The Carpetbaggers (21 page)

"O.K.," the agent said. He started toward his own car, then stopped and came back. "This talking-picture business bothers me. A couple of other companies have announced they're going to make talkies."

"Let 'em," Nevada said. "It's their headache." He turned the key, pressed the starter and the big motor sprang into life with a roar. "It's a novelty," he shouted to the agent over the noise. "By the time our picture comes out people will have forgotten all about talkies."

* * *

The telephone on the small table near the bed rang softly. Rina walked over and picked it up. It was one of those new French telephones, the first she'd seen since she'd returned from Europe. The now familiar insignia was in the center of the dial, where the number usually was printed. "Hello."

Nevada's familiar voice was in her ear. "Howdy, friend. You all settled in?"

"Nevada!" she exclaimed.

"You got other friends?"

She laughed. "I'm unpacked," she said. "And amazed."

"At what?"

"Everything. This place. It's fabulous. I never saw anything like it."

His voice was a quiet whisper in her ear. "It's not very much. Paltry little spread, but I call it home."

"Oh, Nevada," she laughed, "I still can't believe it. Why did you ever build such a fantastic house? It's not like you at all."

"It's part of the act, Rina," he said. "Like the big white hat, the fancy shirts and the colored boots. You're not really a star unless you have the trappings."

"With N Bar S on everything?" she asked.

"With N Bar S on everything," he repeated. "But don't let it throw you. There are crazier things in Hollywood."

"I've got so much to tell you," she said. "What time will you be home?"

"Home?" He laughed. "I am home. I’m down in the bar, waiting for you."

"I’ll be down in a minute," she said, then hesitated. "But, Nevada, how will I find the bar? This place is so immense."

"We got Indian guides just for occasions like this," he said. "I’ll send one up after you."

She put down the telephone and went over to the mirror. By the time she had finished applying lipstick to her mouth, there was a soft knock at the door.

She crossed the room and opened it.

Nevada stood there, smiling. "Beg pardon, ma'am," he said with mock formality. "I jes’ checked the entire joint an' you won't believe it, but I was the only Indian around!"

"Oh, Nevada!" she said softly.

Then suddenly she was in his arms, her face buried against the hard muscles of his chest, her tears staining the soft white front of his fancy shirt.

THE LIGHTS OF LOS ANGELES CAME UP UNDER the right wing. I looked over at Buzz, sitting next to me in the cockpit. "We're almost home."

His pug-nosed face crinkled in a smile. He looked at his watch. "I think we got us a new record, too."

"The hell with the record," I said. "All I want is that mail contract."

He nodded. "We’ll get it now for sure." He reached over and patted the dashboard. "This baby insured that for us."

I swung wide over the city, heading for Burbank. If we got the airmail contract, Chicago to Los Angeles, it wouldn't be long before Inter-Continental would span the country. From Chicago east to New York would be the next step.

"I see in the papers that Ford has a tri-motor job on the boards that will carry thirty-two passengers," Buzz said.

"When will it be ready?"

"Two, maybe three years," he answered. "That's the next step."

"Yeah," I said. "But we can't afford to wait for Ford. It could take five years before something practical came from them. We gotta be ready in two years."

Buzz stared at me. "Two years? How are we gonna do it? It's impossible."

I glanced at him. "How many mail planes are we flying now?"

"About thirty-four," he said.

"And if we get the new mail contract?"

"Double, maybe triple that many," he said. He looked at me shrewdly. "What're you gettin' at?"

"The manufacturers of those planes are making more out of our mail contracts than we are," I said.

"If you're talkin' about buildin' our own planes, you're nuts!" Buzz said. "It would take us two years just to set up a factory."

"Not if we bought one that was already in business," I answered.

He thought for a moment. "Lockheed, Martin, Curtiss-Wright, they're all too busy. They wouldn't sell. The only one who might is Winthrop. They're layin' off since they lost that Army contract."

I smiled at him. "You're thinkin' good, Buzz."

He stared at me in the dim light. "Oh, no. I worked for old man Winthrop. He swore he'd never— "

We were over Burbank airport now. I swung wide to the south end of the field where the Winthrop plant stood. I banked the plane so Buzz could see from his side. "Look down there."

