The Carpetbaggers (71 page)

The door opened and a small girl stood there, looking up at me. Her eyes were dark violet and serious. "Jo-Ann?" I asked tentatively.

She nodded silently.

I stared at her for a moment. Leave it to children to remind you of the passing of time. They have a way of growing that ticks off your years more accurately than a clock. The last time I had seen her, she was little more than a baby. "I'm Jonas Cord," I said. "Is your mother home?"

"Come in," she said in a small, clear voice. I followed her into the living room. She turned to face me. "Sit down. Mummy's dressing. She said she wouldn't be long."

I sat down and she sat in a chair opposite me. She stared at me with wide, serious eyes but didn't speak. I began to feel uncomfortable under her candid scrutiny and lit a cigarette. Her eyes followed my hand as I searched for an ash tray for my match. "It's over there," she said, pointing to a table on my right.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said politely. Then she was silent again, her eyes watching my face. I dragged on the cigarette and after a moment's silence, spoke to her. "Do you remember me, Jo-Ann?"

Her eyes dropped and she was suddenly shy, her hands smoothing the hem of her dress across her knees in a typically feminine gesture. "Yes."

I smiled. "The last time I saw you, you were just so big," I said, holding my hand out just about level with my knee.

"I know," she whispered, not looking at me. "You were standing on the steps waiting for us to come home."

I took the package out from under my arm. "I brought you a present," I said. "A doll."

She took the package from me and sat down on the floor to open it. Her eyes were smiling now. She lifted out the doll and looked at me. "It's very pretty."

"I hoped you'd like it," I said.

"I do. Very much." Her eyes grew solemn again. "Thank you," she said.

A moment later, Monica came into the room. Jo-Ann leaped to her feet and ran to her. "Mummy! Look what Mr. Cord brought me!"

"It was very thoughtful of you, Jonas," Monica said.

I struggled to my feet. We stood looking at each other. There was an almost regal quality of self-possession about her. Her dark hair fell almost to her bare shoulders over a black cocktail dress.

Then the doorbell rang. It was the baby sitter and Jo-Ann was so busy showing her the new doll, she didn't even have time to say good-by when we left.

Robair was standing at the car door when we came out. "Robair!" Monica put out her hand. "It's nice to see you again."

"It's nice to see you again, Miss Monica," he said as he bowed over her hand.

I looked out at the cruddy Queens scenery as the car rolled back to Manhattan. "What do you want to live out here for?" I asked.

She reached for a cigarette and waited while I held the match for her. "Jo-Ann can play outside when the weather is good and I don't have to worry about her being hurt in the city streets. And I can afford it. It's much more reasonable than the city."

"From what I hear, you're doing all right. If you want to live in the suburbs, why don't you move up to Westchester? It's nicer up there."

"It's still too expensive," she said. "I don't make that kind of money. I'm only the office manager at the magazine. I'm not an editor yet."

"You look like an editor."

She smiled. "I don't know whether you mean that as a compliment or not. But at
Style
, we try to look the way our readers think we should."

I stared at her for a moment.
Style
was one of the most successful new fashion magazines aimed at the young matron. "How come you're not an editor yet?"

She laughed. "I'm one step away. Mr. Hardin's an old-fashioned businessman. He believes that every editor should put in some time on the practical side. That way, they learn something about the business problems involved in getting out a magazine. He's already hinted that the next editorial opening is mine."

I knew old Hardin. He was a magazine publisher from way back. He paid off in promises, not in dollars. "How long has he been promising?"

"Three years," she said. "But I think it will happen soon. He's planning a new movie magazine. A slick. Something on the order of the old
Photoplay
. We'd have been on the presses, only the finances are holding it up."

"What would you do on it?"

"Feature editor," she said. "You know, arrange stories about the stars, that sort of thing."

I glanced at her. "Wouldn't you have to be out in Hollywood for that?"

She nodded. "I suppose so. But Hardin hasn't got the money yet so I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

* * *

Monica put her coffee cup down and smiled at me. "It's been a perfectly lovely dinner, Jonas, and you've been a charming host. Now tell me why."

