The Dream Merchants Part 46

"It will pa.s.s, it will pa.s.s," Peter said excitedly, waving his hands in the air. "What does he want to do? Throw out all the pictures we got made? We got all our money tied up in them."

"We'll never get our money back if the exhibitors won't play them," Johnny retorted.

Peter looked down at him. For the first time doubt began to appear on his face. "You really think they won't play them?" he asked in a hesitating voice.

Johnny returned his gaze levelly. "I know they won't," he answered with conviction.

Slowly Peter collapsed into the chair. His face had suddenly gone gray and strained. "Then I'm ruined!" he whispered in a cracked voice as the implications of Johnny's statement sank into his mind. His hand reached out for Esther. It was as cold as ice.

"Not if we can get some talking pictures into work right away," Johnny said.

Peter held up his hands helplessly. "How can we?" he cried. "All our money is in this program."

"You can always go to Wall Street like Borden did," Johnny prodded. He hated to say it, but he had to make sure that Peter would agree to his plan.

Peter shook his head. "It's too late," he replied. "We owe Santos six million dollars, and our agreement says we can't borrow any more money anywhere until the loan is down to three million."

Johnny reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. He looked at it a moment, then melodramatically handed it to Peter. "Maybe this will solve our problems."

Peter looked questioningly at him as he opened the envelope. The check fell out of it and fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and looked at it, then back at Johnny. "What does Borden want to give me six million dollars for?" His face was dull and disbelieving.

"For the Magnum theaters," Johnny answered slowly, watching Peter's face.

Peter looked down at the check in his hand and then back at Johnny. For a moment he was silent. "But they're worth close to eight million," he protested weakly.

Johnny looked at the check in Peter's hand. He almost smiled at the tight grip with which Peter held it. If he wanted to refuse the offer, he would have thrown it back at him. "I know," he said softly, "but we're in no position to bargain. Beggars can't be choosers. We either take that check and give up the theaters or lose the whole thing."

Peter's eyes seemed to fill with tears. He looked at Esther helplessly.

Johnny caught the look and something inside him seemed to tighten up in sympathy. He got out of his chair, walked over to Peter, and put a hand on his shoulder consolingly. "Who knows, Peter?" he murmured. "It might all be for the best. When we get on our feet, maybe we can get them back. We may be smarter than we think. George Pappas thinks the theater market is due to break any day now. We might even be lucky to get out in time."

Peter's hand reached up and patted Johnny's. "Yes," he said, "we might be." He stood up slowly. "I guess there's nothing else we can do," he said questioningly.

"That's right," Johnny answered, looking into his eyes. "There's nothing else we can do."

Peter looked down at the floor. "I should have known better," he said quietly. "I guess I'm getting to be an old man." He looked up at Johnny. "I ought to retire and leave the business to young fellers like you."

"Baloney!" Johnny exploded brusquely. "There's nothing the matter with you. Everybody is ent.i.tled to make a mistake once in a while. And you made less than anybody else in this business that I know about!"

Peter smiled. He began to feel better. "Do you really think so, Johnny?" he asked, his eyes shining.

"Of course I do," Johnny answered promptly. "If I didn't think so, I wouldn't say it."

Esther looked at Johnny and smiled gratefully. He was such a good boy, she thought, he knew what it meant to be kind.

Johnny insisted upon going home and Peter ordered the car out. He watched Johnny climb into it and waved to him as the chauffeur put it into gear and started down the driveway. He saw Johnny begin to cough as the car moved away.

He closed the front door and walked back to the library thoughtfully. He had been a fool not to see that talking pictures were a logical development of the business. He would have lost everything if Johnny hadn't decided to come out here and surprise him. There weren't many people like Johnny in this business who would look out for someone else the way he did.

He stopped suddenly as a thought came to him. Johnny had said Dulcie didn't expect him either. A cold fear began to sweep through him. He knew Dulcie, but he didn't know what Johnny would find when he got home. He went to the telephone and gave the operator Dulcie's number. He didn't want Johnny to be hurt. He didn't care what happened to her, but he didn't want Johnny hurt.

He stood there for almost five minutes listening to the phone ring without an answer. At last he hung up and went upstairs to bed heavily. He had a strange premonition of dread. Something was going to happen. He knew it.

He stopped at the telephone in the upstairs hall again and tried the number. Again no answer. Slowly he put the phone down. Maybe he was being foolish to worry about it. She was probably sleeping and didn't even hear the phone.

He walked into the bedroom. Esther looked at him. "Who were you calling?" she asked.

"Johnny's wife," he said lamely, strangely reluctant to say her name, "I didn't want her to be frightened."

