Sweet Smell of Success

by Ernest Lehman

  “You’re my friend, baby, and I have a lot of respect for the boy, and I don’t like to see you get into any kind of trouble. You know that, Irv, don’t you?”

  He made a funny little sound in his throat.

  “Irv? Don’t you?”

  The phone went dead.

  As I mopped my forehead, I felt the pains stabbing at my insides again.

  “Gloria,” I called quickly, “bring your pad in.”

  She came in silently and stood before the desk gazing at me. “What’s the matter, Mr. Falco?”

  I scowled. “What do you mean, ‘What’s the matter?’”

  “You don’t look well. You look kind of—kind of—funny.”

  “How do you expect me to look in this heat?” I snapped. “Or maybe you didn’t know it was hot today. I tell you everything else, maybe I even have to tell you it’s hot today!”

  “I’m sorry.” She gave me the wounded look. “I only meant—”

  “Never mind what you meant. If I want to know how I look, I can go to the mirror. Now, I want this on the blue memo paper. I want it to go to Leo Bartha and Otis Elwell right away, by messenger.” I wiped my neck dry as I dictated. “Sweetheart: Just want you to know … that I did give it to you exclusive. … (Put ‘did’ in caps.) Don’t ask me how he got it, too. (‘He’ in caps.)”

  “‘Sweetheart:’” Gloria read back. “ ‘Just want you to know that I DID give it to you exclusive. Don’t ask me how HE got it, too.’”

  She waited, with pencil poised.

  “That’s all,” I said.

  “But—what do I send to Elwell?”

  “The same thing. It goes to both of them.”

  She looked at me strangely. “To both of them?”

  “To both of them,” I said, holding her gaze.

  She just stood there, staring at me.

  “Is there any question, Gloria?” I asked harshly. “Is there something you’d like to say, perhaps?”

  She turned away.

  “Because if there is,” I called after her, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  She had been a great help to me in the early days, when a little thing like being able to ask your secretary to wait a few weeks for her salary often meant the difference between staying in business and folding. But I had a feeling now that we had worked together too long. She was part of the old order. I’d be needing someone now whose big brown eyes carried no reflections, someone who would not expect me to be a person I could no longer afford to be.

  I glanced at my watch. Five after four. The column proof would be ready. I buttoned my collar, pulled my tie into a knot, and took my jacket from the hanger.

  “I’ll be at Hunsecker’s office,” I said to Gloria as I went past her desk.

  “Will you be back?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s so hot. I thought maybe I could leave early.”

  “Not today.”

  “Most of the girls in the other offices—”

  “I’ll be back,” I said, “but if anyone calls, I’m gone for the day. Got it?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  I walked down the hall to the elevator and pressed the “Down” button.

  Of course I looked bad.

  I shrugged inwardly.

  Who wouldn’t, in this heat?

  II

  The sky was growing dark, and thunder rumbled closer. I quickened my steps as I walked west to the Globe building. The sidewalks were steaming and the air was heavy with exhaust fumes, but still it was good to be outside, away from the fetid odors of old newspapers and dirty walls and Gloria’s cheap toilet water. When I got my new office, it would have thick carpeting and rich, bleached oak furniture, and the air would be scented with the sweet smell of success.

  As I rode up in the elevator to the twenty-second floor, I could feel the cold knot of tension hardening inside of me the way it always did when I was about to see an advance proof of Hunsecker’s column. Always there was that hope that he had come through for me; always, the knowledge that even if he hadn’t, I’d go on catering to him just the same. But soon all that would be different. The uncertainty would be a thing of the past. Perhaps I wouldn’t even be needing Mary any more as my ticket of admission to the preview.

  She was on the phone when I walked in, and her face lighted up as she saw me.

  I pointed to the phone. “Him?”

  She shook her head, whispering, “He’s still asleep.”

  I sauntered idly about the office, staring at the photographs on the wall of Hunsecker playing golf with the mighties of the show world. I deliberately avoided the proof lying there on the desk.