"Does there have to be a reason?"

She shook her head. "There doesn't have to be," she said. "But I know you. When you're charming, you want something."

I waited until the waiter finished holding a match for her cigarette. "I just got back from England," I said quietly. "I ran into your mother over there."

A kind of veil dropped over her eyes. "You did?"

I nodded. "She seems very nice."

"I imagine she would be, from what I can remember of her," Monica said, a slight edge of bitterness in her voice.

"You must have a very good memory. Weren't you about Jo-Ann's age?"

The violet eyes were hard. "Some things you don't forget," she said. "Like your mother telling you how much she loves you, then disappearing one day and never coming back."

"Maybe she couldn't help it. Maybe she had a good reason."

"What reason?" she asked scornfully. "I couldn't leave Jo-Ann like that."

"Perhaps if you wrote to your mother, she could tell you."

"What could she tell me?" she said coldly. "That she fell in love with another man and ran away with him? I can understand that. What I can't understand is why she didn't take me with her. The only reason I can see is that I didn't matter."

"You may not know your mother, but you do know your father. You know how he can hate when he feels someone has crossed him."

Her eyes looked into mine. "Someone like you?"

I nodded. "Someone like me," I said. "That night, when you both came up to the hotel in Los Angeles — was he thinking about you or was he thinking about how much he wanted to get even with me?"

She was silent for a moment, then her eyes softened. "Was it like that with my mother, too?"

I nodded again. "Something like that," I said quietly.

She looked down at the tablecloth silently. When she looked up at me, her eyes were clear once more. "Thank you for telling me, Jonas. Somehow, I feel better now."

"Good." The waiter came by and refilled our coffee cups. "By the way," I said, "seen anything of your father lately?"

She shook her head with a wry smile. "About two years ago, he came out to dinner and borrowed a thousand dollars. That's the last I saw of him."

"Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"Why?"

"I’ve got a good job for him up in Canada, but he seems to have dropped out of sight."

A strange look came into her eyes. "You mean you'd give him a job after what he did to you?"

"I haven't much choice," I said reluctantly. "I don't especially like the idea but there's a war on. I need a man like him."

"I had a letter from him about a year ago. He said something about taking over as manager of the Teterboro Airport."

"Thanks," I said. "I’ll look out there."

Her hand suddenly came across the table and pressed mine. I looked at her in surprise. She smiled. "You know, Jonas, I have the strangest feeling you're going to make a much better friend than husband."

McAllister was waiting for me in the hotel when I got back the next afternoon. "You find him?" he asked.

I shook my head. "He only stayed out there long enough to pass a bum check for five hundred bucks on some poor jerk."

"That's pretty far down the ladder for him. Any idea where he went next?"

"No," I said. I threw my topcoat across a chair and sat down. "For all I know, he's in jail in some hick town we never heard of. Bum check — Jesus!"

"What do you want me to do?" Mac asked.

"Nothing," I said. "But I promised Roger I’d try to find him. We better put an agency on the job. If they can't turn him up, at least Roger will know I tried. You call Hardin?"

Mac looked at me curiously. "Yes. He'll be here any minute now. Why do you want to see him?"

"We might go into the publishing business."

"What for?" Mac asked. "You don't even read the papers."

I laughed. "I hear he's thinking of putting out a movie magazine. I'm making a picture. The best way I know to grab space is to own a magazine. I figure if I help him out with the movie magazine, he'll give us a plug in his others. That adds up to twelve million copies a month."

Mac didn't say anything. The doorbell rang and Robair went to open it. It was S. J. Hardin, right on time. He came into the room, his hand outstretched. "Jonas, my boy," he wheezed in his perennially hoarse voice. "It's good to see you."

We shook hands. "You know my attorney, Mr. McAllister?" I said.

S. J. gave him the glad eye. "It's a real pleasure, sir," he said, pumping Mac's hand enthusiastically. He turned back to me. "I was surprised to get your message. What's on your mind, boy?"

I looked at him. "I hear you're thinking about putting out a movie magazine."