Up through the darkness, illuminated by two searchlights, rose the giant white letters painted on the black tarred roof.

CORD AIRCRAFT, INC.

The reporters clustered around us as soon as we hit the ground. Their flash bulbs kept hitting my eyes and I blinked. "You tired, Mr. Cord?" one of them yelled.

I rubbed my unshaven cheeks and grinned. "Fresh as a daisy," I said. A stone on the field cut into my foot. I turned back to the plane and yelled up to Buzz. "Hey, throw me my shoes, will you?"

He laughed and threw them down and the reporters made a great fuss about taking my picture while I was putting them on.

Buzz climbed down beside me. They took some more pictures and we started to walk toward the hangar. "How does it feel to be home?" another reporter yelled.

"Good."

"Real good," Buzz added.

We meant it. Five days ago, we took off from Le Bourget in Paris. Newfoundland, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles   five days.

A reporter came running up, waving a sheet of paper. "You just broke the Chicago-to-L-A. record!" he said. "That makes five records you broke on this flight!"

"One for each day." I grinned. "That's nothin' to complain about."

"Does that mean you'll get the mail contract?" a reporter asked.

Behind them, at the entrance to the hangar, I could see McAllister waving frantically. "That's the business end," I said. "I leave that to my partner, Buzz. He'll fill you gentlemen in on it."

I cut away from them quickly, leaving them to surround Buzz while I walked over to McAllister. His face wore a harassed expression. "I thought you'd never get here on time."

"I said I'd be in by nine o'clock."

He took my arm. "I’ve got a car waiting," he said. "We'll go right to the bank from here. I told them I'd bring you down."

"Wait a minute," I said, shaking my arm free. "Told who?"

"The syndication group that agreed to meet your price for the sublicensing of the high-speed injection mold. Even Du Pont's coming in with them now." He took my arm again and began to hurry me to the car.

I pulled free again. "Wait a minute," I said. "I haven't been near a bed for five days and I'm beat. I'll see them tomorrow."

'Tomorrow?" he yelled. "They're waiting down there now!"

"I don't give a damn," I said. "Let 'em wait."

"But they're giving you ten million dollars!"

"They're giving me nothing," I said. "They had the same chance to buy that patent we did. They were all in Europe that year but they were too tight. Now they need it, they can wait until tomorrow."

I got into the car. "The Beverly Hills Hotel."

McAllister climbed in beside me. He looked distraught. "Tomorrow?" he said. "They don't want to wait."

The chauffeur started the car. I looked over at McAllister and grinned. I began to feel a little sorry for him. I knew it hadn't been an easy deal to swing.

"Tell you what," I said gently. "Let me get six hours' shut-eye and then we can meet."

"That will be three o'clock in the morning!" Max exclaimed.

I nodded. "Bring them to my suite in the hotel. I’ll be ready for them then."

* * *

Monica Winthrop was waiting in the suite. She got up from the couch and put out her cigarette as I came in. She ran over and kissed me. "Oh, what a beard!" she exclaimed in mock surprise.

"What're you doin' here?" I asked. "I was looking for you at the airport."

"I would have been there but I was afraid Daddy would show up," she said quickly.

She was right. Amos Winthrop was too much of a heller not to recognize the symptoms. The trouble was he couldn't divide his time properly. He let women interfere with his work and work interfere with his women. But Monica was his only daughter and, like all rakes, he thought of her as something special. Which she was. But not in the way he thought.

"Mix me a drink," I said, walking past her to the bedroom. "I'm going to slip into a hot tub. I smell so loud I can hear myself."

She picked up a tumbler filled with bourbon and ice and followed me into the bedroom. "I had your drink ready," she said. "And the tub is full."

I took the drink from her hand. "How'd you know when I got here?"

She smiled again. "I heard it on the radio."

I sipped at the drink as she came over to me. "You don't have to take a bath on my account," she said. "That smell is kind of exciting."

I put the drink down and walked into the bathroom, taking off my shirt. When I turned to close the door, she was right behind me. "Don't get into the tub yet," she said. "It's a shame to waste all that musky maleness."

