The Dream Merchants

by Harold Robbins

  I went back to my chair and sat down. I lit a cigarette. I never felt so good in my life.

  ***

  It was almost ten o’clock when the intercom on my desk buzzed. I pressed the lever down and spoke into it. The indicator told me who it was. “Yes, Larry,” I said.

  His voice was puzzled and worried. “Will you be in your office the next few minutes?” he asked, almost abjectly for him. “I want to come down there and see you.”

  I smiled at the sound of his voice. “Come on down, Larry,” I said genially. “I’m always in to you!”

  His face was a picture of bewilderment when he came into my office. It was worried too. All I had to do was look at him to know what had happened. He had heard from Konstantinov.

  “Johnny, there’s been a terrible mistake!” were the first words out of his mouth. He couldn’t even wait to reach my desk before he spoke.

  I played dumb. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him inquiringly. “Mistake?” I repeated in a voice smooth as silk. “About what?”

  He stopped short and looked at me in surprise. “You saw the papers over the week-end?” he asked.

  I nodded my head without answering. I could see the sweat standing out on his forehead, all three million dollars of it.

  “The board got their wires crossed,” he said quickly. “They weren’t supposed to approve Farber and Roth until they had your okay.”

  I didn’t answer right away. I enjoyed watching him flounder around. I liked seeing him crawl. On him it looked good. It did something for my ego. Then I piled it on. “That’s too bad,” I said slowly.

  The worried look on his face deepened. “What do you mean?”

  “Remember what I said yesterday? ‘If they come in, I go out,’” I hesitated just a second to make it look good. “Well, I’m out!”

  For a moment I was willing to swear he was going to faint. His face turned a white ashen hue, his mouth opened as if gasping for air. I almost laughed in his face.

  “But, Johnny”—his voice was weak—“I told you it was all a mistake. The wires got crossed!”

  “Double-crossed!” I muttered under my breath. Only it had boomeranged back at him instead of me. I was sick and tired of all this flimflam. Why didn’t he talk straight and say he had tried to shiv me and let it go at that? That he was very sorry only because he missed. Then we could talk plainly to each other. We were no babies. We knew we were married by a shotgun.

  But of course you can’t talk like that. That’s being honest, and there’s an unwritten law in the picture business that being honest doesn’t pay. It simply isn’t done.

  I looked at him. My voice was patient. I sounded almost bored. “Which way is it then?” I asked.

  He stared back at me for a long moment. The color began to return to his face. “I’ve already sent a note to the papers denying the story,” he said, a faint note of hope coming back into his voice. He leaned toward me. “I’m sorry this happened, Johnny.” His voice was earnest.

  I believed him, too. I knew how sorry he really was. A guy like him doesn’t like to be caught off base. I stood up. “Okay, Larry,” I said easily, “mistakes will happen. Let’s forget it.” I could afford to be magnanimous. I smiled at him.

  At first his answering smile was tentative, then it broadened as relief swept across his face. I could see the three million-dollar worry disappear from his eyes. When he left the office, he was almost back to normal and I was hungry. It was time for lunch.

  I was tired and lazy when I got back from lunch. I had had a few drinks to celebrate, and the excitement of the morning had worn off. But I still felt good. It was still a beautiful day.

  There was a note on my desk. I picked it up and read it. “Call Miss Kessler at home,” it read. I picked up the phone and told the operator to get her.

  I hummed to myself as I waited for her to answer the phone. I heard the receiver come off the hook. Her voice sounded oddly tired to me. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” I said into the phone. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Johnny,” she said slowly, her voice seeming to echo in the phone. “Papa is dead.”

  I could feel the cold running through me. I felt as though I was in an icebox for a second. Then I found my voice. “Baby, I’m sorry,” I said. “When did it happen?”

  “An hour ago,” she said dully.

  “I’ll be out there in a little while,” I told her. An afterthought struck me. “How is Mamma taking it?”

