Winning is Everything (17 page)

33 

Early the next morning Liz woke Ron, saying she had to get to work. Half an hour later they were dressed and standing outside her apartment at the door to the elevator, saying good-bye.

“I’ll grab a cab right outside,” said Liz. “Can I drop you off anyplace?”

“Naw,” said Ron. “I’ll walk back to my apartment. Fall apart for a few hours.”

“What are
you
doing tonight?” Liz asked
Casually.

“Working,” said Ron, guarded.

The door to the elevator opened and Ron and Liz stepped inside.

“Before you go to work, I mean,” said Liz.

“Oh,” said Ron, carefully choosing his words, “I’m supposed to drop in at a couple of parties.”

“Really?” Liz checked her makeup in the elevator mirror. “Going alone?”

“You know me too well,” said Ron. “I’ll be joining my dear
friend,
Warren Talbot.”

Liz laughed and then said matter-of-factly, “Why not tell Talbot you’re going around with me tonight?”

“Why should I do that?” Ron asked.

“I can think of a couple of reasons,” said Liz.

“Talbot’s taking me to a reception at One Fifth Avenue and then over to a restaurant opening.”

Liz snapped her fingers. “I’ll be going to cocktails at the Robert Ryans’ and then on to a drink at the Walter Cronkites’ …”

“What time should I pick you up?” Ron grinned, letting Liz know he had a sense of humor about the fact he was now accepting a better offer.

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and Ron and Liz walked out of her lobby into a bright dawn.

“I’ll be finished work by noon or so,” said Liz. “I’ll have to come back here for a thousand winks or I’ll be dead. Why not stop by around five-thirty?”

Liz hailed a taxi and it screeched to a halt in front of her building.

Ron moved close to her and planted a short, polite farewell kiss on her cheek. “See you this evening,” he said, and then whispered into her ear, “And if you’re a very good girl, there’s no telling what I’ll let you do to me.”

“I bet you think you’re pretty special!” she said teasingly.

Ron took hold of Liz’s elbow to assist her into the taxi. “My mother told me I was one in ten million!”

34 

“Achooo!” Ron sneezed into the phone.

“Beg your pardon?” said Talbot.

“ ‘Scuse me,” said Ron, pretending to blow his nose into the receiver. “It’s me, Ron.”

“Darling!”

“Listen, Warren, I’m still sick. This rotten flu going around … can’t breathe.”

“Quel dommage,
pussycat!” purred Talbot. “Hope you’ll be all right for tonight.”

“’Fraid not, Warren.” Ron said it fast, to get it out of the way. “I’m still in no condition to move. Can I have another rain check?”

“Of course. Don’t worry. What I’m concerned about is you. How ‘bout I pop over to the Stage Delicatessen, pick up some chicken soup and bring it over?”

“No, no …” Ron said, perhaps a mite too hastily. “Don’t do that. I’m up to here in aspirin and juices, and Campbell’s is almost as good as my mother’s. Thanks anyway. I’ll talk to you real soon.”

“Darling! … Do feel better. Stay warm and get some sleep.”

“Believe me, Warren, sleep is the one thing I plan to get.”

The view of Central Park from the seventh floor of Robert Ryan’s apartment in the Dakota was a knockout. This is
really
making it, Ron told himself as he stared over the treetops at the row of luxury apartments dotting Fifth Avenue. He drained the last of his Jack Daniel’s, went to the bar for a refill, then joined Liz in a corner, talking with Betty Comden and Adolph Green.

Comden and Green were describing a film they’d written called
What a Way to Go!
It was about to open in New York, and the star of the movie, Shirley MacLaine, was in town helping to promote it. Liz wondered why the P.R. people at Fox hadn’t pitched Shirley to her for her daily “Celebrity Corner,” and Betty mentioned they would be meeting Shirley at Elaine’s at ten-thirty. Why didn’t Liz and her attractive young escort join them? They could then arrange for Shirley to be on Liz’s show and get a bite at the same time.

Liz thought the idea sounded swell and turned to ask Ron if he could somehow postpone his “working engagement.” Ron ran for the nearest telephone. He called the manager at Arthur and begged to have some other waiter take his shift that night: something of earth-shattering importance had developed, and he would do anything—
anything
—to not have to pour drinks on people that evening.

The manager complained that Ron had pulled the same nonsense when his life depended upon going to some fahkakta contessa’s dinner party with Warren Talbot the previous week, and Ron knew the only way to get on Dame Sybil’s bad side was not to sacrifice for the owner of the popular disco. He agreed to work three stints for the one he’d be missing tonight.

