Sweet Smell of Success

by Ernest Lehman

  He put the magazine down with a self-confident sneer. “You mean you’d like to.”

  He played cards the way he did everything else, as though something personally significant hinged on the outcome, something beyond mere money. His small figure seemed to expand menacingly and he concentrated on the deck as though his will could turn the cards to his bidding. But this time, as usual, the cards had a will of their own and I had to break up three kings several times to get him started on a triple Schneider and even by throwing him aces and deuces when he needed them most, I could lose only fifty-seven dollars on the first round.

  But it was enough to start the blood flowing in his veins again and I could let myself relax under the slow hypnosis of the clacking train wheels and the insistent monotone of his ego, and tell myself that everything was going to be all right.

  “… eating out of my hand. The trouble with television, you can’t see them eating out of your hand and it’s such a beautiful sight. Go ahead, it’s your pick. Maybe you think Eisenhower or Baruch could have tossed off a better speech to those fillies? The hell they could. I suppose I should give you credit for having a hand in the writing …”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “… but the trouble with ever saying a nice word to a press agent is that he twists it around so that it sounds as though he’s being taken advantage of, isn’t that right, Sidney? I just said ‘thanks,’ baby, so go ahead now and hit me. You don’t need that ten. You’re romancing, you son of a bitch. I wonder if the other girls were jealous of Susan? Being Hunsecker’s sister makes her something of a special case wherever she is. And not everyone likes Hunsecker, do they, Sidney? Ha. He gets under their skin. About the speech today—I think I’ll cut the lead and use the tag up front. It’ll make a nice pious column for Tuesday and you press agents can call me filthy names again because you won’t find any of your crumby clients in it. Jesus, what a wolf-pack. Four any good? What would they do if I dropped dead or gave up the column? Morgan Wright. Ha. Or maybe Otis Elwell. Parasites, gnawing their way into newsprint. … Sidney, you’re not listening!”

  “Twenty-eight,” I said. “Deal.”

  “And don’t think I couldn’t give up the column any time I wanted. Cassidy would leave the door open and I could pick it up where I left off like that. I’d like to see Casto’s face when I walked out on the floor of the Senate. The gutter-rat, eh? Only now the gutter-rat would be Senator Hunsecker. I don’t want the eight. Go ahead. I’d have Congressional immunity and then I’d tell that slob what no one has ever dared to tell him. What’s the matter, baby? You don’t think I could get the nomination? You heard me up there today. First time on an open-air platform. That’s why I went—to give it a try. I’d make a hell of a campaigner. What’s wrong, baby?”

  My hands must have been trembling. It was the first time I had ever heard him talk of going into politics. Hunsecker, of the people, for the people, by the people. I picked up a jack I didn’t need.

  “… The senator from New York. Ha. The Commies would love that, wouldn’t they? Washington is hot in summer but what’s left for me after the Pulitzer Prize? More income tax, that’s all. Just let Hunsecker try to pull any of that capital gains stuff like your pal Wildbeck, out in Hollywood. It’s no wonder I’m tired. No wonder I get sick. Hunsecker fights the world. What was that you just picked? Have Mary check with the station that carried the speech today to see if they made a recording of it. There’s always room for improvement. Said Morgan Wright to himself as he tried to make his column sound more and more like Hunsecker’s. Is gin any good? And give me an accounting. I don’t like those hieroglyphics of yours. …”

  The hour slipped by fast. When I was down over a hundred dollars I started pulling in the reins a little, and by the time he was ready for dinner I had lost only seventy-eight, which was par for the course.

  I walked ahead of him to the dining car like a Geiger counter, and when I informed the steward who the little man was in back of me, I knew from the quick arch of brows and the gleaming eyes that I was in the presence of one of the forty million. He bypassed me with an obsequious bow.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Hunsecker, and how are you this evening? Just one moment, Mr. Hunsecker, and I’ll have a table for you.”

