The Dream Merchants Part 12

Johnny smiled at her as he sat down. "You ought to be in pictures."

Her face was flushed as she left the room. She was back in a moment. "Mr. Sharpe will see you in a few minutes," she said. She sat down at the desk and tried to look busy.

Johnny picked up a copy of Billboard and glanced through it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him. He put the paper down. "Nice day, isn't it?" he asked pleasantly.

"Yes, sir," she answered. She put a sheet of paper in the typewriter and began to type.

Johnny got out of his seat and walked over to her. "Do you believe that your handwriting will reveal your character?" he asked.

She looked puzzled. "I never thought of it." Her voice was pleasant. "But I guess it could."

"Write something on a sheet of paper," he told her.

She took a pencil in her hand. "What shall I write?"

He thought for a moment. "Write: 'To Sam from'-whatever your name is." He smiled at her disarmingly.

She scribbled on a sheet of paper and handed it to him. "There it is, Mr. Edge, but I don't know what you can make of it."

Johnny looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. He looked up at her in sudden surprise. She was laughing. He grinned back at her and read the writing on the paper again.

"You could have asked me," it read. "Jane Andersen. Further details upon request."

He joined her laugh. "Jane," he said, "I might have known you were wise to me."

She started to answer, but a buzzer sounded next to her desk. "You may go in now," she said, smiling. "Mr. Sharpe is free."

He started toward the inner door. At the door he stopped and looked back at her. "Tell me something," he said in a stage whisper. "Was Mr. Sharpe really busy?"

She tossed her head indignantly, then a bright smile crossed her face. "Of course he was," she replied in the same kind of whisper. "He was shaving."

Johnny laughed and went into the other room. The second room was a duplicate of the first, only a little larger. The same pictures were on the wall, but the desk was a bigger one. A small man in a bright gray suit sat behind it.

As Johnny came into the room, he got up and held out his hand to him. "Mr. Edge," he said in a thin, not unpleasant voice, "I'm glad to meet you."

They exchanged greetings and Johnny came right to the point. "Magnum Pictures is purchasing the motion-picture rights to The Bandit and we would like Warren Craig to play the lead in the motion picture."

Sharpe shook his head sadly and didn't answer.

"Why do you shake your head, Mr. Sharpe?" Johnny asked.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Edge," Sharpe replied. "If it had been any one of my clients other than Warren Craig, I would say you might have a chance of getting him. But Warren Craig-" He didn't finish his sentence, but spread his hands expressively on the desk.

"What do you mean, 'But Warren Craig'?"

Sharpe smiled at him soothingly. "Mr. Craig comes from one of the first families of the theater, Mr. Edge, and you know how they feel about the flickers. They look down upon them.

"And besides, from a more practical point of view, they don't pay enough money."

Johnny looked at him speculatively. "How much money does Warren Craig rate, Mr. Sharpe?"

Sharpe returned the look. "Craig gets one hundred and fifty dollars per week and you flicker people won't pay more than seventy-five."

Johnny leaned forward in his seat; his voice dropped to a confidential tone. "Mr. Sharpe," he said, "what I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence."

Sharpe looked interested. "Sam Sharpe will respect that confidence, sir," he said quickly.

"Good." Johnny nodded, and pulled his chair closer to Sharpe's desk. "Magnum does not intend to make an ordinary flicker out of The Bandit. Magnum is going to make a brand-new high-type production, something that is so new it will be fit to take its place among the finest works of the theater. That is why we want Warren Craig to play the role he created on the stage." He paused impressively.

"For playing that role we are prepared to pay him four hundred dollars a week, with a minimum guarantee of two thousand dollars." Johnny leaned back in his chair and watched the effect of his words on Sharpe.

From the look on his face Johnny could tell that he was interested, that it was the kind of deal Sharpe would like to make. Sharpe sighed heavily. "I must be honest with you, Mr. Edge," he said regretfully. "Your offer seems to me a most generous one, but I don't believe I can persuade Craig to accept it. I repeat again, he does not approve of the flickers. He even goes so far as to despise them. He believes them beneath the dignity of his art."

Johnny stood up. "Madame Sarah Bernhardt does not believe them beneath the dignity of her art, and if she is making a picture in France, maybe Mr. Craig will consent to make one here."

"I had heard about that, Mr. Edge, but I didn't believe it," Sharpe said. "Is it really true?"

Johnny nodded his head. "You can believe it," he lied. "Our representative in France was very close to the deal and he a.s.sured us it is signed, sealed, and delivered." He hesitated for a moment, then added as if it were an after-thought: "Of course we would pay you the same sort of bonus that Madame Bernhardt's agent received. Ten percent over the guarantee for yourself."

Sharpe stood up and faced Johnny. "Mr. Edge, you have been most convincing. You have sold me on the idea, but you will have to sell Mr. Craig. On a matter of this type he would never listen to me. Will you talk to him?"

"Any time you say," Johnny answered.

Johnny walked out of the office with an understanding that Sharpe would call him as soon as an appointment with Craig could be arranged.

He stopped at the girl's desk as he left. He smiled down at her. "About those further details, Jane," he said.

She handed him a typewritten sheet of paper. He looked at it. Her name, address, and telephone number were neatly typed on it.

"Don't call later than eight o'clock, Mr. Edge," she smiled. "It's a boarding house and the landlady doesn't approve of telephone calls later than that."