The manager said he’d relay the news to the staff and told him to have a good time. Ron rushed back to the party to tell Liz all digestive systems were go.

Liz was chatting with an attractive, smartly dressed woman.

“Hi,” Liz said to Ron. “I’d like you to meet my friend Nora Greene.”

Ron shook the pretty lady’s hand, smiled, and tried to remember where he’d heard the name before. “Do we know each other?” he asked.

“I think not,” Nora told Ron.

“Familiar name,” said Ron.

“Nora is the story editor for Cinema Artists,” Liz announced.

“That’s it,” said Ron. “Gary Sergeant mentioned you to me. He went to see you about a job.”

“Oh, yes,” said Nora. “Gary. I remember him. About three weeks ago. Charming fellow.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, stretching his hand out toward a tray of stuffed mushrooms. “He thought you were just great. Said you were bright and attractive.”

Nora smiled. “How is he?”

“Crippled,” said Ron casually.

“What?”

“Well, temporarily out of commission. The dope went skydiving and broke his ankle. I have trouble getting off the crosstown bus. Imagine jumping out of a moving airplane.”

“That’s terrible,” said Nora.

“Oh, he’ll be all right,” Ron allowed cavalierly. “Just has to hobble around on crutches for a spell. With any luck, he’ll be fine for spring skiing.”

“Please tell him I hope he feels better,” said Nora, genuinely concerned.

Liz took Ron’s hand. “I think we’d better get going soon,” she told him. “We’ve got to go over to the other side of town. Were you able to get out of work tonight?”

Ron gazed into Liz’s hazel eyes. “I’m all yours.”

“Oh, good/’ said Liz. “That’ll be great fun. And I just know you’ll like Shirley. She’s just terrific.”

Ron knew damn well he was going to love Shirley. Hadn’t he seen
Around the World in Eighty Days
three times?

The crowd at the Cronkites’ was older, less glitzy than the sparkling group at the Ryans’. Still, Ron found plenty of exciting people to keep him buzzing, at least until he’d reached Elaine’s.

Liz introduced Ron to David Susskind and to David Brinkley. He met a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and two of Liz’s colleagues from Channel 5. They went from cozy room to cozy room drinking bourbon and nibbling on little cucumber sandwiches and small hills of steak tartare. Liz went over to say hello to some business people and Ron wandered off on his own. He made his way into the library, chockablock with books and newscasters, and walked right into Warren Talbot.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Warren wanted to know.

“I … was feeling better,” said Ron.

“Obviously,” said the playwright, more martinis to the wind than usual. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” said Ron. “You’d already left.”

“Liar!” said Warren, slugging down a small volume of vodka.

“Honest!” Ron lied.

“Who invited you here?” Talbot wanted to know.

“A friend …” said Ron.

“Anyone I know?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Get me another drink!” Talbot was sloshed and getting belligerent. He thrust out his empty martini glass and Ron scouted around for the nearest bar. When he returned with a fresh martini, he found Talbot talking to Liz.

“I see you two know each other,” Ron said, trying to keep it light.

“Let me tell you something, young man,” said Talbot, starting to slur his Southern accent. “In the aristocracy of success, there are no strangers!”

“Did you just think of that?” asked Liz.

“No,” snapped Talbot. “I stole it from S. J. Perelman.”

Ron handed Talbot his drink.

“Keep it,” said Talbot. “I accept no gifts from insincere phonies.”

Ron stood frozen.

“What seems to be the problem?” asked Liz.

“There is no problem,” said Ron. “The writer’s having a little trouble sharing me with friends.”

“That’s not it, not at all!” Talbot protested. “What I’m curious to know is, just how far will this young man go to succeed?”

“Drop it, Warren,” warned Ron.

“So he won’t do it for ten dollars. Certainly not. But you can bet your sweet ass he’ll do it for a million. Which means we’re no longer talking integrity, we’re just arguing price!”

“Oh, stop,” said Liz, patting Talbot’s hand. “This one’s not for you. Believe me, I’d hand him over this moment if I thought you had a chance.”

Talbot was not mad for Liz’s observation. “Oh! Now that he doesn’t need me anymore, right? Now that he thinks he’s moving up! How long you think he’s going to string
you
along?”

“Warren, you’re drunk,” said Liz flatly.

