“YOU’VE BECOME AN important man,” Shirley said. “The word came down. We’ve moved you to a corner office.”
“I just made the deal with A. J. twenty minutes ago,” he said.
“He must have been sure of it.” She smiled. “He gave me the order Friday.” She picked up a set of keys from her desk. “Come, I’ll show it to you.”
He followed her to the end of the corridor. The door to his office was solid wood, not inset with a frosted pane of glass whose window would not allow genuine privacy. He opened the door and went in with her. The floor was covered with wall-to-wall carpeting and the walls were paneled wood. The couch and two easy chairs were old, but real leather, and the typewriter was on a separate table, not the desk.
“Like it?” she asked.
He nodded. “At least I feel I can breathe.”
“Good,” she said. “I’ve already set up writing paper, carbons, yellow pads and pencils. The telephone is connected directly to the switchboard, and you can make calls and receive calls without going through me. There’s a switch next to the phone which you can turn on if you want me to answer when you go out or if you want to have the calls intercepted while you’re busy working.”
“Seems good,” he said.
“How much time do you think the script will take?” she asked.
“Maybe a month for the first draft, another for the rewrite and polish. A. J. wants the picture on the floor in July.”
“That doesn’t give you much time.”
“I’ll manage,” he said.
“I’ll leave you to get settled,” she said, turning to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Shirley,” he said.
“Good luck,” she said, closing the door behind her. He walked behind the desk and sat down and looked around the office. It really was not bad. There were even several decent framed prints on the wall. He placed a package of cigarettes on the desk and lit one thoughtfully. Despite the better desk and office, A. J. was still a shit. Instead of the three scripts he had promised at the dinner party, he had contracted only this script guaranteed. He did go up to twenty thousand dollars, though. The other two scripts were on option agreements to be agreed on at a later time, after this script had been finished.
The ring of the telephone startled him. He glanced at his watch. It was only eleven in the morning. He picked it up. “Joe Crown.”
It was a woman’s voice. “Mr. Crown?”
“Yes,” he answered guardedly.
“Blanche Rosen,” the voice said into his ear. “Congratulations on your new office.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rosen,” he said.
“I thought we agreed you would call me Blanche,” she said lightly. “I called you to thank you for the lovely flowers. That was very kind of you.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I really enjoyed the party, and thank you again for inviting me.”
“I read many of your works,” she said. “Including some of the short stories you’ve written. You’re a very good writer, Joe. Much better, perhaps, than you realize.”
“Thank you, Blanche.”
“I know what I’m talking about,” she said. “I used to be an editor at Doubleday in New York and then joined A. J. here in the studio as story editor and consultant before we were married. I still read all the scripts that he considers.”
“I find that very interesting,” he said.
“I know the idea that A. J. has proposed to you and I think I can offer some suggestions that would help you avoid several of the script problems you may encounter. Why don’t we have lunch on Wednesday? I have a small house in Malibu, nothing fancy, but we could be alone there and talk.”
“That’s very kind,” he said.
“Say twelve-thirty?” she asked.
“Twelve-thirty will be fine,” he said. “I’ll look forward to it.”
He put down the telephone. Tammy had been right. She called all the shots.
Tammy’s was the second telephone call he received. “Congratulations,” she said. “I told you you had the job.”
“You were right,” he agreed.
“I’d like to come over,” she said. “I have a welcome present for your new office. Is now convenient?”
“Come in,” he said. “I haven’t begun working yet.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said and hung up.
The telephone rang again. He picked it up. “You have a busy line,” Kathy said.
“Beats me,” he said. “I didn’t even know that anybody knew I was here yet.”
“You told A. J. that you never had seen the picture?”
“That’s right,” he answered.
“He told me that we’re having a sneak at eight o’clock tonight at the Pacific Palisades Theater for the Coast Circuit. He thought you should catch it there. You’ll get a better feel of it with an audience in a theater than in a projection room.”
“Tell him I’ll be there,” he said.
A moment later the telephone rang again. This time it was Laura, from New York. “Congratulations,” she said. “I hear you’re writing a sequel to the Amazon picture.”
“News travels fast,” he said. “It was just set this morning.”
“The studio sent us a teletype with a contract for you. Did you agree to it?”
“Of course,” he said. “Twenty grand is pretty good.”
“What will that do to your novel?” she asked.
“Slow it up, but only for a month. This script is a piece of cake.”
“I hope so,” she said. “What you have now is very good, I wouldn’t want you to lose your momentum.”
“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I did another fifty pages since you left. I’ll send them to you.”
“Do that,” she said. “I’ll be anxious to read them. If it’s as good as what I’ve read so far, you’re halfway home.”
“I’ll do the book, don’t worry about it,” he said. “But right now twenty grand straightens me out real good.”
Her voice softened. “Are you all right?” she said. “I heard you’re having domestic problems.”