  Finally, Mary hung up and called, “Hello, sweetie.”

  I turned and blew her a kiss. “Just passing by.”

  “Oh, come.” She got up, eyes searching mine anxiously. “No real one?”

  I took her in my arms, feeling the dampness of my shirt. “How are you, honey?”

  “A little angry,” she murmured. Her lips tasted salty, and I drew away and walked to the window. “Why didn’t you call, Sidney?” Her voice trailed me. “I waited home all night. You said you would. What happened?”

  I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. “I had to work late,” I said to the window. “You know how it is, Mary.”

  But she didn’t, really. Not yet, she didn’t.

  “But, Sidney, couldn’t you at least have called to say—?”

  I turned from the window. “Baby!” I spread out my hands. “In this heat—arguments?”

  She came to me quickly, her face set in a smile of nervous appeasement, her hands fumbling with my tie. “I’m not arguing, dear. I just want you to know how much I miss you when I don’t hear from you, that’s all. I know it’s foolish of me to let you know, but that’s the way I am, Sidney.” She turned away suddenly. “Foolish.”

  I glanced at my wrist watch. “Well …”

  “Don’t you want to see the column?”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  I walked slowly to the desk, my whole body taking part in the elaborate ritual of disinterest, and I picked up the proof.

  It never did me any good to tell myself that this was just a piece of paper with some ink marks on it, that these words would soon be as forgotten as yesterday’s headlines. Because I knew how much weight these words carried wherever they were read. I knew how savagely people of otherwise normal good sense fought with each other to carve a slice of this young and growing empire for themselves.

  But today I didn’t have to bother to tell myself anything at all. Today, as my eyes flickered down the column looking for the familiar symbols that were my clients’ names, and found none of them, I felt hardly any of the bitterness I usually felt at being shut out. The bitterness was tinged with optimism now. It was colored with the future. I was being chastised, and I knew it, but I didn’t mind. I was being told, in the only way Hunsecker knew that I could be convinced, that this was to be my lot as long as I failed to please him.

  I did not intend to fail to please him.

  “What time did he go to bed this morning?” I asked, without looking up from the column.

  “Ten-thirty,” Mary said. “You should have heard him, Sidney. He—”

  “Then he didn’t see the afternoon papers, did he?”

  “No. He went right to bed. I called his apartment at eleven, and Nikko said he was fast asleep.”

  “I see.”

  “You should have heard him this morning, Sidney. The way he carries on about Susan and that boy. With so many important things on his mind, that’s all he talked about for a half hour. My arm went numb holding the phone. Today he asked me if I thought it would be wise to send her abroad for a year. She doesn’t want to go back to college, you know. And, frankly, I don’t blame her. I think it’s nice to be in love when you’re young. I think when two people are in love they should get married, don’t you, Sidney?”

  “Uh huh,” I said to the proof.

  “
I don’t know what the chief has against Steve. What if he doesn’t have any money? What if he is young and struggling? That shouldn’t make any difference. I know it wouldn’t make any difference to me. I wouldn’t care really. Sidney.”

  “This item here,” I said, looking up. “Who is Herbie Temple’s press agent?”

  “Herbie Temple? No one, as far as I know. Why?”

  I waved the column. “Then how come this plug? How did it get in?” She looked vague.

  I read it to her. “ ‘If there’s a more hilarious funnyman in the world than Herbie Temple at the Viking, you’ll have to pardon us for not catching the name. We’re too busy screaming.’”

  “Oh, him. The chief heard him the other day and was raving about him to me, so I said, ‘Why don’t you say something in the column? It might be a nice thing to do.’ And he did. That’s all.”

  I grunted. “Since when does he bother to see the performers he praises?”

  “Don’t get fresh,” she pouted. Then she smiled quickly. “After all, he is my boss, and I do take my life in my hands letting you come up here to see the column in advance.” The smile faded. “And it looks as though I’m going to need a boss, and a job, forever.”

