The Dream Merchants Part 39

"Don't gimme that," Irving laughed. "But I promise to forget you're keeping it a secret if you'll gimme a knockdown to the missus when she comes back to town. I seen some pitchers of her from the studio and she's a beauty."

Johnny felt pleased at the flattery. "I'll do that," he promised.

"I'll hold you to that, Johnny," Bannon laughed. "Now I can wish you luck, and may all your troubles be little ones."

Johnny winced at the old wheeze. "Thanks, Irv," he said. "I'll tell my wife you called. She'll be pleased. I told her a lot about you."

"Wait'll she hears what I got to tell her about you," Irving laughed. "Good-by, Johnny, and the very best to you both again."

"Thanks, Irv. Good-by." Johnny hung up the phone, smiling. He guessed there must be a great deal of curiosity about Dulcie around the office. When she got back and they settled down, he would have to give a party and have her meet the gang.

He picked up the phone again. "Get me George Pappas," he told Janey.

He waited. George's voice came on the phone. "Hallo, Johnny." It sounded pleased. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, George," he said.

"When I read in the papers you were married, my brother Nick and me we said: 'Just like Johnny to get married where his friends can't make excitement for him,' so instead we decide to wait till you come back. How it happen?"

Johnny laughed. "Don't ask me, George," he replied. "I still can hardly believe it myself. I'm just a lucky guy, I guess."

"You sure lucky," George agreed. "Your wife, she's one beautiful woomans."

A thrill of pleasure ran through Johnny. Everybody said that. He felt proud of the fact that he had been able to win a woman whom everybody admired. "Thanks again, George," he said, changing the subject. "I spoke to Peter and I've got news for you."

George chuckled. He was still thinking about Johnny's sudden marriage. What a pretty girl! She must be nice, too, or Johnny wouldn't have married her. "What news?" he asked absently.

"Peter doesn't want to sell the theaters," Johnny answered.

George was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was businesslike. "Then what he want to do, Johnny?" he asked.

"He would like you to continue the joint operation of the theaters."

"And if not?" George asked.

"Then he wants to buy your share if the price can be arranged," Johnny said.

George thought about what Johnny meant by "if the price can be arranged." Did he mean the price they had paid? That would be foolish. It wouldn't only be foolish, it would be bad business. The theaters were worth more now than when they had bought them. Peter must know that. "The price can be arranged," he said cautiously, "based on the present market values, of course."

"You know they're inflated," Johnny said.

"Sure," George agreed readily. "But that's what they're worth today."

Johnny laughed suddenly. "Look, George, we're old friends, so we can stop kidding each other and talk honestly. We got a million and a half that we can afford to sh.e.l.l out for your share of stock in those theaters. We'll pay all the legal expenses in connection with the transfer, and that will leave you a half million to the good."

George hesitated. The offer was fair enough based on what he had invested, but the properties were worth much more than that right now. Besides, he needed more than that to embark on the theater-building program he contemplated. He had some ideas that would cut the present costs of building theaters almost in half. "Make it a million and three quarters and it's a deal," he said.

"Done," replied Johnny promptly. "I'll have the lawyers go to work on it immediately." He felt good. Peter would be pleased that he had been able to save that two hundred and fifty thousand. It was more than he expected.

George was satisfied too. Actually he felt he had got more than the theaters were worth and enough to provide him with a safe margin for his future plans.

They agreed to meet for lunch on the next day and discuss it further; then they hung up.

Johnny pressed the buzzer on his desk, and Jane came in. "Where's Rock?" he asked.

She looked at him puzzled. "I don't know," she answered. She started for the door. "I'll call Bannon," she said. "Maybe he stopped in there after parking the car."

Johnny was bewildered. "Parking the car?" he asked. "What car?"

Jane turned and looked at him. She had a sudden premonition that something was wrong. Maybe it was the look on Johnny's face. She didn't know. "Your car. After he dropped you off," she said, her heart pounding inside her.

"My car?" Johnny's voice was incredulous. "I came down by cab."

She could feel the color running out of her face. "Didn't he bring you down?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"No," Johnny answered. "He wasn't home when I got there last night. I haven't seen him since my wedding day, when he left for New York."

"Left for New York?" Jane's voice was suddenly weak. Suddenly she knew what had happened. Rocco had quit, just as he said he would. The tears began to come to her eyes. "He hasn't come in here." She seemed to stagger slightly.