“Where did you hear that?” he asked. “I haven’t heard anything like that.”
“Some people from the Coast told me that your wife spends a great deal of time away from home.”
“That’s the fucking rumor factory. That’s her job. She’s the head buyer and has to travel because of her work.”
“Okay,” she said. “As long as you’re all right.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said.
“If there’s any way I can ever help you, just call me. I’m on your side.”
“Thank you,” he said. After saying goodbye, he stared at the telephone. People are shitty, all they want to do is make trouble. What business is it of theirs what anyone else does?
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called.
Tammy came in and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a tight-fitting cotton sweater and a short skirt. All he could see was tits, ass and long fine legs. She had it all together like a billboard above Sunset Strip. She glanced around the office. “This is as nice as some of the producers’ offices I’ve seen.”
“It’s fine,” he said.
She placed a small rectangular gift-wrapped box on the desk in front of him. “It’s for you.”
He opened it quickly, then began to laugh. It was a special dozen pack of lubricated Rameses. “I hope you got the right size,” he said. “Usually they’re too small.”
“Showoff. One size fits all.”
“I’ll treasure these,” he said. “But when are we going to get a chance to use them?”
She turned and locked the door of the office. “I thought it would be nice if I gave you your first fuck. Afterwards you can take me downstairs to lunch.”
* * *
THE FIRST MAN he saw when he returned to the theater lobby after having seen the movie was Mickey Cohen. They
nodded and shook hands. “I liked it,” Mickey said.
Joe looked at him to see if he was serious, but he was straight. Joe remained silent.
“The audience loved it,” Mickey said. “They were screaming all the time, especially the high school kids in the balcony. I bet it was a three-jerk-off-time movie for them. Judi came off like all pussy.”
“I don’t get it,” Joe said.
“You don’t have to,” Mickey said. “Just do it again.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Joe answered. “I don’t know if I can ever write that badly again.”
“For the twenty grand you’re getting,” Mickey said flatly, “you’ll write shit and like it.”
23
IT WAS ELEVEN o’clock in the morning, and Judi stormed into his office without knocking. “A. J. said you’re giving me a lot more lines in the new movie,” she said without even a greeting.
He looked across his desk up at her. “If A. J. said that, that’s what you’ll get.”
“I’d like to see some of the pages,” she snapped.
“Don’t be a fucking star, Judi,” he said. “I’ve only been working two days on the treatment. I haven’t written any dialogue yet.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Check with A. J.,” he answered. “First I have to do the treatment, then the script. That’s where the dialogue comes in.”
“You’re not going to fuck me,” she said angrily. “A million-dollar gross tells me that I’m the star. I don’t have to suck anybody for a fucking job now.”
“That’s right,” he agreed.
“I’ve got a contract.”
“So have I,” he said.
“I can get you off the fucking picture!” she snapped.
“Okay,” he said. “Get me off the picture. Then you’ll have no movie to be a star in. I’ll get paid either way.”
She stared at him. “Is that true?”
“Screenwriter Guild rules,” he answered.
Suddenly she calmed down. “Then how do I protect myself?”
“Why don’t you wait until I finish the script? Then you can bitch all you want.”
“You’ve been fucking Tammy and she’s telling everybody that you’re giving her more lines than me.”
“Everybody believes that you fucked me to get the part in the first picture,” he said. “This isn’t a movie studio, this is a rumor factory.”
She stared at him silently for a moment. “Then how come you never ask me out to dinner?”
He smiled. “I can’t afford you. The last time I took you out it cost me two hundred bucks, and A. J. never reimbursed me.”
“I’m out of that business now,” she said. “You can take me out to dinner for free.”
“Then I’ll take you out,” he said.
“How about Friday night?” she suggested. “Maybe Chasen’s or Romanoff. Afterward we can go to the Mocambo.”
He shook his head. “That’s way out of my league, Judi. I don’t make that kind of money. The Brown Derby is the most I can handle.”
“Cheap,” she sneered.
“I work for a living,” he said. “I’m not on any expense account.”
“What if I get Publicity to pay for it? They’re always hustling me for pictures.”
“Just get me the voucher and we’ll party all night.”
“I’ll call you,” she said, and she left as she had come in, without a greeting or a goodbye.
* * *
HE PULLED THE string to ring the bell inside the door, which was set in a long closed slatted wood fence. Blanche’s voice answered from behind it. “Who is it?”
“Joe Crown,” he said. He glanced at the sun. It was blazing hot.
The door opened and she hid behind it as she let him in. She was wrapped in a large beach towel and every part of her was covered with suntan oil. “You’re early, it’s only twelve o’clock,” she said. She didn’t sound angry.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’ve never been out this way before and I didn’t want to be late.”
“That’s all right,” she said agreeably.
He followed her through the small garden off the road, then through the small house outside to an open wooden sun porch built over the beach. She turned to him. “Would you like to take a swim before lunch?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered.