  I tossed the proof back on the desk. “Gotta run.”

  “So soon?”

  “Busy, busy.”

  “Sidney …” Her voice clung to me.

  “Come on. Walk me to the elevator.”

  “My phone might ring.”

  “He’s asleep.”

  She took my arm as we walked. “Sidney, is anything—wrong?”

  “Wrong? What do you mean, ‘wrong’?”

  She averted her gaze, “You know—with us?”

  I pressed the button. “Of course not, honey.”

  “You seem to be changing.”

  “I’m getting older,” I laughed.

  “So am I,” she said, not laughing.

  Through the window at the end of the hall, I saw a sudden flash of lightning. I was going to get caught in the rain if I didn’t hurry.

  Outside, big drops had started spattering down. I jumped into a cab and headed back to the office.

  “Wait a minute,” I said to the driver, “do you mind going by way of Fifty-fourth Street?”

  “It’s your money, not mine.” He shrugged. “I’ll even go by way of Canarsie.”

  The skies had opened up a deluge now, and people were scurrying for shelter.

  “Whaddaya think of them Dodgers?” the cabbie asked.

  “You don’t happen to have a paper up front, do you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure. My fares always leave ‘em. Here.” He handed me one.

  “Thanks.” I took it and turned to the amusement page.

  “It don’t have the late scores, though. But I can tell you the Yankees and Giants lose. The Brooks, they win nine in a row today. Seven to one they beat the Pirates.”

  The Viking stage show went on at 6:38.

  I handed the paper back through the window.

  “Thanks.”

  “Ya know, the way they’re going, they got a damn good chance of grabbing off another pennant. Whaddaya think of that?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Bums,” he said. “The way they’re going they’re liable to—”

  “I’m not interested in baseball,” I said quickly.

  “I was only saying—”

  “Look, I’m not interested,” I said. “Do you mind?”

  “Okay, mister.” He turned around to stare at me for a moment. “Okay.”

  “Would you please slow down as you pass the Elysian Room?”

  “Anything you say.”

  People were huddled glumly beneath the Elysian canopy, waiting hopefully for a cab. To the right of the entrance stood the billboard frame in which, for the past four weeks, the softly compelling features of Steve Dallas had been displayed, with the strip across one corner stating simply: “Nightly … At Dinner … and Supper.” Everything about the Elysian Room, even its billboard, was in the best of taste. That was what Emil Van Cleve was selling—chiefly the illusion that, by coming here, one automatically acquired that good taste, too. It was the kind of illusion that perished easily, and it had to be guarded with care.

  The billboard was empty now. Steve Dallas had been removed— blown away by the bad breath of scandal.

  “Okay,” I said to the cabbie. “Full speed ahead.” I was glad that he didn’t turn around to look at me. I must have looked pretty silly sitting there in the back of a cab, crawling through a crashing thunderstorm on a hot summer afternoon, with a smile on my sweating face.

  The smile was gone by the time I was moving down the hall to my office. I walked in fast, as though needing momentum to carry myself across the unwanted threshold, and then it was too late to turn around. She saw me right away.

  “Susan, honey …” My mouth went dry. She got up from the sofa. “How long have you been waiting?” I took her hand. It was cold.

  “Not long. I want to talk to you.” Her voice was even colder.

  “Sure. I’ll be right with you. A couple of minutes. Just you sit here.” I eased her back on the sofa and turned to Gloria. Her face was white. “Come inside, please,” I said tonelessly.

  She followed me in, and I closed the door and turned on her.

  “Didn’t I tell you I was gone for the day?” I cried in a fierce whisper.

  “I told her,” Gloria pleaded, “but she wouldn’t believe me. She insisted on waiting.”

  “You could have called me. You knew where I was.”

