Sweet Smell of Success

by Ernest Lehman

  “When?”

  “Right away.”

  I went out to the elevator assuring myself that this was going to be nothing at all. But my stomach told me I was telling myself lies. Downstairs in the drugstore, I pushed into a phone booth and dialed the office.

  “Shoot,” I said.

  “Can you hear me this way?” She was down to a whisper.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, while you were all over at the studio this afternoon, a woman called for Lester. I said he wasn’t in, and when I asked who was calling, she started to say she was merely returning his call, but she didn’t say to whom. Just as she was about to, she said, ‘Hold on a minute’ … you know, the way a secretary does when she has to ask the boss for instructions? And then she came back and said, ‘Never mind, we’ll call again,’ and quickly hung up.’”

  “Okay, so what about it?”

  “Darling, now don’t blame me if I’m wrong, but I could almost swear it was Ruth Stanton, Otis Elwell’s secretary. … Hello? … Al? …”

  “Yes,” I said weakly, “I’m here.” Otis Elwell and his column had been out to get Sammy for years. The mere sound of Elwell’s name was adrenaline to every guardian cell in my body. He and Sammy’s brother could have had no reason to be in communication, no reason that would not be cause for alarm. “What else?” Suddenly it felt very warm in the booth.

  “When Lester came in,” Connie said, “I told him that somebody’s secretary had returned his call but wouldn’t leave a name. He just blinked and went inside and shut the door, and I heard him starting to dial a number. But then he hung up and came out and said he’d be right back. I’m sure he went downstairs to use an outside phone.”

  “You didn’t breathe a word of this to Sammy?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “That would be all he needs now.”

  “Sweetie, what’s going on? Can you tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He’s acting strangely. A little worse than usual. You know how he gets just before something big. But this time something’s really bothering him.”

  “Is there anything I can—?”

  “No. Nothing. I’ve got to hang up now.” I was beginning to perspire.

  “Oh, I almost forgot one other thing. I hope you won’t be angry.”

  “What now?” I mopped my neck with the handkerchief.

  “Darling, you know that manila envelope you gave me last night to lock in your personal file drawer?” Her voice became faintly prayerful. “You didn’t by any chance take it from me again, did you?”

  “No!” I shouted. “Why?”

  “Oh, please, please don’t be angry, Al.”

  “I’m not angry!”

  “With all the confusion around here,” she pleaded, “I forgot to put it away, left it on my desk, and now I just can’t seem to find it. I’ve searched high and low, Al, but it’s gone … vanished … and I can’t imagine—”

  “When did you first miss it?” I said quickly.

  “When I came in this morning.”

  “Was there anyone around?”

  “Since last night? Just the cleaning woman. And when I got in this morning—Lester.”

  Somewhere inside of me a nagging note of doom screamed to be heard. “The … the cleaning woman …” I swallowed hard, trying to get the words out, as though by getting them out I could convince myself that I believed them. “She probably threw it away. It’s all right.”

  “Then it wasn’t anything important? Thank heaven. I was so—”

  “Will you forget it!” I cried.

  “You are angry.”

  “I’m not angry!” I shouted. Sick, yes. Frightened, yes. But not angry.

  “But you sound so … so awful.”

  “I’m tired, that’s all. Worn out.”

  “My poor angel. My lover.”

  “Connie, not now.”

  “Any time, any place. Oh, Al, when can I kiss away those circles under your eyes?”

  “Honey, will you shut up?”

  “I’m going to take care of you for the rest of my life. That’s one of the reasons I’m going to marry you next week, my tired darling. Do you want to hear some of the other reasons?”

  “If I had you in this phone booth now, you know what I’d do to you?”

  “God, I wish I were there with you.”

  “So do I.”

  “Oh, Al …”

  “Be home tonight,” I said. “I want to know that you’re there, in case I can get away.”

  “Make a call in a phone booth with me,” she sighed.

  “A long, long call,” I said.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “You creature, you. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got worries to worry. I told you to stay out of my life until the show is over. One more day. One more night. Can’t you just—?”

  “No, darling, I can’t.”

  I hung up on her.

  Sometimes she frightened me. She acted as though love were something to be happy about, as though you did not have to worry about what Sammy would do when he found out you wanted to belong to someone other than him—as though you had nothing else to do with your life but be happy and not worry about Sammy and Lester and Otis Elwell and a missing envelope that could blow everything sky-high just when you were about in. I sat in the phone booth for a moment, feeling her throbbing inside of me and wanting badly to do some thing about it. Then the good feeling was drowned in a sudden wave of fear.

  What had led me to hang on to Davey Farber’s original scripts after I had copied them? He was dead and gone. What kind of sentimental nonsense had made me feel that somehow he would still live, some part of him would still be here on earth, as long as those pieces of paper were not destroyed? They could ruin me now, like some avenging ghost.

  I looked at my wristwatch, the one Connie had given me to show me that she was serious, even if I was afraid to be. It was getting late. No time to think about her now. First things had to come first.

  III

  I left the booth and walked past the soda fountain. He wasn’t there. I went to the rear, to the tables along the wall. I found him sitting at the last one, in the corner, staring morosely at a cup of stale coffee. I waited until he looked up.