“Not as drunk as I’m gonna be.” Talbot turned to Ron and took a step toward him, ordering, “Get me another drink!”

Ron paused for a moment and then very quietly said, “Get it yourself.”

Talbot blinked heavy eyelids several times and weaved in place like a flagpole in a hurricane.

“Come on, Liz,” said Ron, taking her hand. “Let’s go downstairs. I think the talent’s fresher there.”

Ron and Liz left the library and Talbot headed straight to the bar.

It took Ron the entire taxi ride to Elaine’s to calm down. Neither he nor Liz spoke very much. She gave instructions to the driver while Ron sat in a corner of the cab, sizzling.

“Calm down,” said Liz finally. “We’re almost there. Everything’s okay …now.”

Ron took a deep, deep breath, turned to his favorite broadcaster, took her hand, and held it tight. “I got a ripping headache. I’ll be okay.”

He held her hand and she remained silent for the rest of the trip, and by the time they walked into the famous restaurant ten minutes later, he felt much better.

The place was celebrity-packed—Woody Allen and David Halberstam and Maureen Stapleton and Eric Sevareid—and Ron was amazed how quickly his headache passed. Still, he’d had a narrow escape, and so all through dinner and then back in Liz’s bedroom he concentrated on charming her, making himself indispensable.

35 

“Gary Sergeant?”

“Yes?”

“Hold on, please. Nora Greene calling …”

The secretary put Gary on hold for a moment, and he opened his eyes and saw that it was almost ten-thirty. He’d overslept again.

“Hello, Gary?” Nora came on the line sounding all business. “Ran into a friend of yours the other night … Ron somebody. Told me you had an accident.”

“It’s nothing. Just a coupla broken bones.”

“He said you actually went skydiving. How could you ever do something like that?”

“I was pushed.”

Nora laughed, and Gary, remembering her infectious warmth, laughed too.

“Tell you why I called,” Nora went on. “It occurred to me you might like to do some outside reading while you’re holed up. Make twenty-five bucks per synopsis, and get your eyes off the television. What do you think?”

“Sounds great,” said Gary, trying not to appear too eager.

“Wonderful. Hold on …” Nora said before yelling to her secretary in the outer office, “Tell Stanley I’ll call him right back and call Howard Osterman at Viking, ask if the Italian Pavilion at one o’clock is all right with him and then call upstairs to David Bicker’s office and ask what time I can see him. I’m sorry, Gary, what were we saying?”

“You sound busy,” said Gary.

“Very,” said Nora, looking across her crowded desk, piled high with manuscripts. “I’ll send over one of the latest future best-sellers, probably not much to it, but you never know … and … let’s see, still another first novel, this one about growing up poor in Beverly Hills. Doesn’t sound like movie material to me, but that’s what they said about the Bible, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Gary. “I only read Classic Comics.”

Nora laughed. “I’ll send these over by messenger. You’ll be home?”

“All day, I’m afraid.”

“Fine. I’ll send along a couple of sample synopses, and when you’re done, give me a call and I’ll have a messenger pick up your masterworks. All systems go?”

“I think so,” said Gary. “Thanks for calling.”

The messenger delivered the galleys before the hour was out and Gary sat down with the two books and a pot of coffee and began reading. He finished the galleys of the supposed best-seller in several hours. It was long, tedious, and of no interest to him. Then he picked up the first novel.

Ron and Kip arrived back at the apartment just as it was getting dark out. Ron was just darting in between social engagements. Kip had brought home a couple of steaks, a few tomatoes, and a six-pack of beer and suggested he and Gary toss the meat onto the broiler and have dinner together. Gary nodded his thanks and went back to his book.

By nine o’clock the next morning he had finished both synopses and placed a call to Nora Greene’s office at C.A. to say the material could be picked up at any time.

Nora called at twelve. “Boy, you sure work fast,” she said, glancing through Gary’s two synopses.

“I was trying to make a good impression,” Gary told her.

“You have, you have. How about another couple of properties? Care to tackle something large?”

“What did you have in mind?” Gary asked. “Not the Yellow Pages, I hope.”

“I just received the galleys for a new novel. Every story department in town’s been trying to get hold of them.
Five Smooth Stones.
There’s lots of talk on the street it may be a big one. But don’t get too excited. More often than not that kind of buzz is mere hype. Would you like to read it?”

“Sure.”

“You better. The galleys weigh in at sixteen hundred pages.”

“Sounds like
War and Peace”
said Gary.