Johnny grinned. "I'll call you here, sugar. Then we won't have to worry about the landlady."

He left the office whistling jauntily.

Johnny didn't get to the studio until late in the afternoon. Peter looked up from his desk as he came in.

"Where were you?" he asked. "I been looking for you all day."

Johnny perched himself on the edge of Peter's desk. "I had a busy day," he said, smiling. "First thing this morning I saw Warren Craig's agent. Then I thought I'd have lunch with George since he was in town today."

"What did you go to lunch with George for?" Peter asked.

"Money," Johnny replied blithely. "It looked like we're going to get Craig this morning, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to start getting some dough for the picture. He's going to let us have a thousand."

"But I didn't say we were going to make the picture," Peter said.

"I know," Johnny replied. "But if you don't somebody else will." He looked down at Peter challengingly. "And I don't aim to be on the outside looking in when it's all over."

Peter looked up at him for a few minutes. Johnny looked back at him steadily. At last Peter spoke. "Your mind's made up?"

Johnny nodded. "My mind's made up. I'm through horsin' around."

The phone rang. Peter picked it up and answered it. He turned to Johnny and held the phone toward him. "It's for you."

Johnny took the phone. "h.e.l.lo."

The voice crackled over the phone a few minutes while Johnny listened. He put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and spoke to Peter while the voice crackled on. "It's Borden. Did you speak to him about the picture this morning?"

"Yes," Peter said. "What does he want?"

Johnny didn't answer him, for the voice over the phone stopped talking. Johnny spoke into the phone. "I don't know, Bill." He looked at Peter questioningly. "He hasn't made up his mind yet."

The voice spoke rapidly for a few minutes.

"Sure, Bill, sure," Johnny said. "I'll let you know." He hung up the receiver.

"What did he want?" Peter repeated suspiciously.

"He wanted to know if you had made up your mind. He said if you decided against it, for me to see him."

"The gonif!" Peter exploded indignantly. He put a cigar in his mouth and chewed on it furiously. "Only this morning I spoke to him and already he's trying to steal my ideas. What did you tell him?"

"You heard me," Johnny answered. "I told him you hadn't decided."

"Well, call him right back and tell him I decided," Peter said excitedly. "We're going to make the picture!"

"You'll do it?" Johnny was grinning.

"I'll do it," Peter said. He was still angry. "I'll show that Willie Bordanov he can't steal a man's ideas."

Johnny picked up the phone.

"Wait a minute," Peter stopped him. "I'll call him. There's a little matter of twenty-five hundred dollars he promised to lend me if I make this picture and I want him to send it right over."

5.

Peter was silent all through dinner. He scarcely spoke two words throughout the entire meal. Esther wondered what was worrying him but kept tactfully quiet until he had finished eating. She knew him well enough to know that he would talk to her when he was ready.

"Doris brought home her report card today," she said. "She got an A in everything."

"That's nice," Peter answered absent-mindedly.

She looked at him. Ordinarily he was much interested in Doris's report card; he would want to see it and would make a great fuss over signing it. She didn't speak again.

He got up from the table, picked up the paper, and went into the living room. She watched him go and then helped the maid clean up. When she went into the other room, the paper was lying neglected on the floor while he stared into s.p.a.ce.

She grew a little exasperated at his protracted silence. "What's the matter with you?" she queried. "Don't you feel good?"

He looked at her. "I feel all right," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"You look like you're dying," she said. "All night long not one word do you say."

"I got things on my mind," he answered shortly. He wished she would leave him alone.

"So it's a big secret?" she asked.

"No." He was startled. Suddenly he remembered he hadn't told her about his decision. "I decided to make that picture that Johnny wanted. Now I'm worried."

"If you made up your mind, what are you worrying about?"

"There's a big risk involved," he answered. "I could lose the business."

"You knew that when you made up your mind, didn't you?"

He nodded his head.

"So don't sit there like the world came to an end. The time for worrying was before you made up your mind. Now you got to do what you want, not worry over what might happen."

"But supposing I lose the business, then what will happen?" He puffed at his cigar. His mind clung to that one thought like a tongue to an aching tooth; the more he played with it, the more pain he felt.

She smiled slowly. "Nothing. My father lost three businesses and he always made out. We'll get along."

His face brightened a little. "You wouldn't care?"

She went over to him and sat down on his lap. She pressed his head against her bosom. "Business is not that important I should care about it. What I'm interested in is you. You do what you feel you must. That's important. Even if it's no good, you should do it. I'm happy if I got just you and the children. I don't care if we ain't got an apartment on Riverside Drive and a maid."

He put his arms around her and turned his head until it rested in the cleft between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He spoke in a low voice. "Everything I do is for you and the kinder. I want you should have everything."

Her voice was warm. This was what she wanted. She understood that success in business was very important to a man, but to her the way her man felt about her was important. "I know, Peter, I know. That's why you shouldn't worry. A man can do a better job without foolish worries on his mind. You'll do all right. It's a good idea and it's needed."

"You think so?" He looked up at her.

She looked into his eyes and smiled. "Of course it is. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have decided to do it."

Raising the money for the picture proved to be the easiest part of the whole project. The exhibitors whom Johnny spoke to were eager to put up money to have the picture made. They were tired of being gouged for poor combine-quality, routine pictures. Johnny received sums ranging from the thousand dollars he had obtained from Pappas down to one hundred dollars from a small exhibitor on Long Island.