Esther's eyes were understanding as she looked at him. She spoke in Yiddish. "A shame," she said, shaking her head, "a shame."

8.

The ringing of the phone woke him up. He reached over and turned on the table lamp next to the bed.

Dulcie's eyes were open. She was watching him. "What did you do that for?" she asked lazily.

He looked at her. "The phone is ringing," he said unnecessarily, reaching out to pick it up and hand it to her.

She put out a hand to stop him. "Let it ring, Warren," she said softly. "I don't expect any calls."

He took his hand from the phone. "Maybe it's something important," he said.

"It's probably a wrong number," she replied unsmiling.

The ringing of the phone disturbed him. It had a warning sound in the stillness of the night. It seemed to be trying to tell him something. He sat up in bed and took a cigarette from the night table and lit it. His hands were trembling slightly.

She shifted her head on the pillow and looked up at him. "Why, Warren," she said with a teasing smile, "I do believe you're nervous."

He didn't answer. He got out of bed and walked to the window and looked out. The rain was pouring from the skies, he could hear the dismal howling of the wind. He turned and looked at her. "It's the weather," he said irritably. "It's enough to drive anybody nuts. Nothing but rain for three days."

She sat up in bed and looked at him. He had been upset ever since the announcement of his impending divorce had been given out. She held out her arms toward him. "Come back to bed, baby," she said in a low husky voice, "Mamma's got something that will soothe your jumpy nerves."

He looked at her. The phone stopped ringing.

"See?" she said, tilting her head to one side and smiling, "I told you it would stop." Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulder.

Slowly he walked back to the bed. The springs creaked beneath him as he sat down beside her and put his cigarette out in the tray. "Nothing frightens you, does it, Dulcie?" he asked.

She laughed merrily. She shrugged her shoulders quickly and the nightgown slipped to her waist. "Why should it?" she asked, taking his hands and pressing them to her breast. "I've got nothing to be afraid of."

The phone began to ring again and she could feel him start. "Take it easy," she said softly. "It will stop in a minute."

He sat there tensely, listening to it ring. She was right. It rang only a few times and then stopped.

She laughed again. "See, I was right." She reached over and took the receiver off the hook. "Now it won't bother us any more." She leaned forward and kissed him. "You're all alike," she whispered against his ear softly, "afraid of noises. Like babies."

She was warm within his arms. Slowly he could feel the tension leave him, and replacing it came a sense of growing excitement. For a little while the only sounds in the room were the sounds of their breathing.

He reached over to turn off the light. Her hand stopped him again. He looked down at her.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were rising and falling with the rapidity of her breathing. "Leave it on," she said, her eyes glowing with strange fires, the pupils wide and dark. "I like to see where I'm going."

He bent his head toward her and their lips met. He could feel her teeth biting into his lower lip, her arms coming up and closing around his neck, holding him down to her.

He shut his eyes and minutes pa.s.sed. There were sense in his body he had never known he had before and they were all alive and tingling with an uncontrollable excitement. He could feel himself sinking, drowning in a rolling sea of sensation and feeling.

Once he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were half-closed and through the narrowed lids they shone at him with strange lights of pleasure born of the knowledge of the powers and needs of her body. Her tongue was pink between the white teeth that gleamed from her parted lips. Her breath came and went against his face with the excited tempo of tom-toms.

He closed his eyes again and gave himself up to this dark rolling sea of pleasure. Suddenly he froze. A strange sound had come to his ears. He started to turn his head. The door-k.n.o.b was turning and the door opened slowly.

Johnny leaned back against the seat as the car drove off. He closed his eyes. He was tired and his head was aching fiercely now. He shivered as a chill swept through him. He lit a cigarette and the first breath of smoke he drew into his lungs set him off into a spasm of coughing. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He was sweating.

He turned his face and looked back at Peter's house as it disappeared behind the car. He could see the splashes of the raindrops in the swimming pool as the car drove past it. He smiled to himself. Peter was so proud of that new house, especially of the swimming pool. Despite how rotten he felt, he was glad he had decided to come out. It was worth getting that d.a.m.ned cold back to see the grateful look on Peter's face when he realized that everything had not been lost.

He lowered the window next to him a little and threw the cigarette out. He fished in his pocket for the tin of aspirin. He opened it, took out two tables, and put them into his mouth. He shut his eyes wearily.

He was cold, terribly cold. His body was shaking and he couldn't stop it. He opened his eyes.

The car had stopped and the chauffeur was looking back at him. "You're home, Mr. Edge," he said.

Johnny looked at him. The poor devil looked tired, he had probably been awakened from a sound sleep to ferry him home on a night like this. "No, thanks," he replied, "I can manage."

