment’s silence. Then he sighed into the phone wearily. “All right, I’ll go in to see him.”
Her voice kept him from hanging up the phone.
“Johnny,” she said.
“Yes, Jane?”
“What’s going on between Peter and you? You have a fight or something?” she asked.
His laugh rang into her ear, but his voice was cool. Something in it was telling her to mind her own business. “Don’t be silly,” he said, and hung up the phone.
Slowly she put the phone down. No matter what Johnny said, she still didn’t like it.
***
He came back into his office wearily. He wished Peter would stop harping on the subject. He was getting damn sick and tired of listening to how he had got them into all this trouble. But he couldn’t say anything in reply. He had promised Doris that he wouldn’t.
The phone on his desk rang. He walked over to it and picked it up. “Yes, Jane?”
“Mr. Ronsen is out here and would like to see you,” her voice came through.
He wondered why Ronsen had come to his office. “Send him in,” he said, and hung up the phone.
The door opened and Ronsen came into the office. A thin smile came to his face as he saw Johnny. He crossed the room to him. “I wanted to see you before I left for the coast, Mr. Edge,” he said, holding out his hand to Johnny.
They shook hands and Johnny was surprised at the strength he found in the pudgy fingers. “I’m glad you did, Mr. Ronsen,” he said, waving toward a chair. “Sit down, won’t you?”
Ronsen seated himself in a chair opposite Johnny’s desk and looked at him. “I suppose you’re wondering why I came to see you, Mr. Edge?” he asked.
Johnny nodded his head. “A little,” he admitted.
Ronsen leaned forward in his chair eagerly. Lights were dancing in his eyes behind the thick tortoise-rimmed spectacles. “I was wondering if you had anything you wanted to tell me.”
Johnny looked at him. “About what?” he asked cautiously.
Ronsen smiled slightly. “About the studio. You know I’m going tomorrow.”
Johnny smiled back at him. Two could play at that game. His face was blank. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I have to tell you, Mr. Ronsen,” he said in a carefully polite voice. “Except to reassure you that the studio is in capable hands. As to its operation, that is Mark Kessler’s responsibility, not mine, and I feel that he knows what he is doing.”
The smile was still on Ronsen’s face, but he sat there quietly for a moment. Then he seemed to stir himself as a thought came to him. “Perhaps in that case the fault does not lie with the studio. Maybe it properly belongs elsewhere.”
The pretense stripped from Johnny’s voice. “Just what are you implying, Mr. Ronsen?” he asked.
“Larry,” Ronsen suggested, with the smile on his lips.
“Larry,” Johnny agreed. “But that’s still not an answer to my question.”
Ronsen looked at him. Edge knew more about this company than any other man alive with the exception of Kessler himself. He could be damn useful if he could be persuaded to come over to his side. “Perhaps the responsibility rests with Mr. Kessler.” He studied Johnny’s face intently.
Johnny’s face was calm, controlled. It revealed no expression. “What makes you think that, Larry?” he asked.
Ronsen sank back comfortably into his seat. “The man is getting old, you know. I believe he’s over sixty. He may be subject to some slight degree of senility. Who can tell?”
Johnny laughed aloud. “That’s ridiculous, Larry. You don’t know the man the way I do. All right, I admit he’s no youngster, but he has a greater capacity for work and a better comprehension of the business than many a younger man could possibly have.”
“Than you, for example?” Ronsen prompted cagily.
Johnny smiled slowly. “He’s the president, isn’t he? He owns the company.”
Ronsen thought of correcting the latter statement, but he decided to let it pass. “Don’t you think you could do just as well if you were president, Johnny?”
“I doubt it,” Johnny said flatly. His voice was cold.
Ronsen laughed. “Come now, Johnny,” he said, still chuckling, “don’t be so modest.”
Johnny looked at him. What in hell did this guy want? Surely he hadn’t come here to compliment him. “It’s not modesty that compels my answer, Larry,” he said slowly. “I’ve been associated with Peter Kessler almost thirty years now and I don’t know of a more capable executive in the indus.”
Ronsen clapped his hands together silently. “Bravo!” he applauded in a low voice. “Such loyalty is indeed commendable.”
“Not to me, Larry,” Johnny answered quickly, “but to the man who inspires it. Loyalty is the most precious thing in life. It’s one thing money can’t buy.”
Ronsen disagreed with the latter statement too, but again he did not pursue the point. He sat there in the chair regarding Johnny silently.
Johnny looked back at him. If Ronsen wanted to play charades, he could play the game as well. He didn’t speak.
Ronsen leaned forward in his chair again. An acquisitive note crept into his voice. “I would like to speak to you, in confidence if I may, Johnny.”
Johnny’s voice betrayed no curiosity. “If you like,” he said calmly.
Ronsen hesitated a moment. “A group of people have indicated to me that they would be interested in purchasing Mr. Kessler’s interest in the company.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. So that was it. He should have guessed. “Who were they?” he asked.