  “She’s upstairs with him now,” she answered. She began to cry into the phone.

  “Get a hold of yourself, sweetheart,” I said to her. “Peter wouldn’t like that at all.”

  I could hear her sniff. “No, he wouldn’t,” she said slowly. “He could never bear seeing me cry. All I had to do to get anything when I was a kid was to cry in front of him.”

  “That a girl,” I said encouragingly. “I’ll be out there as soon as I can.”

  I put the receiver back on the hook and stared at it. I turned the chair around and looked out the window. It was a beautiful day, but something had gone out of it for me. I could feel my eyes fill with sudden tears. I remember thinking: “Come now, Johnny old boy, you’re not going to act like a baby. Nobody can live forever, and he had a rich, full life.” But he had a lot of heartbreak in it too. So I turned around and put my head on the desk and made like a baby. But what the hell, I had as much a right to cry for him as anybody.

  ***

  I picked my head up from the desk when I heard the door open and someone come into my office. It was Bob. He stood there looking at me.

  “You heard about the old man,” he said. He could tell by looking at my eyes.

  I got out of my chair wearily and walked around the desk. I picked my hat from the couch and stood there looking at him silently.

  His eyes were filled with sympathy. “I know how you feel, Johnny,” he said quietly. “He was a pretty good old guy at that.”

  “He was a greater man than most of us really knew,” I said. “At least he didn’t walk around with a knife in his hand.”

  He nodded his head.

  Suddenly I noticed the silence. It seemed to be all around us like a big blanket that had come down and shut off all the sound. I looked at him. “It’s awfully quiet,” I said.

  He looked at me. “The news is all over the lot. Nobody feels much like working.”

  I nodded my head. That was the way it should be.

  I walked past him and out the door. People gathered in the corridor in small groups looked at me as I passed. Their glances were filled with compassion. One or two even came over to me and gripped my hand silently.

  I went out into the sunlight. It was the same way out there. Everywhere people were standing and talking in hushed voices. I could feel their sympathy flowing toward me in a comforting wave. I walked past recording stage three. It was silent there too. It was the same way with stage four and two. In front of each building there were people whose kindness followed me down the walk.

  A blare of music struck my ears. I looked up, startled. I had grown used to the silence. Sound stage one was blaring away. A pain seemed to swell up inside me and almost burst against my ribs. What right did they have to do business as usual? All the others knew enough to shut down.

  I walked to the door slowly and went in. The music was as loud as thunder now. It beat against my ears as I made my way toward it. Then slowly it faded to a soft murmur and I could hear a rich young voice lifted in song. There was a young girl standing in the center of the stage singing into a microphone. Her voice poured forth from her throat as if it came from a golden flute. I turned and started back for the door.

  An arm grabbed mine excitedly. I turned. It was Dave; his eyes were shining brightly. “Listen to that canary sing, Johnny,” he said. “Just listen.”

  I looked past him to the stage. The kid could sing all right, but I was in no mood to listen to anything right now. I could see Larry and Sta
nley Farber walking toward us. Vaguely I wondered if Larry had told him yet. But I really didn’t care about that either. All I wanted to do was to get out of there.

  Dave’s arm held mine again until they came up to us. Then his excited voice was in my ear again. “I’m telling you that kid is money in the bank! I can hear the old cash registers tinkle with every note in her voice!” He turned to the others for corroboration. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

  They nodded, smiling in agreement.

  I looked at them. “Did you hear that Peter Kessler is dead?” I asked.

  Larry nodded his head. “Yes,” he answered. “I heard. Too bad, but it wasn’t unexpected. He was an old man.”

  I stared at them for a moment. Larry was right. It was too bad. Only he didn’t know just how bad it really was. I pulled my arm loose from Dave’s grasp roughly and walked away from them.

  I could hear Dave’s voice behind me. “Say, what’s eating that guy, anyway?” he was asking them.