  Hunsecker wasn’t even listening to him. He must have seen the girl the same moment I had. His nostrils were pulsating faintly and his small eyes had narrowed astigmatically as he stared at her. She was sitting alone facing us at a table for four, and if ever there was such a thing as melancholy beauty, she had it.

  I said to the steward: “Mr. Hunsecker prefers a table for two. We’ll wait until you have one.”

  But Hunsecker stepped in front of me and nodded in the direction of the girl’s table. “That one’ll do.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hunsecker.”

  “And keep the fourth seat empty,” he muttered, folding a bill into the man’s palm as he strutted to the table past staring eyes. “You have no imagination, baby,” he said to me.

  He took the seat opposite the girl, next to the window, and motioned for me to sit on the aisle, next to him. She was already into her entree and merely glanced briefly at us. Hunsecker’s eyes flickered over her finely molded features and her well-tailored suit.

  “A New Yorker,” he said to me loudly. “Nowhere else on earth do women achieve that … what shall I say?”

  “I think I’ll have the sweetbreads,” I said to the menu. The girl hadn’t looked up, but a slight flush was creeping into her pale cheeks. “How about you, J. J.?”

  “Sleek … chic … and a kind of handsome sublimity. That’s it.” He rapped on the table. “Sidney, get the boss man.”

  I waved for the steward. He came running.

  Hunsecker turned his pale eyes on him. “Luigi, if I order a steak rare, will I get it rare?”

  The steward’s face took on a sickly pallor. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Hunsecker, but we don’t have any steak at all.”

  “No steak?” He stared at the man’s anxious face for a moment and then suddenly he barked: “What’s your name?”

  “I’m awfully sorry we—”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Edwin Cambrio, Mr. Hunsecker. I—”

  “How do you do, Mr. Cambrio? My junior partner here and I will have the sweetbreads.” He chuckled at the man’s ashen face. He felt a lot better now because out of the corner of his eye he had caught the sudden upward glance of the girl at the mention of his name. He turned to her as she stared down at her plate again and he said: “I didn’t want steak anyway. I think steak is an unimaginative dish, don’t you? Most people like steak because it’s an expensive dish but give me pheasant under glass any time. Ha. You’re from New York, aren’t you? Tell me, honey, who’s your favorite Broadway columnist?”

  She looked up at him coolly. “Walter Lippmann. Who’s yours?”

  He gave a nasty, mirthless cackle. “You I like,” he said. “You I like even better than tootsie here.” He jerked his head in my direction. “When I ask tootsie who his favorite columnist is, the answer is always the same. It’s like death and taxes and night following day. It never fails. Watch.” He turned to me. “Sidney, tell the lady who your favorite columnist is.”

  “J. J., please. …”

  “Come on, Sidney.”

  The girl said quickly, “I saw your show last week, Mr. Hunsecker.”

  “Sidney’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “He’s a rag doll. All press agents are rag dolls. Press them and they say ‘Hunsecker’ instead of ‘mama.’ Sidney, say ‘mama’ for the lady. What’s your name, honey?” He buttered a piece of bread as he talked.

  She glanced at me with embarrassment and I saw that it was the dark, deep-set eyes that gave her beauty its quality of sadness.

  “Lorna Hale,” she said, still looking at me.

  “Actress? … model? … Which is it?” Hunsecker stuffed the bread into his mouth.

  “I
hope to get some work in television.”

  “Of course, and you shall. Take, down the name, Sidney.”

  She looked at him sharply. “What for?”

  “The column, honey. Because I like you. People pay Sidney good money to get their names in my column. They have to pay. They’re not beautiful. Take down the name, tootsie.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” She addressed it to me quietly.

  Hunsecker glanced at me. When he saw that I hadn’t taken out my Robinson Reminder he looked back at the girl. “Why not?”

  “I’d just rather you didn’t,” she replied, meeting his gaze.

  He stared at her and chuckled, his face straining to hold its smile. “You and I are going to have a wonderful time in New York. I’m getting a little tired of press agents, like Sidney here. Sometimes they don’t hear well. But you I like. Sidney, say something to the lady. Say ‘mama.’ Say ‘Westbrook Pegler.’ Say anything.”

