The Carpetbaggers (67 page)

* * *

Jennie was sitting at her desk in the living room, writing checks for the monthly bills, when the door chime rang. She heard the Mexican woman waddle past her on the way to answer it. She frowned, looking down at the desk.

She'd been a fool, she thought bitterly, letting herself be talked into that screen test. She should have known the John was only shooting his mouth off. Now they were laughing their heads off all over Hollywood. At least four other Johns had called her up, sarcastically congratulating her on her screen test. They'd all seen it.

She had known she wasn't an actress. Why the hell had she fallen for the gag? Just like every stage-struck kid that came out here. But she thought she was too wise. She'd never fall into a trap like that. Then she'd gone for it, just like all the others.

She should have known the moment she stood in front of the cameras that it wasn't for her. But she'd read the script. Mary Magdalene. At first, she'd almost died laughing. No wonder Bonner had thought of her. It was type-casting of a high order.

Then something of the story had got to her. She'd felt moved and shaken. She'd lost herself in the part and there were times when she cried while the cameras were on her. And that was something she hadn't done since she was a little girl. No wonder they were laughing. She'd have laughed herself if it had been anyone else. The whore crying for the whore. She never should have listened. The week had gone by and there hadn't been even a word from Bonner.

The heavy footsteps of the Mexican woman sounded behind her. She looked around. The servant's beady eyes were inscrutable. "
Señor Woolf está aquí
."

Woolf. She knew no one by that name. Maybe he was the new man from the cops. They'd told her a new man was coming around to pick up the pay-off.

"
De las películas
," the servant added quickly.

"Oh." She nodded. "
Tráigale aquí
." She turned back to her desk as the servant moved away. Quickly Jennie made a neat pile of the bills and put them in a drawer. She turned in her chair just as the Mexican returned with a young man.

She looked coldly at him, rising from her chair. "Bonner sent you?"

"No," he said. "As a matter of fact, Bonner doesn't even know I'm here."

"Oh." She knew now why he had come. "You saw the test?"

He nodded.

Her voice grew even colder. "Then you might as well go," she said. "I see no one except by appointment."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. She grew even angrier. "And you can tell Bonner for me that he'd better stop showing that test around town or he'll regret it."

He laughed, then his face grew serious. "I’ve already done that, Miss Denton."

"You have?" She felt her anger dissipating. "A thing like that could ruin my business."

"I think you're out of that business," he said quietly.

She stared at him, her eyes large. "What do you mean?"

"I’m afraid you don't understand," he said, taking a card from his pocket and handing it to her. She looked down at it. It was an expensive engraved card. David Woolf, it read simply, and down in one corner, the words: Executive Vice-President. Below that was the name of the motion-picture company Bonner was connected with. Now she remembered who he was. She'd read about him in the papers. The bright young man. Cord's boy wonder. She looked up at him.

The faint smile was playing around his lips again. "Would you like to play Mary Magdalene?"

Suddenly, she was nervous. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "I thought — it was all a kind of joke to Bonner."

"Perhaps it was," David Woolf said quickly. "I don't know what he thought. But it's no joke to me. I think you can be a great star." He was silent for a moment. "And my wife does, too."

She looked at him questioningly.

"Rosa Strassmer. She knew you at the hospital four years ago."

A light came into her eyes. "You mean Dr. Strassmer? The one who performed the skin graft on Linda Davis' face?"

He nodded again, smiling. "I was chief nurse in surgery that day," she said. "She was great."

"Thank you. Now, would you like to play Mary Magdalene?"

Suddenly, she wanted to more than anything else in the world. "Yes."

"I hoped that would be your answer," he said, taking a folded sheet of paper from his inside pocket. "How much did Bonner say he would pay you?"

"Two thousand a week."

He already had the pen in his hand and was writing on the sheet of paper. "Wait a minute, Mr. Woolf," she said quickly. "I know Bonner only meant it as a gag. You don't have to pay me that much."

