Eve (19 page)

“I love you.”

It was all going to be all right. I saw it in her face and I took her in my arms and kissed her.

“That settles it,” I said.

She looked up at me, her eyes bright. “Settles what?”

“Our marriage.”

“But Clive . . .”

I kissed her again. “You’re going to walk out on the Studio and we’re going to have a marvellous week all to ourselves. Then you’ll go back and face the music, but you’ll go back as Mrs. Clive Thurston and if Gold sacks you, he’ll be sacking one of the best Hollywood script writers and some other producer will grab you.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that,” she said, her eyes dancing. “I’ve never let anyone down yet and I’m not going to start now. I’ll tell him. I’ll ask him for a week off and I’ll tell him why.”

I did not realize until she had finished speaking that she had said yes.

“Carol!” I exclaimed, taking her in my arms.

I kissed her.

After a moment I said, “But you’re not seeing Gold until we’re married. I’m not taking any chances of him pulling a fast one. We’ll get married now. This very moment and then you can go to the Studio and tell him. I’ll get everything ready. We’ll take Russell. You and me, and Russell to look after us. Let’s go to Three Point. It’s still empty and I can work there. It won’t be too far for you to reach the Studio and you’ll love the drive and we’ll be away from everybody.”

She shook me a little, smiling at my enthusiasm and excitement. “Do be sensible, darling. We can’t be married today. We haven’t got a licence.”

“We’re going to drive down to Tia Juana where you don’t need a licence. All you need is five dollars and a girl as lovely as you. We’ll get married and then next week, just to keep the record straight, we’ll get married at the City Hall, then I’ll feel doubly sure of you.”

She suddenly laughed. “You’re crazy, Clive, but I’m wild about you.” She clung to me for a few seconds. “Ever since I first saw you, looking so nervous and sweet in Rowan’s office, I’ve been wild about you. That was two years ago. You villain, Clive, to have kept me waiting such a long time!”

“I’ve been a blind fool,” I said, kissing her throat. “But I’m going to make up for it now. Go and put on your hat. We’re off to Tia Juana this very minute.”

My urgency and excitement was infectious and she almost ran from the room. As soon as she had gone, I picked up the telephone and called Russell.

“You’ve got a busy day before you, Russell,” I told him, not bothering to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Pack enough stuff for both of us for one week. I want you to open Three Point again. You can fix that with the agent by telephone. The place can’t be let yet. And then there’s the apartment. Johnny Neumann would take it off our hands. He has always wanted it. From now on, Russell, we’re going to make Three Point our home and we’re keeping away from the temptations of night life. I’m going to work. When you’ve done all that, take a taxi out to Three Point and put things in order for us when we arrive some time this afternoon. Can you do that?”

“Certainly, sir,” he replied, his voice a triumph of restrained delight. “Your bags are already packed, sir. I foresaw what might happen and I knew you would be in a hurry. Everything will be in order for you and Mrs. Thurston when you arrive this afternoon.” He coughed a little pompously and added, “I should like to be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Clive. I hope with all my heart that you will both be very happy,” and he hung up.

I stared at the telephone blankly. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I said aloud. “I believe he planned it all along.”

I ran from the room, shouting to Carol to hurry.

I sat in the Chrysler outside the main office buildings of International Pictures. Extras, show girls, carpenters and technicians walked past me in a steady stream. Some glanced curiously at me, while others eyed the lines of the Chrysler with envious admiration. I drummed on the driving wheel and waited impatiently.

Everything was ready. Our bags were in the trunk of the Chrysler and we were on our way to Tia Juana, but Carol had insisted on seeing Gold before we were married.

“It’s all right,” she said seriously. “I’ll make him understand. He’s been good to me, Clive, and I don’t want to do anything underhanded. For goodness’ sake don’t look so worried. R.G. can’t stop us getting married. There’s nothing he can do about it and all he will want me to do is to get back to the Studio as quickly as I can.”

I would not believe it. “He’ll run you out. When a guy has his power and his money and reaches his age, he just hates being thwarted. I’m sure he’ll do something mean.”

But she laughed at me and had gone in to see him. She had been with him twenty minutes now and I was becoming anxious.