She put her arms around my neck and pressed her body against me. I sought her lips but she turned her face away and buried it in my shoulder. I felt her take a deep, shuddering breath. She moaned softly and the heat came out of her body like steam from an oven.

I turned her face up to me with my hand. Her eyes were almost closed. She moaned again, her body writhing. I tugged at my belt and my trousers fell to the floor. I kicked them aside and backed her toward the vanity table along the wall. Her eyes were still closed as she leaped up on me like a monkey climbing a coconut tree.

"Breathe slow, baby," I said as she began to scream in a tortured half whisper. "I may not smell as good as this for years."

* * *

The water was soft and hot, and weariness washed in and out as it rippled against me. I reached behind me, trying to get to my back with the soap. I couldn't make it.

"Let me do that," she said.

I looked up at her as she took the washcloth from my hand and began to rub my back. The slow, circular motion was soothing and I leaned forward and closed my eyes. "Don't stop," I said. "That feels good."

"You're just like a baby. You need someone to take care of you."

I opened my eyes and looked up at her again. "I been thinkin' that, too," I said. "I think I'll get a Jap houseboy."

"A Jap houseboy won't do this," she said. I felt her tap my shoulder. "Lean back. I want to rinse the soap off."

I leaned back in the water, my eyes still closed. She moved the washcloth over my chest and then down. I opened my eyes. She was staring down at me.

"It looks so small and helpless," she whispered.

"That wasn't what you said a little while ago."

"I know," she said, still in that whisper, the foggy look coming back into her eyes.

I knew the look. I reached up and put my arm around her neck and pulled her down on the edge of the tub. I felt her hand go down and cover me with the washcloth as we kissed. "You're growing strong," she whispered, her mouth moving against mine.

I laughed and just then the telephone rang. We turned quickly, startled, and the water splashed up and drenched the front of her dress. Silently she took the phone from the vanity and gave it to me. "Yes?" I growled into it.

It was McAllister. He was down in the lobby.

"I said three o'clock," I snapped.

"It is three o'clock," he answered. "Can we come up? Winthrop's with us, too. He said he has to see you."

I looked over at Monica. That was all I needed. To have her father come up and find her in my room. "No," I said quickly. "I'm still in the tub. Take 'em into the bar and buy 'em a drink."

"The bars are all closed."

"O.K., then, I’ll meet you in the lobby," I said.

"The lobby's no place to close this deal. There's no privacy. They won't like it at all. I don't understand why we can't come up."

"Because I got a broad up here."

"So what?" he answered. "They're all broad-minded." He laughed at his pun.

"The girl's Monica Winthrop."

There was silence on the other end of the telephone. Then I heard him sigh wearily. "Christ!" he said. "Your father was right. You just never stop, do you?"

"Time enough for me to stop when I’m your age."

"I don't know," he said wearily. "They won't like the idea of meeting in the lobby."

"If it's privacy they want," I said, "I know just the place."

"Where?"

"The men's room, just off the elevators. I'll meet you there in five minutes. That'll be private enough!"

I put down the phone and got to my feet. I looked at Monica. "Hand me a towel," I said. "I gotta go downstairs and see your father."

I CAME INTO THE MEN'S ROOM, RUBBING MY CHEEK. I still had the five-day beard. I hadn't had time to shave. I grinned at the sight of them, all engrossed in their duties, not even looking around as I entered.

"The meeting will come to order, gentlemen," I said.

They looked over their shoulders at me, a startled expression on their faces. I heard one of them mutter a faint damn under his breath and wondered what minor tragedy brought that out.

McAllister came over to me. "I must say, Jonas," he said rather pompously. "You have a rather peculiar choice of meeting place."

I stared at him. I knew he was talking for the benefit of the others, so I didn't really mind. I looked down at his trousers. "Aw, Mac," I said. "Button your fly before you start talking." His face grew red and his hand dropped quickly to his trouser front.

I laughed and turned to the others. "I'm sorry to put you to this inconvenience, gentlemen," I said. "But I have a space problem up in my room. I've got a box up there that takes up almost the whole place."