Ronsen looked into his eyes. “I’m not at liberty to disclose their names, but they have indicated to me that you would make a most acceptable president to them if such an arrangement could be worked out.”
Johnny looked at him and smiled. The man really wasn’t foolish enough to think he could be bribed as easily as that, was he? “I’m very much flattered at their generosity, but the decision to sell the company rests with Mr. Kessler, doesn’t it?”
“You could be of great help in securing Mr. Kessler’s approval,” Ronsen said.
Johnny leaned back in his chair. It was a good thing that they didn’t know just how matters stood between Peter and himself. “I wouldn’t presume even to try to influence Mr. Kessler as to the propriety of such a matter. Mr. Kessler has his own ideas on that subject.”
Ronsen laughed again. “And they are ridiculous in this modern day and age, aren’t they?”
“Again it’s Mr. Kessler’s personal opinion and he has his own reasons for the attitude. I make no attempt to judge matters with which I have no concern.”
Ronsen looked at him inquisitively. “What do you suggest, then, Johnny?”
Johnny looked at him for a moment. The man was either an idiot or a complete fool if he thought he would commit himself one way or the other. “I suggest you speak to Mr. Kessler about it directly, Larry,” he answered. “He would be the only person to give you an answer to that question.”
“These people would be willing to give Mr. Kessler a good price for his interest, considering the present condition of the business,” Ronsen said.
Johnny stood up to indicate the interview was over. “That’s up to Mr. Kessler, Larry.”
Ronsen got to his feet slowly. He resented being dismissed summarily in this manner, but none of the resentment showed in his vo
ice. “Maybe I’ll speak to him when I get back from the coast, Johnny. He might be willing to listen to reason then.”
Johnny looked at him. There was a note of confidence in Ronsen’s voice that he recognized. It was the voice of a man who was used to power and knew that he had it. “Who else besides you and Danvere are behind this business, Larry?” he asked suddenly.
Ronsen’s head came up sharply. He smiled at Johnny. “I’m not allowed to say at the moment, Johnny. I believe I mentioned it before.”
Johnny eyed him speculatively. “It isn’t Floyd or Randolph,” he probed in a gentle voice. “They’re just figureheads, they don’t count.” He looked at Ronsen’s face. It told him nothing. “It could be Gerard Powell over at Borden’s,” Johnny guessed. “It sounds like the sort of thing he would be mixed up in.”
The look on Ronsen’s face told him that his guess had gone home. He smiled inwardly and walked around the desk to Ronsen and held out his hand. “I won’t plague you with any more guesses, Larry,” he said as they shook hands. “I’m glad you dropped in, however. I did want to know you better.”
Ronsen smiled. “I felt the same way about you, Johnny.”
Johnny walked out of the office and down the hall with him. “Have a nice trip, Larry,” he said, smiling as they parted.
He didn’t notice Peter standing in the door of his office wide-eyed and staring at them. Peter closed the door silently and walked back to his desk. What was Johnny doing with that guy? And acting so friendly too. As if they were the best of friends.
He put his hands behind him and clasped them together. He rocked gently back and forth on his toes, thinking. He didn’t want to believe it, but maybe Mark was right. Johnny had been acting strangely lately.
10
Dulcie listened to Mark’s voice absently. She was beginning to be bored with him. It was time for her to cut him loose. There was nothing more she could get from him.
It had been like that ever since Warren had left her. She had been restless and moved frenetically from one man to another, always seeking one who would hold her attention as he had. But she hadn’t found him. Sooner or later they would give in to her and come crawling for her favors and then she would be tired of them.
It hadn’t been that way with Warren. He was too much like her to ever give in. There had always been a challenge about him that had continually intrigued her. He had a faculty for making her seem alive. She was aware of every nerve in her body when he was near, her mind would race with excitement.
But he had gone back to his wife, Cynthia. She sneered to herself. That pale imitation of a woman. What was there about her that could hold a man like Warren? But she had held him. And now there were two children. She supposed it had all started that night that Johnny had come home and found her with Warren.
After Johnny had gone, she had turned and walked back into the bedroom. He was dressing hurriedly. She put an arm on him. “What are you doing?” she had asked.
He had looked at her. “Going after him,” he had answered nervously. “That man is sick. He shouldn’t be out in weather like this.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she had said. “Let him go. He’ll only kill you if you come near him. You saw what he tried to do to me.”
He was buttoning his shirt. He looked at her strangely. “What did you expect him to do? Applaud our performance?” He snapped the last button into place viciously. “That was a hell of a thing for him to come home and find,” he added bitterly.
She pressed hers against him and put her arms behind him. She looked up into his face. “Don’t look now,” she said with a peculiarly irritating look on her face, “but your morals are showing.”
He looked down at her. “The man is sick,” he said. “Anyone with half an eye could see it.”
She still was looking up into his face. “So what?” she asked in that same unemotional voice. “He has somewhere to go.”