  I didn’t hear their answer because the door had closed behind me.

  ***

  The office was empty as I sat down at my desk and placed a sheet of paper on it. My pen made scratching sounds on the paper. I stopped and looked down at the words I had just written:

  “To The Board of Directors of Magnum Pictures Company, Inc.”

  I looked up for a moment and through the open door into the corridor, then back at the sheet of paper in front of me. Everything suddenly made sense to me now. I remembered what Al had told me after he said he owned the Greater Boston Investment Corporation.

  He had looked down at me with that quiet smile on his face. “Peter said that someday you would come out to see me,” he said.

  I had looked up at him in surprise. “He did?” I asked. “How could he know? It was only yesterday we decided!”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Johnny,” he replied quietly, “it was almost two years ago. When he sold his share in Magnum.”

  I was more bewildered than ever. I looked at Doris, then back at him. “How could he have known, then?” I asked incredulously.

  Al looked at Vic. Vic stared at me for a moment, then angrily turned and walked out of the room. Al sat down opposite me.

  “You remember that day you had a fight with him and he ordered you out of the house?” he asked.

  I nodded my head. From the corner of my eyes I could see Doris watching me.

  Al put a fresh stogie in his mouth. “Right after you left, he called me.” He looked at Doris. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he asked her.

  Her eyes were wide. “I remember that,” she answered. “It was just before I left the room. I didn’t hear him talk to you.”

  Al turned back to me. “His first words were: ‘Johnny sold me out!’ Then he asked me to lend him the money to buy control of the company.

  “I had just learned from Vic what he had done. I was mad as hell at him, but it was done and there was nothing that we could do about it. I told him I would be glad to lend him the money, but was that what he really wanted?

  “‘What do you mean?’ he ask.

  “‘They’re offering you four and a half million for your share,’ I told him. ‘Why put yourself in hock when you can get that kinda money and retire and live like a gentleman with no troubles instead of having to worry about paying off money you owe?’

  “Over the phone he wasa quiet for a minute. I know he’sa thinking. Then I tell him about what Vittorio do to you. He thinks some more. Then his voice sounds bad.

  “‘I wasa wrong about Johnny?’ he ask.

  “‘In thata case,’ he say, ‘I gotta have the money!’

  “‘Why?’ I ask.

  “‘Because Johnny lose everything,’ he tells me. ‘I gotta help him. Without me in the company, he lose his job.’

  “‘Johnny won’t lose his job,’ I tell him. ‘They need him. He’s the only man who knows the company.’

  “Peter still doubts me. I tell him I’m right, not to worry.

  “‘But someday Johnny’s in trouble,’ Peter says. ‘They do to him what they do to me. What Johnny do then? He’s got nobody else to turn to but you or me.’

  “‘If he gets into trouble,’ I say, ‘I’ll help him. But meanwhile I want you take it easy. You work hard building up this business. It’s time you take it easy. Enjoy yourself. Your wife. Your family. With four and a half million dollars you got no worries.’

  “Then he makes me promise if you ever get into trouble I help you. I promise right away because that’s what I intend to do anyway. Then he says all right, he will sell.”

  A silence fell across the room as he lit his cigar. I looked at him. My heart was so full I couldn’t speak. These two guys had always been my guardian angels. I owed them so much I could never repay them. I was never as smart as I thought I had been.

  ***

  We in the picture business were so busy wrapping dreams in beautiful celluloid that we never saw that we were the only people who really believed in them. We were caught in a dream world of our own making, and every time the harsh reality of day crept into it, we screamed in sudden panic and frantically scurried around trying to patch the chinks in our celluloid armor.

  I was no better than the others. I lived in a beautiful dream world that I had made up to suit myself. Like the others, I had built myself a house of celluloid.

  But celluloid has a habit of melting when exposed to the heat of the sun. Like the others, I had forgotten that. I thought my house was strong enough to protect me against the world. It wasn’t.