  “But—but I didn’t think—”

  “You didn’t think. You never think. That’s the trouble with you. Well, let me tell you something. You better start thinking fast about what’s going to become of you”—I looked away—“because I can’t go on like this much longer.”

  I heard her suck in her breath.

  “And don’t start crying,” I said, “because that won’t help.”

  She stood there speechlessly.

  “That’s all I need around here today—tears.” I looked back at her. Her lips were trembling. “Well, go on, it’s too late now. Tell her to come in.”

  “Yes, Mr. Falco.” he hurried out of the room.

  I hung up my jacket and loosened my tie, as though that would make things any easier.

  “Susan, honey, I’m all yours.” She came in briskly, looking cool in a black dress and a suntan that went well with her golden hair. “Lucky for you I changed my mind and decided to come back to the office. Sit down and talk to me. What have you been doing? Tell me about everything.”

  “Oh, Sidney”—she walked up to me and looked me right in the eyes—“why did you do it? How could you have been so stupid?”

  I looked right back at her. The loveliness was still fresh, but a trace of hardness had crept into her face. A summer in New York—with J. J. … “What are you talking about?”

  “Please,” she said impatiently, “please. Don’t you think I know? Don’t you think Steve knows? I’m past anger now. I’m amazed that you think you can get away with it, that you think it would make any difference to us.”

  I lighted a cigarette. “You know J. J. doesn’t like you to come up here,” I said. “You know how angry he gets.”

  “Stop it, Sidney.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop trying to be a pale imitation of my brother. You weren’t born to it. You haven’t got the makings. That’s what I came here for—to warn you to stop trying to be another J. J. Hunsecker.”

  “Now, is that a nice way to talk?”

  “One thing I’ll say for you: You have the guts to do your own dirty work. Or is it that you’re not big enough yet to have your own hatchet men? Maybe you haven’t been at it long enough, but you’ll get there.”

  “Sit down, Susan,” I said, feeling the pounding of my heart. “You make me nervous, pacing up and down like a wild animal.”

  “I’ll sit down when I want to.
”

  “You’re acting very childish,” I said. “You’re talking very much like a little child who is angry because she can’t have everything her own way.”

  She turned on me. “This is everything!” she cried hotly. “It’s my whole life! Steve and I love each other, and we’re going to get married. Yes, married!” She said it right to my white, protesting face. “And I’m telling you to lay off, Sidney, because it won’t do any good. You can’t stop us. Nothing can stop us. We’re getting married even if it means that Steve won’t be able to earn one single dollar in show business. He’ll give up his career. He’ll do some thing else. Anything. We love each other in a way that you and J. J. could never understand, so don’t try to stop us, Sidney. I’m warning you! It means too much to me!”

  She twisted away and hid her face, and for a moment she was a frightened child, a little girl making great big speeches. I seized that moment to get up and walk over to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “Look, honey,” I said softly, “listen to me.”

  She shuddered convulsively and drew away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “All right, Susan,” I shrugged. “All right.”

  I went to the window and stared out at the retreating storm. It was somewhere over Long Island now, and the last drops of rain were petering out. It should have felt cooler in the office, but it didn’t. It was hotter and more oppressive than ever. I sat down at the desk and tried her again.

  “There’s something you’ve got to understand about J. J.,” I said in a quiet voice.

  She turned to me. “Do tell me,” she broke out defiantly. “I didn’t grow up in the same house with him. I never heard what people used to say about him, and I haven’t seen him in action here in New York all summer. So do tell me, Sidney. I’m only his sister.”

  I brushed it aside, shaking my head. “The worst thing you can ever do to J. J. is show him that he’s wrong. If you want to win him over, you have to give him an out, you have to let him save face.” I paused. “Now, I honestly think he realizes that he has been a little foolish about all this—”

  “Please.” She shook her head. “Please.”

  “—and I’m certain that if you just give him time—time and the chance for a graceful retreat—”

  “How, Sidney?” She threw me a quizzical glance. “Just how do you propose that I do this?”