"I have been thinking about it," he admitted.

"I also hear that you're a little short of cash to get it started."

He spread his hands expressively. "You know the publishing business, boy," he said. "We're always short of cash."

I smiled. To hear him, one would think he didn't have a pot to piss in. But S. J. had plenty, no matter how much he cried. The way he raided his own company made old Bernie Norman look like a Boy Scout.

"I'm about to make my first movie in eight years."

"Congratulations, Jonas," he boomed. "That's the best news I've heard in years. The movies can use a man like you. Remind me to tell my broker to pick up some Norman stock."

"I will, S. J."

"And you can be sure my magazines will give you a big play," he continued. "We know what makes good copy."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, S. J. I think it's a shame your chain has no movie magazine in it."

He fixed me with a shrewd glance. "I feel the same way, Jonas."

"How much would it take to get one on the stands?" I asked.

"Oh, two, maybe three hundred thousand. You've got to make sure of a year's run. It takes that long for a magazine to catch on."

"A magazine like that depends on the kind of editor you have, doesn't it? The right kind of editor and you got it made."

"That's entirely correct, boy," he said heartily. "And I have the finest group of editors in the business. I see you know the publishing business, Jonas. I'm always interested in a fresh point of view. That's what makes the news."

"Who's going to be your feature editor?"

"Why, Jonas," he said in wide-eyed innocence. "I thought you knew. The little lady you had dinner with last night, of course."

I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. The old bastard was smarter than I figured. He even had spies planted in "21."

After he left, I turned to McAllister. "I don't really have to stay here to sign those Engel papers, do I?"

He looked at me sharply. "I don't suppose so. Why?"

"I want to go to the Coast," I said. "Here I'm about to make a picture. What am I doing in New York, getting nothing done?"

"David and Bonner are here. They've been waiting for a call from you."

"Get David on the phone for me." A moment later, he handed me the telephone. "Hello, David. How's Rosa?"

"She's fine, Jonas, and very happy."

"Good," I said. "I just wanted to tell you what a great job I thought you did on that stock bit. Look, I don't feel right hanging around New York while I'm trying to get
The Sinner
ready. I'm going to shove off for the Coast."

"But, Jonas. I brought Bonner into New York."

"That's fine," I said. "But you get him back to the studio and tell him I'll see him there. That's the only place to handle a picture."

"O.K., Jonas," he said, a faint disappointment in his voice. "You flying out?"

"Yeah. I think I can make the ICA two-o'clock flight. That way, I'll be in California tomorrow morning."

"Give Rosa a call, will you, Jonas? She'd be pleased to hear from you."

"I will, David," I said. "By the way, how do I get in touch with that Jennie Denton? I think I ought at least to meet the girl who's going to play the lead in
The Sinner
."

"She's in Palm Springs, at the Tropical Flower Hotel, registered under the name of Judy Belden."

"Thanks, David," I said. "Good-by."

"Have a safe trip, Jonas."

* * *

It was 11:30 a.m., California time, the next day, when I parked my convertible in the driveway of the Tropical Flower Hotel in Palm Springs. I checked at the desk and walked down to Cottage No. 5. When I knocked on the door, there was no answer. But the door was unlocked, so I walked in. "Miss Denton?" I called.

There was no answer. Then I heard the shower running in the bathroom. I walked through and opened the bathroom door. I could see the outline of her body against the opaque shower curtain. She was singing in a low, husky voice.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and sat down on the can. I lit a cigarette while I watched her through the shower curtain. I didn't have to wait long.

She turned off the water and I could hear her sniff at the cigarette smoke. Her voice, from behind the curtain, was calm. "If that's one of the bellboys waiting out there, he'd better go before I come out," she said, "or I report him to the desk."

I didn't answer.

She stuck her head through the shower curtain, groping for a towel. I reached over and put one in her hand. Through the curtain, I could see her wrap it around herself, then the curtain slid back and she stared at me. Her eyes were dark gray and unafraid. "The bellboys in this hotel are the worst," she said. "They walk in on you at the oddest times."