  It was only as strong as the people around me helped to make it. Now I knew that most of its strength was Peter. He was its foundation and its walls. Without him, there was no house.

  Without him, there was no dream world left for me to live in.

  I knew that now. I should have realized it a long time ago.

  My pen began to scratch across the paper again as I concentrated on the words that seemed to flow from it:

  “I herewith submit my resignation as President and as a member of the Board of Directors of your company.”

  “You can’t do that, Johnny!” Her voice was intense and close to my ear.

  I looked up, startled. Doris stood there, her face white, her eyes wide and angry. For a second I couldn’t find my voice; then it came back to me. “Why aren’t you home with your mother?” I asked harshly.

  She ignored my question. “You can’t do that, Johnny!” she repeated, her eyes on mine. “You just can’t quit like that!”

  I stood up. My hands were trembling. I walked over to the window and opened it. A blare of music came in from the sound stage across the way. I turned and faced her. “I can’t, can’t I?” I asked, my voice still gruff and hoarse. “Listen to that. I don’t want them to do business as usual in my house after I die. I want them to stop. Even if it’s only for a day, for a minute. But I want them to stop. I want them to remember!”

  She walked toward me slowly. Her eyes were suddenly fixed on the distance and far away from me. Her head tilted to one side in that habit she had when she was listening intently. She was listening, she was remembering. For a long moment she was silent. When, at last, she spoke, her voice was charged with a lyrical quality I had never heard before. “What greater monument can any man ask to leave behind him,” she said softly, “than the gift of bringing pleasure and escape from the cares of everyday living to so many people?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Her eyes came back to mine. I could see the sudden flood of tears behind them. Her voice was still soft, still singing. “That’s why you can’t quit, Johnny. You and Papa made a bargain, even if neither of you knew about it. You can’t let him down now. He wouldn’t want you to quit because of him. That’s why he sent you to Santos even when he knew he couldn’t ever hope to come back.

  “There are other reasons you can’t quit, Johnny.” Her hand made a gesture toward the window. “The people out there. They’re depending on you.
To save their jobs, their homes, their families. And they’re your kind of people, Johnny. Picture people. Yourself, Johnny—you would never be happy if you quit. Remember what you told Santos: you can’t put a studio in your back yard. You said so yourself. But, most of all, you can’t quit because thirty years ago in a little town you made a bargain with the little man who lived upstairs over his hardware store. A bargain that took you both a long way from that little town, three thousand miles across the country, to where you stand today.”

  She took my hand and looked up into my face. “Now only you are left to keep the bargain and fulfill that promise you made to each other. You see, Johnny”—her voice was almost a whisper—“that’s why you can’t quit.”

  Suddenly my breath filled my lungs and then rushed out. She was right. I had known that with the first word she had spoken. What kind of a man was I anyway to run from life at the first sign of pain?

  It was her father who had died. And she was comforting me instead of me comforting her. I turned the palm of her hand toward me and kissed it. I could feel her fingers against my cheek. Lightly, ever so lightly.

  I picked up the sheet of paper from the desk and together we walked out of the office. I felt better when we got out into the sunlight again. The music didn’t hurt my ears. She was right. It was a monument any man could be proud of leaving behind him. Together we walked down to the gate and through it.

  I could hear the splashing of the water from the big bottle over my head and I turned around and looked up at it. The water was sparkling in the sunlight. It made a light tinkling sound as it fell into the big crystal goblet beneath it.

  I could feel my eyes blurring with a sudden moisture. I closed them and I could hear Esther’s voice in my ear. It was such a long time ago. “Let’s call it Magnum,” she had said. Magnum, after a big bottle of champagne that Peter had bought for a party when we first went into business.

  I opened my eyes again. A lot of living had gone by since then. A lot of people were gone too. We walked to her car. It was parked just outside the gate. I held the door open for her and she got into it and slid behind the steering wheel.