"Perhaps he did. But I don't. He said two thousand, that's what you'll get." He finished writing and handed the contract to her. "You'd better read that carefully."

She looked down at the printed form. The only thing written on it was her name and the salary figure. "Do I have to?"

David nodded. "I think you should," he said. "Contracts are easy to sign but not that easy to get out of."

Jennie sank back into the chair and began to read the contract. "I notice it's with Cord Explosives."

"That's standard practice with us. Cord owns the company."

"Oh." She finished reading and reached for a pen. Quickly she signed her name and handed the contract back to him. "Now what do we do?" she asked, smiling.

He put the contract into his pocket. "The first thing we do is change your name."

"What's the matter with it?"

"Too many people will recognize it," he said. "It might prove embarrassing later."

Jennie thought for a moment, then laughed. "I don't give a damn," she said. "Do you?"

David shook his head. "Not if you don't."

She laughed again. Let the Johns eat their hearts out over what they were missing.

He looked around the room. "Do you own or rent this?" he asked.

"Rent."

"Good," he said. "Close down and go away for a while. Out on the desert. Palm Springs, maybe. Don't let anyone know where you are except me."

"O.K.," she said. "What do I do then?"

"You wait," he said. "You wait until we discover you!"

"Sorry, David," Pierce said, getting to his feet. He was smiling but his eyes were cold. "I can't help you out."

"Why not?"

"Because I sold the stock a year ago."

"To Sheffield?" David asked.

The agent nodded.

"Why didn't you get in touch with Jonas?"

"Because I didn't want to," Pierce snapped. "He's used me enough. I was good enough for him during the rough years. To do the dirty work and keep the factory going. But the minute things were good enough to make the big ones, he brings in Bonner."

"You used him, too. He went into the hole for millions because you wanted a studio to play with. You're a rich man because of him. And you knew by the time Bonner came that you were an agent, not a producer. The whole industry knew it."

"Only because he never gave me a chance." Dan grinned mirthlessly. "Now it's his turn to sweat a little. I'm waiting to see how he likes it." He walked angrily to the door but by the time he turned back to David, his anger seemed to have disappeared. "Keep in touch, David. There's an outside chance I could spring Tracy and Gable from Metro on loan if you came up with the right property."

David nodded as the agent walked out. He looked down at his desk. Business as usual, he thought bitterly. Pierce would think nothing of setting up a deal like that and handing the company a million-dollar profit. That was his business. It had nothing to do with Jonas Cord personally. But the sale of his stock in the company was another matter.

He picked up the telephone on his desk wearily. "Yes, Mr. Woolf."

"Call Bonner's office and find out if I can see him right away."

"In your office or his?" his secretary asked.

He smiled at himself. Ordinarily, protocol dictated that Bonner come to him. But it was amazing how sensitive the studio grapevine was. By now, everyone was aware that something was up, and even his secretary wasn't completely sure of his position. This was her way of probing.

"My office, of course," he said testily, putting down the telephone.

* * *

Bonner came into his office about three-quarters of an hour later. It wasn't too bad, considering their relative importance. Not too long to appear rude, not too quickly to appear subservient. He crossed the room to David's desk and sat down. "Sorry to disturb you, Maurice," David said politely.

"That's quite all right, David," Bonner answered, equally polite. "I managed to finish the morning production meeting."

"Good. Then you have a little time?"

Bonner looked at his watch. "I do have a story conference due about now."

David smiled. "Writers are used to waiting."

Bonner looked at David curiously. Unconsciously, his hand crept inside his jacket and he scratched his shirt. David noticed and grinned. "Got a rash?"

"You heard the story?" Bonner asked.

David nodded.

Bonner grinned, scratching himself overtly now. "It's driving me nuts. It was worth it, though. You got to try Jennie sometime. That girl can make your old fiddle twang like a Stradivarius."

"I'll bet. I saw the test."

Bonner looked at him. "I meant to ask you. Why did you pull all the prints?"

"I had to," David said. "
The Sinner
isn't our property. It belongs to Cord personally. And you know how he is. I wasn't looking for any trouble."