“Right,” said Nora. “Without Natasha and Moscow.”

“I can handle it,” Gary told her.

“Fine,” said Nora. “I’ll pay triple, since it’s so long. There’s a bit of a rush on it, but I don’t expect it overnight. Even Evelyn Wood couldn’t deliver this monster in less than a week.”

“I’ll get through it fast as I can,” said Gary.

For the next three days Gary worked as if he were cramming for finals. He was not interested in any real food offered by his roommates, preferring to subsist on Oreo cookies and pots of coffee.

When, at last, there were no galleys left to cover, and Gary was sure his eyes had lost their ability to focus, he sat down at the kitchen table with his antique typewriter and quickly knocked out twenty pages summarizing all he’d just read.

The synopsis typed and ready to be sent to Cinema Artists, Gary called the secretary at the story department and very casually mentioned his coverage was ready to be picked up.

A stunned Nora called Gary two hours later. “You’re after my job, aren’t you?” she said.

“All in a day’s work.” Gary shrugged.

“Cute,” said Nora. “How’d you manage this so quickly?”

“I cut down on some sleep, is all.”

“Well,” said Nora, looking at the pile of literature on her desk. “At this rate, with you on staff, I’ll finally be able to get to the bottom of my desk.”

“Sounds fine with me.”

“I’m going to send you a couple of screenplays, okay? They’re only about a hundred and twenty-five pages long, so you’ll probably devour them before breakfast. Still, I think I owe you a couple of lightweights after the work you’ve put in.”

“That’s great,” said Gary. “Thanks a lot.”

“The messenger will be on his way soon. Call me when you’ve finished. I want to know what you think of this one by William Goldman, in particular, okay?”

Nora hung up, realizing she enjoyed talking to that young man more and more.

When she got the screenplays back, she decided to make her move. She called her boss and told him she’d finally found someone she wanted to work for her full-time; would he clear it with management?

“Really?” asked Bicker. “What’s he like?”

“Oh … I’ll send you a few of his synopses. You’ll see … he’s efficient and perceptive, writes clearly and with humor.”

Three novels, two screenplays, and a story treatment later, Nora called Gary again. “How much longer will you be using your crutches?”

“My confinement is up next week,” Gary told her. “’Who’s Who in the Cast’ will no longer be me.”

“Does that mean you can deliver your next batch of synopses in person, here at the office?”

“That’s what it means.”

“Good. I’ll expect you in my office next Friday, three o’clock.”

“Hey, look at you!” said Nora to Gary as he came slowly into her office, leaning on a cane. “I kind of like the way you look with it.”

“You mean kind of like Ernest Hemingway?”

“Exactly!” Nora walked Gary to her couch. “I have news,” she said. “I spoke to the boys upstairs and they’ve finally given me the go-ahead to offer you an in-house job as my assistant—one hundred and fifty dollars a week and all the manuscripts you can eat. What do you think?”

Gary tried concealing his surprise and enthusiasm. “When would I start?”

“How does Monday morning sound—nine-thirty?”

“How ‘bout if I get here by nine?”

“Don’t be so zealous. / don’t get in till way past ten. I won’t have you making me look bad—at least not right away.”

“Fine. Nine-thirty it is.”

“Sounds like we have a deal; and in the movie business, that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Gary, knocking on his wooden cane for luck.

“I’m excited about it too. I’ve been asking for an assistant for well over a year now, and they kept stalling. I guess they were impressed enough with your work, they didn’t want to lose you to Columbia.”

“If I could, I’d jump for joy. How can I thank you?”

“It’s not necessary. I’m glad you’re coming to work here. I have a feeling we’ll work very well together.”

“Me too,” said Gary. “God, but I love it here in New York. There’s so much going on.”

“True,” said Nora. “Taste-making for America is New York’s leading business!”

“I’ll buy that!” Gary agreed.

“Okay,” said Nora. “Any other questions?”

“Just one. Can I take you to lunch?”

“How sweet. I’m afraid you can’t. Not today. I’m hitting the Russian Tea Room with Owen Laster from the William Morris office. Now that you’re coming to work for the story department, you’ll learn that the most important part of any business is lunch!”

“’I’ll remember that.”

“However, on Monday
I’ll
take you to lunch, it being your first day and all. We can celebrate then.”

“Sounds terrific. I’m so very grateful, Nora. Really. I mean, if Ron hadn’t run into you … It suddenly occurs to me that maybe falling out of airplanes is not such a bad idea, after all.”