Johnny sprang from his chair and caught her. Her body was shaking. "Wait a minute," he said, suddenly realizing that there was a strong emotion affecting her. "What's going on here?"

She hid her face on his shoulder. "Don't you know?" she asked without looking up.

He stood there dumbfounded for a moment; then he looked down at her. "You and Rocco?" His voice was filled with surprise.

She nodded her head.

"Well, I'll be-" he breathed half to himself, not finishing his sentence. What a fool he was! If he had half an eye he would have noticed. Here he was thinking of himself while it had meant a great deal more to her. He looked down again. There was a new sympathy in his voice. "Maybe he decided to take himself a vacation," he suggested hesitantly. "He hasn't seemed to-" He stopped abruptly. He had been about to say that Rock hadn't been too well lately, but that would only make matters worse. Now he didn't know what to say.

She seemed to gain control over herself. She stepped back. Automatically her hand went to her hair. "I must look a fright," she said.

In spite of himself Johnny smiled. Trust a woman to worry about her looks at a time like this. He walked over to his desk and took out a bottle and two gla.s.ses. "What you need is a drink," he said.

He filled her gla.s.s and handed it to her, then filled his own. "L'chaim," he said, remembering Peter's drinking toast. It meant "good luck." She would need it.

She swallowed the drink, and the color began to flow back into her face. "That's better," she said.

"All right now?" he asked anxiously.

She nodded her head. She even managed a tight little smile. "I'm okay."

He smiled back at her. "We're probably worrying over nothing," he told her more confidently than he felt. "Rock probably decided to take himself a vacation like I said, and since he didn't expect me back so soon he didn't show up."

She looked at him for a moment, not answering. She began to feel a little sorry for him. He just didn't understand what had happened. But it wasn't up to her to tell him; he would have to find out in his own way. The phone rang in her office. "The phone," she said quickly, and left, closing the door behind her.

Johnny stared thoughtfully after her. He sat down at his desk. He looked at the letters on it. He had to read them, but he didn't feel like it just now. Rocco should have said something to him about his plans. There was a strange feeling of hurt inside him, an unconscious sense of his own failure. He thought of Jane, the way she looked when she first realized what had happened. She had been frightened.

He looked at the door through which she had gone. Strange thing Rocco had done. It wasn't like him, either. An anger began to rise in him. It was a h.e.l.l of a trick for Rocco to pull on him.

A little voice seemed to whisper in his ear just then: "What the h.e.l.l are you complaining about? Rocco don't owe you nothing. It's the other way around."

He turned his head quickly as if someone were in the office with him. "But what about Jane?" he seemed to ask himself.

"That's none of your business," the little voice answered. "It's Rocco's and hers. You didn't worry about it before. You didn't even notice it!"

"What are you trying to say?" he asked himself.

The phone on his desk began to ring. He picked it up and spoke into it. When he hung up and tried to remember what he had been thinking, he couldn't. There was only the realization of a dimly understood failure left in him-a feeling that was to persist and grow stronger before the day was over.

13.

Tuesday night was always a late night at the office for Jane because it was make-up night for the newsreel and Johnny would go down to Bannon's office until the reel was finished. They would send out for coffee and sandwiches, and after they had finished eating, it would be around seven o'clock and time for Johnny to go. He would come back to the office about nine o'clock and they would leave. Jane used the time he was out of the office to clean up the various matters on her desk and type the letters that had acc.u.mulated during the first two work days of the week. The mail was always the heaviest then.

This Tuesday night, though Johnny had just returned from the studio that morning, was no exception. It was about eight o'clock when she finished her last letter and heaved a sigh. It had been a long day. A strangely disturbing day, and she was very tired. For a moment she thought of going home and leaving a note for Johnny, informing him, but she decided to wait until he came back. He was upset enough about Rock; she didn't want to disturb him any more than he had been.

The door rattled. She looked up. Maybe they were through early down there. It would be good if they were; she wanted to get home and climb into a hot tub and just lie there and soak out her weariness.

The door opened and Rocco stood there. There was a half-ashamed look on his face, but there was also a new look of contentment and pride mixed with it. He walked into the office silently and closed the door behind him.

Unconsciously her hand went to her breast as she looked at him. Inside her, her heart was singing: "He didn't go away! He didn't go away!" She didn't speak until he was near her desk and then, suddenly, she was in his arms. "Rocco, Rocco, Rocco"; she kept saying his name over and over as if it were a song she was singing.

"Baby," he said, his hand stroking her hair.