  “Mind if I sit, Lester?” Somehow, you never called him “Les.”

  He examined me for a moment, as though searching for the clue— friend or foe? Then he looked down at the coffee again. “Why not?”

  I slid into the chair facing him and lit a cigarette. I waited, but he didn’t say anything, just sat there idly stirring the muddy liquid. “Come on, kid, what’s it all about?”

  His lips tightened.

  “I don’t like to see things go on this way,” I said softly. “Isn’t there something I can do? Can’t I help you?”

  He looked up at me. His face was drawn and haggard. Behind the glasses, his eyes were red and fretful, as though he might have been crying. “Help me? Sure, you can help me,” he said tonelessly. “You more than any one else. You have Sammy’s ear. You have control over the script.” He stared at me. “But why should you want to help me?”

  I averted my eyes. “Why not give me a chance and see?” I said.

  I could feel his eyes studying me carefully, doubtfully.

  “All right then. Here it is, very simply: Sammy has got to … he must never again …” The words stuck in his throat. “You must tell Sammy not to use the monologue tomorrow night.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “You want to help me,” he cried. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then why impossible? I’m telling you he must never again mention my name in public, never in any way humiliate me or make a public spectacle of me.” His voice shook with emotion. “This must begin as of now, with tomorrow’s show. Not next week, or the week after. Right now. A new show. The chance for a new series. If he gets it, it’s got to be without the monologue
s about me. I’m sick and tired of being the butt and I’m telling you I’ve—”

  “Listen to me for a minute …“

  “I’ve asked him myself for the last time. I’ve scraped the floors with my knees begging him to lay off. He won’t listen. I’m just a stuffed shirt trying to ruin his routine. To Sammy, everything is judged according to whether or not it’s good for a laugh. His brother Lester. Who is stupid, and lazy, and parasitic, and a great big laugh to forty million people on a twenty-seven-inch screen. Well, it’s got to stop, Al, and it’s going to stop!”

  “Are you through?”

  “No, I’m not through,” he raged. “I’ll never be through until I finish this once and for all. I’ve put up with it long enough. He’s fed me to the public like dope and now they can’t get enough. His brother Lester—the lazy jerk, the All-American slob. Anything for a laugh. But how about me?” He tapped his chest. “What about what it’s done to me?”

  “Hasn’t Sammy been good to you in return?” I said quickly.

  “You can have it. You can have all he’s been good to me!”

  “Then why don’t you quit? Why don’t you walk out on him? Why do you always come back for more?”

  He looked at me for a moment in startled confusion. “Why don’t you leave him?” he blurted out.

  “Never mind about me. We’re talking about you. Maybe you like all this a lot more than you think. A guy takes what you take and comes back for more, maybe he makes all the fuss so that nobody, including himself, will know how much he secretly enjoys the kicking around.”

  His face grew red. “Thank you!” he shouted. “I’m an idiot too, is that it?”

  “Look, what’re we arguing for? Sammy’s done a lot better for you than you could’ve done for yourself if you’d gone into law practice when you got out of school. A car, a beautiful apartment. Look at the clothes you wear, the money in the bank. A young guy just turned thirty making all kinds of dough, and complaining.” I threw up my hands. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.”

  “Oh yes you do.” His voice was low and intense. “You’re a lot of things from being around Sammy, stooging for him all these years—”

  “Now wait a minute.”

  “—but one thing you’re not is stupid, Al. You’ve got your eye on the main chance all right and you’re getting just what you’ve been after, but at least you’ve got enough sense to be eating your heart out over it.”

  I crushed out my cigarette. “You mind your own—”

  “You can’t stand the smell. You can’t stand the way Sammy treats you. You can’t stand what you have to do to stay up there with him.”

  My hand shot across the table and grabbed his lapel. I yanked him toward me. “You mind your own goddam business,” I muttered fiercely, “or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” His face was inches from mine. I saw the look in his eyes. I remembered, suddenly, what that look meant. I pushed him back, feeling the bitter taste of truth in my mouth.

  He ran a hand nervously through his hair. “I’m sorry, Al.” His voice softened. “I didn’t mean …”

  “Yah.” I turned away.

  “I have nothing against you. I’m not looking to hurt you if I can help it. You’re the only decent one. The others take their cue from Sammy, but you …”

  “Forget it.”

  “You’ve treated me like a human being whenever you could.” He took off his glasses and pressed his fists to his weary eyes. “You’re the only one … the only one Julie … ever … liked. She used to say … Julie always said to me …” His voice broke. I looked up sharply. His hands were pressed tightly to his face. His mouth was a quivering blur. And I knew from the small sounds that came from behind the screen of his trembling hands that he was weeping softly.

  “Oh Lord, what now?”

  “Julie,” he choked.

  “What about Julie?”

  He blurted it out from behind his hands. “She’s … gone …” It came out like a sob. “Left me … Al … it’s … it’s over … and I can’t stand …”

  “What do you mean over?” I was stunned.