“We have swim trunks, I’m sure that you can find your size.”
He apologized. “I’m sorry. I never learned to swim.”
She laughed. “At least you’re honest. Most people find another way to get out of it.” She glanced up at the sun. “But you should slip on a pair of trunks. The heat will cook you in all that clothing—even if you stayed in the shade.”
He found an old straw hat to protect his head from the sun. The swim trunks were all small sizes. He found one that fit over his hips, but even then, his pubic hair could be seen over the top. He saw her looking at him and he knew that was the way she arranged it.
“I made vodka tonics,” she said. “That all right?”
“Perfect,” he said.
She sat down on a mattress on the wooden floor. She held a glass out to him. “Welcome to Malibu.”
“Thank you,” he said, sipping the drink. It was icy cold and good.
They clinked glasses, and at the same time her beach towel fell partly away from her and uncovered one side of her from her breast to half of her curly, oily, sun-sparkled pubis. She saw him looking at her. “You’re not a prude, I hope.”
He shook his head.
She let the rest of the towel fall, then leaning her arms back to the mattress she offered herself up to the sun. “I’m a naturist, a real sun worshipper,” she said.
“Beautiful,” he said.
She turned to him. “Let me spread some of the suntan oil on you. It will keep you from burning.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I have a very low boiling point,” he said. “I’m having enough trouble right now trying to keep myself straight.”
“I’m not blind,” she said, looking up at him. “Your prick is sticking out from under your trunks. You’ve probably got the quickest draw in the West. I just hope you don’t shoot as fast.”
He laughed.
She reached for his penis and pulled him down beside her. “I just want to get in some licks first.” She pulled the swim trunks from him and closed a hand around his penis. She looked into his eyes. “Do you know that I heard the way Dolores Del Rio had such perfect skin was that she had a dozen young men jerking off all over her and rubbing it in?”
“I never heard that.” He laughed. “You know, you’re really a crazy lady.”
She laughed with him. “But also really nice. After all, the boss’s wife is entitled to some advantages.”
“And I thought we were meeting for a story conference,” he said.
“This is the story,” she said, pulling his penis into her mouth.
* * *
MOTTY WALKED THROUGH the living room of the hotel suite and picked her way through the racks of dresses brought in for them to select. Quickly she calculated there were at least two hundred garments. She looked at Gerald. “We’ll never go through all of these by tomorrow,” she said.
“Maybe we should stay another week,” he suggested.
“We can’t,” she answered. “Paul the Furrier will be in L.A.”
“Maybe we can rush through them by Saturday,” he said.
“Even so, we can’t make the train until Sunday. That will bring us to L.A. on Wednesday morning. Then we’ll be in trouble. You know Paul the Furrier, he’ll start without us and we’ll be screwed.”
“I have an idea,” Gerald said.
She looked at him.
“Plane,” he said. “TWA, United and American all fly to L.A. from New York. They leave at nine o’clock New York time, make two stops en route, Chicago and Denver, and land in L.A
. at eleven o’clock at night the same day. We can do that on Sunday.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s scary. I’ve never been on a plane.”
“They say it’s great,” he said. “Free drinks, dinner, good service. They say it’s just as if you were in your own living room. And the whole flight is only fourteen hours—you’ll be in your own bed by midnight.”
She looked at him. “I’d rather be in your bed. After all, I’m not expected home until Monday morning.”
“I’d rather you would too. But there’s always press at the airport, just as at the train terminal. It’ll wind up in the papers. That might mean more trouble for you, because my divorce was already in the papers.”
She thought for a moment. “I guess you’re right,” she said, depressed.
“You’ll have to settle things with Joe as soon as you get home,” he said. “Until then we’ll never be free to do what we want.”
She nodded slowly. “You’re right, I guess.” She paused for a moment. “Do you really think the plane is safe?”
“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think so,” he answered.
She stared at the rows of garments. “Okay,” she said. “You can get the tickets.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He looked at her. “Are you planning to have dinner with your in-laws?”
She nodded. “I promised.”
“Okay, if you have to,” he said. “But try to return early. I’ll miss you.”
* * *
“I LOVE THE matzo balls, Tante,” Motty said. “You still make the best chicken in the pot.”
Marta nodded, satisfied. “You have to pick out the right chickens, not too much fat.”
Phil, as usual, was silent. Then he burped. “It’s not that easy anymore,” he said. “During the war chicken was king, now everyone wants meat. Steak is king. Good chickens are not easy to buy anymore.”
“But we’re doing all right,” Marta said. “Our customers are loyal. They remember that we took care of them during the war when they couldn’t get anything.”
“I know that,” Motty said, pushing her plate away half empty.
Marta noticed. “You’re not feeling well?”
“I’m tired,” Motty said.
“Maybe you should give up your job,” Marta said. “Taking care of a child is hard enough.”
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