Bonner stared at him silently. There wasn't any point in beating around the bush, David decided. "Sheffield showed me your commitment to sell him your stock."

Bonner nodded. He wasn't scratching now. "I figured he would."

"Why?" David asked. "If you wanted to sell, why didn't you talk to Cord?"

Bonner was silent for a moment. "What would be the point? I never even met the man. If he wasn't polite enough to look me up just once in the three years I've been working for him, I see no reason to start running after him now. Besides, my contract is up next month and nobody has come around to talk about renewing it. I didn't even hear from McAllister." He began scratching again.

David lit a cigarette. "Why didn't you come to me?" he asked softly. "I brought you over here."

Bonner didn't meet his gaze. "Sure, David, I should have. But everybody knows you can't do anything without Cord's O.K. By the time you could have got to him, my contract would have run out. I'd have looked like a damn fool to the whole industry."

David dragged the smoke deep into his lungs. They were all alike — so shrewd, so ruthless, so capable in many ways, and still, so like children with all their foolish pride.

Bonner took his silence as resignation. "Sheffield told me he'd take care of us," he said quickly. "He wants us both, David. You know that. He said he'll set up a new deal the minute he takes over. He'll finance the pictures, give us a new profit-sharing plan and some real stock options."

"Do you have that in writing?"

Bonner shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "He can't sign me to a contract before he's taken over. But his word is good. He's a big man. He's not a goof ball like Cord who runs hot and cold."

"Did Cord ever break his word to you?"

Bonner shook his head. "No. He never had a chance to. I had a contract. And now that it's almost over, I'm not going to give him a chance."

"You're like my uncle." David sighed. "He listened to men like Sheffield and ended up in stocks and bonds instead of pictures. So he lost his company. Now you're doing the same thing. He can't give you a contract because he doesn't control the company, yet you give him a signed agreement making it possible for him to take over." David got to his feet, his voice angry. "Well, what are you going to do, you damn fool, when he tells you, after he's got control, that he can't keep his promise?"

"But he needs us to run the business. Who's going to make the pictures for him if I don't?"

"That's what my Uncle Bernie thought, too," David said sarcastically. "But the business ran without him. And it will run without us. Sheffield can always get someone to run the studio for him. Schary at MGM is waiting for a job like this to open up. Matty Fox at Universal would take to it like a duck takes to water. It wouldn't be half as tough for him here as it is over there."

David sat down abruptly. "Do you still think he can't run the company without us?"

Bonner stared at him, his face white. "But what can I do, David? I signed the agreement. Sheffield can sue the ass off me if I renege."

David put out his cigarette slowly. "If I remember your agreement," he said, "you agreed to sell him all the stock you owned on December fifteenth?"

"That's right."

"What if you only happened to own one share of stock on that day?" David asked softly. "If you sell him that one share, you've kept your word."

"But that's next week. Who could you get to buy the stock before then?"

"Jonas Cord."

"But what if you can't reach him in time? Then I’m out four million dollars. If I sell that stock on the open market, it'll knock the price way down."

"I’ll see to it you get your money." David leaned across his desk. "And, Maurice," he added softly. "You can start writing your own contract, right now."

* * *

"Four million bucks!" Irving screamed. "Where the hell do you think I can lay my hands on that kind of money?"

David stared at his friend. "Come on, Needlenose. This is
tuchlas
."

"And what if Cord says he don't want the stock?" Irving asked in a quieter voice. "What do I do with it then? Use it for toilet paper?" He chewed on his cigar. "You're supposed to be my friend. I go wrong on a deal like this, I'm nobody's friend. The late Yitzchak Schwartz, they’ll call me."

"It isn't as bad as that."

"Don't tell me how bad it is," Irving said angrily. "From jobs like mine you don't get fired."

David looked at him for a moment. "I'm sorry, Irving. I have no right to ask you to take a chance like this." He turned and started for the door.

His friend's voice stopped him. "Hey, wait a minute! Where d'you think you're going?"