  “Your dinner is getting cold,” I said.

  Several times I looked up to find the girl’s eyes on me and each time I looked away quickly. My food stuck in my throat.

  When she had finished her coffee, she lighted a cigarette.

  Hunsecker wiped his full lips with his napkin. “Sidney, you eat too slowly. You eat the way you play cards. Do you play gin, honey? You are sitting diagonally opposite the most unfortunate gin player in America. He was caught with Hunsecker on a slow train to New York. Tell the lady who won seventy-eight dollars from whom, tootsie. But he can afford it. Look at that suit—and that tie. He must know the right people. It’s spelled with an H. Right, Sidney? Give me a cigarette.” He held out his hand without looking at me and then when he had placed the cigarette between his lips he waited for me to get out my lighter and bring the name to the tip. “Doesn’t he do that nicely?”

  The girl slapped some money down on her check and got up. She was taller than I had expected, almost as tall as I was.

  “Wait a minute, honey,” Hunsecker said.

  She was looking down at me. “We haven’t been introduced.”

  “Falco,” I said quickly. “Sidney Falco.”

  She nodded. “It’s going to be a long night. I could go for some gin rummy myself …”

  “Swell,” Hunsecker said. “Why don’t—?”

  “… so if you get a chance, Mr. Falco, I’m in the third car back, compartment C.”

  And she was walking away before I could say any thing.

  I shot a glance at Hunsecker. He wasn’t smiling now. He was staring after her with narrowing eyes as she left the dining car. “Her I like,” he muttered in a hard voice. Then he turned to me. “Take her name down, Sidney.”

  I returned his gaze without making a move, watching the faint dilation of his nostrils.

  “Take her name down.”

  My hands slowly took out the pad and wrote Lorna Hale in it. He ground his cigarette into an empty coffee cup, paid the check and got up. I followed.

  The steward asked for it. “Everything all right, Mr. Hunsecker?”

  He didn’t even look at him. “Mr. Cambrio, your dinner stank.”

  By the time we reached our compartment, I knew that I wasn’t going to go in. “I’m going to walk it off, J. J.,” I said.

  He went inside without answering me. I headed for the lounge car, because that wasn’t where I wanted to go, and when I saw that it was crowded, I turned around and walked back through several cars and stood in front of her compartment for at least a minute before I decided to knock.

  She was sitting by the window, and in the dim light she was all the lovely women I had ever seen in passing cabs or at distant tables in night clubs.

  “I didn’t think you’d come, Mr. Falco.”

  “Suckers can’t wait.” I flashed a smile. “But I never play cards with women who call me Mister.”

  “Sit down, won’t you?”

  I sat. “The lamb is ready for the slaughter.” I started to examine everything else in the compartment because I wanted to look only at her.

  “What is it?” she asked uncertainly. “Something you want?”

  “The cards,” I said.

  “Oh, the cards.” She averted her eyes. “I suppose I should have told you. I don’t have any.”

  I got up. “Think nothing of it. I’ve got a couple of decks in our compartment.”

  “Why not ring for the porter?”

  I said: “But we’re only a car away.”

  She didn’t answer right away. “You might not come back.”

  “Why?” I began to laugh, then stopped. “You mean he might not let me? He might not give me permission?” I tried to laugh again but it wouldn’t come.

  “It does sound funny, doesn’t it—now that you put it into words?” I didn’t like the way she said it.

  “You just wait here.” I started for the door.

  “I guess there’s something else I ought to tell you,” she said quickly. “I don’t know how to play gin rummy.”

  I turned sharply. “Then why did you—?” Her face was to the window.

  “I had to do it, that’s all,” she said in a muffled voice. “I had to slap his face—any way I could. I had no idea you’d come.”

  “I see.” I held on to the door handle as the train took a curve and there was a bitter, empty taste in my mouth. “Then if it’s all right with you, I’ll … mosey along.”

  “No, please don’t.” She looked up at me. “I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean … I … well, we can talk, can’t we?”