He looked into her eyes. They were wide and the pupils were black and dilated and he could see his own face in their shadowed depths. His hand suddenly grasped her hair, pulling her head back. A look of pain came into her face, but there was no fear in her eyes. She looked at him confidently as her body clung to his.
For a moment they had stood there like that and then the words seemed to be torn from his lips. “Dulcie, you’re a bitch!” he said savagely.
A strange look of passion had come into her face. Her lips parted a little and he could see the white teeth behind them. “So I’m a bitch,” she half whispered quietly as her arms pressed him closer to her. “But come back to bed. We have some unfinished business to attend to!”
Things hadn’t been the same afterward. Then one day she had come into the apartment to find his things gone and a note on the table. It had been brief and to the point:
Dulcie—I have gone back to Cynthia. Warren.
She had even cried a little and sworn vengeance on him. But it was over and that was all there was to it. And ever since she had been alone. No matter what man she would go with, there was not one who could capture her, mind and body, as had Warren Craig.
She looked at Mark quietly. What a bore he was with his constant whining and slobbering over her! At first it had been fun to tease him. She could see how excited he would get and used to laugh to herself at him. Then when he was a little drunk he would lisp like a child. Sometimes she wondered herself how he could stand her teasing, why he hadn’t seized her before this. She supposed he didn’t have the nerve. She smiled again to herself. And he thought he was a man of the world. He had lived in Europe, in Paris, in Vienna, where men were supposed to know how to handle women like her. Suddenly she thought of going to Europe herself. She could imagine being the center of attraction wherever she went. Her pictures were very popular there.
She looked up at him suddenly, her attention focusing. What was that he was saying? She listened to him. He was talking about some man the board of directors had sent out to investigate the studio and how Mark was pulling the wool over his eyes and he couldn’t get anywhere. It was really funny to see him prying around, not knowing where to look first.
“What did you say this man’s name was?” she asked curiously.
He looked down at her. “Ronsen,” he said proudly. “He’s supposed to be a pretty sharp article, too, but I handle him like taking candy from a baby.”
She was interested. “What’s behind it?” she asked.
She shrugged his shoulders. “Some guys are trying to upset the applecart for the old man, I guess. But they don’t have a chance.”
She looked at him and smiled slowly. “Tell me more,” she said. She wanted to know all about it. Maybe there was something she could do about evening the odds.
***
Ronsen sat on the edge of his seat uncomfortably. His eyes kept turning to the cleft of her bosom as it showed beneath the décolletage of her dress and then guiltily away.
She leaned forward and picked up the Silex. “Some more coffee, Mr. Ronsen?” she asked sweetly. She had already classified him in her mind. A money man. Very dull. Probably a wife and four children in a very proper home back East.
His face looked away from her. “No, thank you, Miss Warren,” he said politely. He cleared his throat. “About that business we spoke over the phone—uh.”
She put the Silex down and interrupted him. “Yes. Mr. Ronsen,” she said, leaning back against her chair. “About that business. If I understand correctly you came out here to investigate the situation at the Magnum studios?”
He nodded his head uncomfortably. This was a peculiar way to get information. But this was Hollywood, not Wall Street. They did things a little differently out here. And this woman—she made him nervous, she was so—so—his mind groped for the correct word. He suddenly found it. So flagrantly sexual. Or was the word “fragrantly”? A flush began to creep up into his face.
“Perhaps I could help you,” she suggested.
“I would be most grateful, Miss Warren,” he s
aid stiffly.
Slowly and in detail she told him about what Mark Kessler had done. As her soft voice spoke on he could feel an excitement growing in him and he could barely keep from interrupting her. At several points he did in spite of himself.
“You mean to say that the work reports were issued showing improper allocation of funds between pictures and this was done deliberately?” he asked at one time.
She had nodded. “Yes. This had gone on until Johnny Edge came out to the studio and found out about it. He put a stop to it.”
“But how did he succeed in replacing the money that had been already spent on the picture improperly?” Ronsen asked.
She looked at him. “It was really very simple.” Mark had told her just what Johnny had done. “He borrowed money from the Bank of Independence on his stock in Magnum. Then he bought a half interest in the picture from Magnum and the money was replaced.”
“For how long a term was the loan?” he asked excitedly. The breaks were beginning to come his way at last. Maybe things would be easier than he thought.
Her brows wrinkled together in concentration. “For three months, if I remember rightly. It was while Kessler was still in Europe.”
“The note should be due about now,” he said reflectively.
“About this time,” she agreed.
“I wonder if he has the money to cover it?” he speculated aloud.
She smiled at him. “I don’t think he has,” she said quietly. “He was depending on the money from the picture to cover the note, and the picture is only just about finished now.”
A broad smile came to his face. He leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief quickly. Then he put them back on and looked at her. “Extraordinary,” he said, for a lack of other words to describe his emotions.
“I think it’s a most interesting little story, Mr. Ronsen,” she asked, looking directly into his eyes, “don’t you?”
He blinked his eyes rapidly several times. “Most interesting,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her.
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