He took the bag and got out of the car and ran for the doorway of the house. He could hear the car start behind him, and when he turned around, it was already halfway down the block.

He went in the door. The night man was asleep at the desk. He smiled to himself and walked into the self-service elevator and pressed the b.u.t.ton. The car began to go up.

He slipped his key silently into the lock and turned it. The door swung open quietly. He took his bag into the room and put it down, his footsteps making no sound on the thick, heavy carpeting.

He looked toward the bedroom. The door was closed, but a thin white stream of light shone through the crack at the bottom of it. He smiled to himself. Dulcie had probably needed to feel well again. He hadn't slept very much on the train.

He put his hand on the door and turned the k.n.o.b. It opened slowly before him.

Suddenly he was sick. There was a nauseous retching at his stomach and he fled from the door and ran to the kitchen. He leaned against the sink retching helplessly. His eyes were filled with tears and burning against his lids. Again and again his stomach heaved. At last the vomiting stopped and he turned from the sink and walked dully back into the living room.

His mind was blank and empty, the lids of his eyes were almost closed as if they could shut from his mind what he had just seen. A shrill voice tore at his ears. He opened his eyes slowly; it took a terrible amount of effort, they weighed so heavily upon him.

Dulcie was standing naked in front of him, her face contorted with rage, her voice screaming at him.

He walked around her to his bag and picked up his hat and coat. His face was empty of expression, he said nothing.

She followed him, still screaming at him.

He looked at her blankly. What was she trying to say? He forced his mind to listen.

The shock of her words reacted in his mind. Suddenly his arms reached out and his hands fastened around her throat. His hands were strong, very strong. They had got that way from the crutches.

Her voice died away and she looked at him in sudden helpless terror. She tried to speak but she couldn't. She couldn't breathe. Her hands clutched at his, trying to break his grip on her throat.

He was shaking her. Shaking her so fiercely she thought her neck would snap. There were low growling animal-like sounds deep in his throat.

He looked over her shoulder as her head swung back and forth in front of him. In the bedroom Warren was staring at him, his face white and drawn, as if hypnotized.

He looked back at Dulcie. He saw her as if for the first time. "What am I doing with you?" he said in a voice filled with disgust and loathing. He took his hands from her throat and hit her across the face with the back of one of them.

She fell to the floor. He looked down at her. "This is my wife," he said to himself over and over. "This is my wife."

She looked up at him and there seemed to be a strange smile on her face-a mixture of triumph and fear. Her hand went to her throat. "That's what I always expected from a cripple!" she flung at him. "You never really thought you were good at anything else, did you?"

For a moment he stared at her, then he turned stiffly and walked to the door. He closed it behind him softly and quietly walked down the hall to the elevator.

The night clerk was still asleep as he walked out past him into the raining night. The rain beat down on his head, reminding him he had left his hat and coat upstairs on the floor where he had dropped them. He turned the collar to his jacket up and started walking.

He didn't know how long he had been walking, but the sky above was beginning to turn gray over his head. It was still raining and his clothes were wet through to his skin. His head hurt and there were dull throbbing pains all through his body. With every step he took, shooting pains would come up from the stump of his leg and run through his side.

Words were racing through his mind. Words she had flung at him in scorn. What was it she had said? "Go back to Doris," she had screamed. "The little b.i.t.c.h still has hot flashes when you're around!" That was when he had grabbed her by the throat.

Suddenly his mind was clear. Everything was clear to him now. He should have known it before. He looked around him on the street. It was a familiar street. He had seen it somewhere before.

He began to run wildly toward the end of it. Then it came back to him. This was the street of his dreams. The street he ran up after that girl. He strained his eyes to the corner. There should be a girl standing there. He thought he saw a skirt turn the corner away from him. She was there. She had to be there. He knew who it would be now.

He ran out into the gutter and called after her. His voice was a shrill scream. "Doris! Doris! Wait for me!" His voice echoed hollowly in the empty street.

He stumbled and fell. He struggled to his feet, ran a few steps, and fell again. This time he lay in a puddle of water. Wearily he tried to get to his feet again, but he couldn't, he was too tired. He laid his head down in the puddle of waster. It felt good against his face. It was so nice and cool while his face was so hot and burning.

As if in a dream he heard the screech of an automobile's brakes and a car skidding to a stop. As if from a distance he heard a man's voice saying: "It looks like somebody is lying there in the road."

He heard footsteps approaching. Suddenly the man's voice was excited. "It is a man!" he shouted.

He felt hands turning him over. He wished they would go away and leave him alone. He was just beginning to feel good.

"Why, it's Mr. Edge!" he heard the man's voice exclaim incredulously.

"And what's so unusual about that?" he thought lazily to himself. "Did he expect me to be anybody else?"