I suddenly had a sinking feeling of doubt. If Carol lost her job and I couldn’t stage a come-back, what was to happen to us? The idea of returning to the almost forgotten routine of going to work every morning, the cheap meals and wondering whether I could afford this thing or that appalled me.

I stubbed out my cigarette with an irritable shrug of my shoulders and told myself that such a thing could not happen. I was sure that I would write something worth while with Carol at my side. She would help me and I would help her. As a team we would be unbeatable.

“Still worrying?” Carol said, putting her hand on my arm.

I started because I had not heard her come down the few stone steps that led from the office buildings.

I looked at her anxiously. She was serious but calm, and she met my eyes with unruffled serenity.

“It’s all right,” she said, smiling. “Of course, it was a shock to him, but he was rather fine about it. I wish he wasn’t so fond of me.” She drew a sharp little breath and shook her head. “I hate hurting people, Clive.”

“What did he say?” I asked, opening the car door for her. “Is he letting you off for a week?”

She nodded. “Yes. The picture’s held up anyway. Jerry Highams’s ill. It’s nothing much, but it’ll mean a delay and — and, of course, Frank is still away.” She glanced back at the office building embarrassed when she mentioned Imgram’s name. “Clive—” she paused uneasily.

“What is it?”

“R.G. wants to see you.”

My heart gave an uneasy lurch. “Wants to see me?” I repeated, staring at her. “What on earth for?”

She got in the car and adjusted her dress over her knees. “He wanted to know if you were out here and when I said you were, he asked if you would see him. He didn’t say why.”

Tie’s going to back out of his contract,” I said, suddenly angry. “That’s how he’s going to get even.”

“Oh no, Clive,” Carol said, quickly. “R.G.”s not like that. I’m sure he—”

“Then why is he asking to see me? My God! You don’t think he wants to lecture me on how I should treat you? I’m damned if I’d stand that from him.”

Carol looked worried. “I think you should see him, Clive.

He’s important and—” She stopped, hesitated and then went on, “but it’s up to you. If you don’t want to — well, you must please yourself.”

I got out of the car and slammed the door. “All right, I’ll see him. I won’t be a minute,” I -said and ran up the steps into the office building.

I did not like this. It wasn’t that I was scared of Gold, but when a man is as powerful and arrogant as he was, he would automatically dominate the situation.

I walked down the long corridor with my heart bumping uneasily against my ribs. I knocked on his office door and went in.

A tall, lovely looking girl with a Veronica Lake hair style, dressed in a well-cut black silk frock glanced up as I entered. She was sitting at a glass topped desk on which was scattered a mass of papers.

She gave me a quick, shrewd look and then smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Thurston. Will you go right ahead? Mr. Gold is expecting you.”

I thanked her and crossed the office to another door and entered.

Gold’s office was furnished like a sitting room. There was no desk. A large table at which some twenty people could comfortably sit occupied the far end of the room. Around the big, antique fireplace were armchairs and a large settee. Above the fireplace was an original Van Gogh which supplied the only bright colouring in the room.

Gold sat in an armchair facing the door. At his elbow was a small table on which were a few papers, a telephone and a large ebony cigar box.

He looked up as I came in and his massive head sank further into his shoulders.

“Sit down, Mr. Thurston,” he said, waving his hand to the armchair opposite me.

I was aware that my heart was beating rapidly and that my mouth was dry. This annoyed me and I tried to control my nerves without success. I sat down, crossed my legs and eyed him as calmly as I could.

He did not look at me for a moment, but drew on his cigar, blowing a thin stream of smoke to the ceiling. Then his sleepy, tawny coloured eyes met mine.

“I understand, Mr. Thurston,” he began, his low pitched voice was bland, “that Carol and you are getting married this afternoon.”

I took out my cigarette case, selected a cigarette, tapped it once or twice on my thumb nail and lit it before replying. “We are,” I said shortly and put my cigarette case back into my pocket.

“Is that wise?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

A muscle in my calf began to quiver. “That is something for us to decide, Mr. Gold,” I returned.

“I suppose it is,” he said, “but I have known Carol for some time and I don’t want to see her unhappy.”

“I appreciate how you feel,” I said, my anger struggling with my awe of the man. “I assure you that Carol will be very happy.” I drew a deep breath and went on a little too hurriedly to be really effective. “Much happier, Mr. Gold, than if she had married a man twice her age.”