  His mouth moved, but nothing came out. He worked a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed his eyes. “What do you think I mean?” he cried wetly. His face looked as though it had been smacked with a damp rag. “She’s gone. We’re finished. Miami. For a divorce …”

  “But I thought you two were so—”

  “And why shouldn’t she?” He blew his nose, listening to the sound of his own heartbreak. “Can you blame her? She married a man, not a coast-to-coast joke, not a dummy who draws catcalls on the streets. I knew it was coming. For two years she pleaded with me to leave Sammy. You know how she hated him, hated what he was doing to me. She begged me to move to California, get with the legal department of one of the studios, anything to get away from Sammy, three thousand miles away. I didn’t listen, Al. I tried. But how can you get away from Sammy? My brother is my keeper. You talk about money and clothes and all the rest. I never wanted it, not the way you do. Sammy made me think I did. But all I ever wanted … all I want now …” He began to dissolve again. “Julie … to feel decent … my self-respect … to have Julie … all gone now … robbed of everything by that … that …”

  “Take it easy, kid. When did it happen?”

  “Last week.” He shook his head with pain. “After the date for the show was definitely set and she saw that I was sticking. I should’ve known what that would mean to her. The chance for a natural break, and I let it go by. I thought maybe Sammy was going to be different … a new series … give up the monologues …”

  “Does he know about Julie?”

  “No!” A wild look came into his eyes. “I don’t want him to know a thing about this! You hear me?” He seized my wrist in a fierce grip. “You won’t breathe a word …”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “He’d love it, to know that he was able to break us up. What immense pleasure that would give him.” I didn’t like the crazy sound of his voice. “He’s hated me, Al, for everything I ever had or knew that was my own, that showed I was different from him. Since the day I was born, since the day he realized his act wasn’t going to be solo any longer, he’s despised me—for the books I read, the college I went to and he didn’t, the things I know that he doesn’t …”

  “Maybe it’s all in your mind,” I said.

  But he couldn’t be turned off now. “Why do you think he lured me into his rotten little world with all that money? He needed me, he said. He needed a smart young lawyer around to check the fine print in his contracts, to run his corporation. But did he ever use me? Sure. To go down for the coffee and sandwiches; to get theater tickets for his women; to phone his bookies for him when he was too busy to dial the number himself; to be there to take his abuse whenever he found hating himself too unbearable. Sure he needed me, to have me where he could make certain that I’d never amount to anything in my own profession. Don’t let Lester practice law. Cripple him with luxuries. Make him as much like yourself as possible. Wipe the grammar off his tongue. Dirty him up a little bit. Who the hell does he think he is? And when he saw that it wasn’t that simple, when he saw that in spite of everything he did to me I always managed somehow to be myself, and not like Sammy Hogarth, then I became a real threat to him. That was why he started to tear me down before the world.” I tried to interrupt but he brushed right past me. “And don’t try to tell me he did it because he needed the laughs. He was doing all right long before he began the Brother-Lester routine, and he’ll do all right when he stops using it. And he is going to stop using it! He’s not going to head for a new series with my good name dragged in as part of it!”

  “You’re making too much out of nothing at all. You’re upset so you—”

  “Can’t you see it, Al? Can’t you understand?” Tears welled up in his eyes again. “Julie may see the show. I know she’ll see the show. She’s at the Eden Roc in Miami Beach. Everybody down there
will be watching Sammy go for the big one tomorrow night. Much as she hates Sammy, she’ll be watching too. If she sees there’s no Lester monologue she’ll know what that means. A new start. I’m through with the past. She’ll come back to me on the next plane. I know she will. You can help me, Al. Just speak to Sammy. The show runs long. You’ve got to cut the script anyway …”

  “I should be up there right now.”

  “Five minutes. That’s all it runs. Five lousy minutes that could mean my life to me!”

  “He’ll never—”

  “I’m not like Sammy,” he pleaded. “Every night a different girl. You know how he is, Al.”

  Who better than I?

  “Julie’s the only one for me,” he cried. “There’s never been another and there never will be. I’m not built like Sammy. She means too much to me. She’s got to come back. You’ve got to help me!”

  “Look, kid …” I tried to squirm away.

  “Al …” He pinned me down with his desperate, searching gaze. “Don’t make me do something terrible. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”

  I stared at him, feeling the cold knot of fear in my stomach. This was the moment I had hoped would some how never come. “What do you mean?” I said in a sick voice.

  Our eyes met. “You know very well what I mean,” he said quietly. “Don’t you think I know why you’re showing this interest in me? But that’s all right. I don’t care what your motives are … as long as you help me.”

  “You’ve got …” I swallowed, but the lump wouldn’t go down. “You have got them then, haven’t you … the Davey Farber scripts?”

  His mouth tightened in a thin, grim line, and he nodded slowly. “Purely by accident, Al, believe me. I opened the envelope thinking it was something else, and it wasn’t something else.”

  “You going to give them back to me?”

  He didn’t answer, just blinked.

  “They belong to me, not you,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Not me, not you, not Sammy,” he said, with a flat, deadly calm. “Davey Farber.”

  My face was hot and crimson. “Look, I can explain.”

  “I’m not interested, Al.”