  I stood there for a moment, and then I shrugged and sat down. “Go ahead.”

  “Don’t be angry.”

  “Angry?” I ground my heel into the carpet. “Haven’t you heard? I never get angry.”

  She lighted a cigarette and stared at me for a while in silence.

  “Sidney—tell me—is he always that way?”

  I started to say I didn’t know what she meant—but she was still looking at me. “Uh huh.”

  “And you?”

  I was looking at the tips of my forty-dollar shoes. I needed a shine.

  “He goes Marie Antoinette one better, doesn’t he?” she said. “Let them eat dirt.” She exhaled an angry stream of smoke. “New York is full of men and women who think it’s worth it. Tell me, Sidney, are monogrammed shirts worth it?”

  I got up. “Look, maybe I better go.”

  “You remind me of someone I know,” she went on. “Her name is Lorna Hale.”

  I didn’t say anything—but I didn’t go.

  “For five years I stayed married to a man I didn’t love, because he gave me power and luxury and more money than I could use.” I glanced at her hand. She shook her head. “No. No ring. I threw it down the well at Reno three days ago. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth that. The trouble is, you never find out except for yourself, and it’s usually too late.” She turned her face to the window, to the darkness beyond, and suddenly her voice seemed tired. “I wish I had found out sooner. I wish all of us could. And I wish we could go on feeling sure that we’re right.”

  My mouth was dry and I stood there wanting to say something but not knowing what it was that I wanted to say. And then I said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get the cards.”

  She turned and looked at me, and her eyes were warm. “All right,” she said softly.

  I hurried out.

  Hunsecker was sulking at the window, his soft chin cupped in his hand. He didn’t even glance at me as I came in. I went to the mirror and straightened my tie with cold, fumbling hands.

  “Well,” he snapped, “what did she say about me?”

  “Nothing significant,” I said.

  He grunted. “I’ll bet not.”

  I started to gather up the cards that were strewn on the seat beside him and his face brightened as he looked up. “Oh, you feel like some more …?”

  “I’m taking these back with me,” I said evenly. “She doesn’t have any cards.”

  “Did it
ever occur to you that it might get to be boring sitting here by myself?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” I said, as I sorted the cards.

  For a moment there was only the sound of the throbbing wheels and then he said: “You know, I’ve got a hell of a gimmick for a new twist on the Friday round up column. I think we’ll toss some ideas back and forth while it’s still hot.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “I think maybe we better, tootsie.”

  “No, not tonight,” I said thickly, putting the decks in my pocket.

  He ran his tongue over his lips. “Why don’t you ask her to come in here? We could make it three-handed.”

  “I don’t think she’d care for that.”

  He mimicked my voice. “You don’t think she’d care for that. Why not?”

  I turned to meet his gaze. “I don’t think she likes you.”

  His lips were bloodless and his left cheek began to twitch. “She doesn’t like Hunsecker,” he cackled. “Ha. That’s good. Send that to me, will you, baby? I can use that for a lead. Hunsecker fights the world. Don’t let me forget that, tootsie. Call Mary and tell her to remind me. The little tramp with the long black hair doesn’t like Hunsecker. Ha. She collects rag dolls. Wonderful. Well?” His voice rose to a shout. “What are you standing there for?”

  “You’re sitting on the score pad,” I said quietly.

  The train had hit top speed now. Up front the whistle was shrieking its warning and the wheels were pounding beneath my feet as I hurried through the lurching corridor to the next car. I knew it wasn’t just to another compartment in another car, to a lovely girl with deep dark eyes that I was hurrying. It was the direction that was important, and I was hurrying desperately because I knew I was too late … a couple of years too late … but just for tonight I didn’t want it to be too late, for either of us.

  End of Summer

  THE DAYS COULD FOOL HER, WITH their deep blue skies and hot sunshine, but when darkness crept in over the harbor so terribly early each night and blue-white diamonds sparkled in the blackness above the dunes, Lottie knew that it was October and time to give the Cape back to the natives, time to return to the city and face the complexities of living satisfactorily with Henry.