He looked at me. “I wonder,” he said, tapping ash into the tray near the cigar box. He brooded for a moment, then went on, “I haven’t a great deal of time, Mr. Thurston, so you will forgive me if I come to the point.”

“I haven’t got any time to waste either, Mr. Gold,” I snapped back. “Carol is waiting for me.”

He placed his finger tips together and eyed me with sleepy indifference. “I am surprised that Carol could have fallen in love with anyone quite so worthless as you,” he said with disconcerting directness.

“Do we have to be personal?” I felt a sudden rush of blood to my face.

“Oh, I think so. You might ask me why I find you worthless. I’ll tell you. You have no background. You have succeeded by an extraordinary chance — call it a fluke if you like — in getting a certain amount of notoriety, and in earning more than you ever thought possible. It is, to say the least, a lucky flash in the pan, more extraordinary, perhaps, because your first play was excellent, although your novels are pure sensation. I have often wondered how you came to write that play. You see, Mr. Thurston, when I heard that Carol was fond of you I made it my business to find out something about you.”

“I don’t think I’m going to listen to any more of this,” I said, between my teeth. “My private life is my affair, Mr. Gold.”

“It would be if you were not attempting to share it with Carol,” he returned quietly. “As you have been foolish enough to do that, you have no private life as far as I’m concerned.” He regarded his cigar for a moment and then looked over at me. “You are not only a bad writer with no furture, Mr. Thurston, but you are also an exceedingly unpleasant character. I can’t, of course, prevent you marrying Carol, but I can watch her interests and I will do so.”

I got to my feet. “This has gone beyond a joke,” I exclaimed, my nervousness overcome by anger. “You want Carol for yourself and you’re being disagreeable because I’ve beaten you to it. All right, I can get along very well without you, Mr. Gold. I don’t want your fifty thousand dollars. You and your Studio can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.”

He still regarded me with an absent minded, indifferent expression. “Keep away from that Marlow woman, Mr. Thurston, or you and I will have another little talk.”

I stared at him, shocked. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Come, don’t let us waste time. I know you have been making a fool of yourself with this woman. At first, I thought it was one of those unfortunate failings that men have who either have become bored with the usual run of women or else are suffering from some odd kink that the ordinary woman cannot satisfy. But I find you do not come under these categories. You have actually been stupid and weak enough to let this woman infatuate you. Surely there can be no better example of spineless degeneracy than that? When I heard of this, Mr. Thurston, I was not disappointed. I felt you were running to type.”

“Okay,” I said, furiously embarrassed to know that he had found out so much about me, “you’ve had your say. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Now I’m going and I’m marrying Carol.

Think of me tonight, Mr. Rex Gold, and say “that might have been me.”‘

“No doubt I shall,” Gold returned, his loose lips closing wetly over his cigar. “I shall certainly think of you both. In fact, I’m not going to forget either of you. If Carol is unhappy because of you, you will be sorry. I promise you that, Mr. Thurston.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LOOKING back now as I hammer out this story in a sordid little bedroom with pieces of wallpaper peeling from its damp walls and dust upon the table on which only a typewriter stands, I realize that the first four days of my marriage with Carol were the high lights in my life. In her I found a companion who gave me confidence and spiritual peace; who amused me and who seemed to satisfy me physically as well as mentally.

We would get up about ten o’clock and have breakfast on the verandah with the valley spread out below us like a magnificent natural carpet. Away to the right, we could see the still waters of Big Bear Lake reflecting the fir trees and the lazy white clouds that drifted like balls of whipped cream in the brilliant sky. After breakfast we would put on shins and slacks and take the car to the lake where Carol would swim in a simple white swimsuit while I lounged in the boat, a rod in my hand, watching her. When the sun got hot I would go in after her and we would wrestle in the water, swim races and behave like a couple of kids on their first vacation. Then we’d go back for lunch which Russell would bring to us on the verandah and we’d talk and look at the view and talk some more. Then we’d go for a long walk in the woods, the pine needles making a carpet for us to walk on and the sunlight coming through the heavy foliage overhead making patterns on the ground. In the evening we would listen to the gramophone. It was grand to have Carol alone, lying on the big settee which we had dragged out onto the verandah, the moon shining down on us and the stars like diamond dust and the sound of music coming from the sitting room.