The name, tenderly spoken, sounded funny to her ears. She began to smile through the tears that had flooded into her eyes. She looked up at him, her eyes shining radiantly. "Say it again, Rocco," she whispered, "say it again."

He kissed her. His lips were hard against hers. He drew a deep breath and looked at her. "Baby," he said.

It was soft, tender, and reverent all at once. Some people liked to be called darling or sweetheart or lover, but she would be satisfied with "baby" all her life if he always said it like that. "Never stop saying it, Rocco," she whispered.

He smiled slowly. "I never will-baby."

Her arms went around his neck; she could feel his arms tighten around her. He was strong and she could feel her breath rushing out of her. She pressed her lips to his and closed her eyes. It was like hanging onto a rainbow; she could feel the world going round beneath her but she didn't care. Not so long as Rocco loved her.

They parted and looked at each other. Her eyes roamed over his face. He looked well; certain lines on his face had disappeared. A frown that had become almost habitual had gone from the corner of his mouth. His eyes looked back at her, clear and confident.

"You've made up your mind?" she asked.

His hand still held hers as if he were afraid to let go. "Yes," he answered slowly, "I made up my mind."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

His hand let go of hers; he looked at her with a half-defiant look as if he were afraid that she would mock him. He turned from her for a half second, and then, as if he had made up his mind, he turned back to her. He didn't speak, his fingers flew down the front of his coat, leaving the b.u.t.tons open behind them. He threw the coat back over his shoulders. His eyes looked into hers searchingly.

She stared at his jacket. It was made of white linen. There was a pocket high on his breast. On the pocket in small red letters there were some words. She came closer to read them. "Hotel Savoy Barber Shop." She looked up at his face incredulously. He had said he would go back to barbering, but she hadn't believed him. She had thought he was just talking.

His eyes were still on hers, his voice was challenging as he spoke. "Anything wrong with it?"

His eyes were warm and brown and she could see right into his heart through them. He was afraid of her answer. He didn't have to be. "No, there's nothing wrong with it"-she hesitated a moment and looked levelly at him-"as long as you're happy."

She could see the hidden fear leave his eyes. Slowly they began to shine as he smiled. "I'm happy," he answered simply. "This racket was never for me."

He was right, she thought. It was not for him. This business had to be inside you the way it was inside Johnny. You were good for it then, but it left you room for little else. It did something to you, something you couldn't put into words. She could feel it in Johnny-in the way it had obsessed him even from that very first time he had walked into Sam Sharpe's office. Suddenly she was very happy that it was not for Rocco. She wanted him to stay the way he was.

"Johnny won't like it," she said.

"It really won't matter very much to Johnny," he said with rare insight. "It's only his pride will be hurt a little, but he really doesn't need me any more. I'm like the crutch he keeps near his bed now. He only uses it the times he hasn't got his leg on. And then it's mostly to go to the toilet with."

She smiled at the allegory. He was tired of doing Johnny's dirty work. He was right, too. Since Johnny had learned to walk again and now especially that he had married, Rocco would be nothing but that extra crutch.

He watched her smiling. He began to smile. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Her smile broadened to a mischievous grin. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me to marry you," she answered.

He laughed merrily. "And I suppose you have your answer ready."

"Yes," she answered, laughing with him.

His voice was suddenly serious. "What is it?"

She looked at him, the laughter fading from her eyes, leaving them tender and excited. "You just heard it," she said softly.

He pulled her to him. "Then what are we waiting for?" he asked happily.

They were seated on the couch when Johnny came back into his office. He stopped in the doorway and stared at them in surprise. Then he strode toward Rocco with outstretched hand, a look of genuine pleasure on his face.

Rocco got to his feet slowly and took Johnny's hand. They looked into each other's faces, smiling embarra.s.sedly.

It was Johnny who broke the silence. "What's the idea of scaring h.e.l.l out of us?" he asked. "Janey almost pa.s.sed out on me this morning."

Rocco looked at Jane quickly. She hadn't said anything to him. They smiled at each other and he turned back to Johnny.

Johnny saw the look that pa.s.sed between them. He laughed and walked around his desk and sat down. He leaned back in the chair comfortably. He felt better now. "Where the devil have you been?" he asked good-naturedly.

Rocco walked up to the desk and stood there looking down at him. "I been working," he said quietly.

"Working?" Johnny exploded. He leaned forward with a sudden motion that threatened to send his chair flying out from under him. He looked up at Rocco. "Where?"

"In a barber shop," Rocco answered in the same tone of voice.