The Dream Merchants (63 page)

A strange look of passion had come into her face. Her lips parted a little and he could see the white teeth behind them. “So I’m a bitch,” she half whispered quietly as her arms pressed him closer to her. “But come back to bed. We have some unfinished business to attend to!”

Things hadn’t been the same afterward. Then one day she had come into the apartment to find his things gone and a note on the table. It had been brief and to the point:

Dulcie—I have gone back to Cynthia. Warren.

She had even cried a little and sworn vengeance on him. But it was over and that was all there was to it. And ever since she had been alone. No matter what man she would go with, there was not one who could capture her, mind and body, as had Warren Craig.

She looked at Mark quietly. What a bore he was with his constant whining and slobbering over her! At first it had been fun to tease him. She could see how excited he would get and used to laugh to herself at him. Then when he was a little drunk he would lisp like a child. Sometimes she wondered herself how he could stand her teasing, why he hadn’t seized her before this. She supposed he didn’t have the nerve. She smiled again to herself. And he thought he was a man of the world. He had lived in Europe, in Paris, in Vienna, where men were supposed to know how to handle women like her. Suddenly she thought of going to Europe herself. She could imagine being the center of attraction wherever she went. Her pictures were very popular there.

She looked up at him suddenly, her attention focusing. What was that he was saying? She listened to him. He was talking about some man the board of directors had sent out to investigate the studio and how Mark was pulling the wool over his eyes and he couldn’t get anywhere. It was really funny to see him prying around, not knowing where to look first.

“What did you say this man’s name was?” she asked curiously.

He looked down at her. “Ronsen,” he said proudly. “He’s supposed to be a pretty sharp article, too, but I handle him like taking candy from a baby.”

She was interested. “What’s behind it?” she asked.

She shrugged his shoulders. “Some guys are trying to upset the applecart for the old man, I guess. But they don’t have a chance.”

She looked at him and smiled slowly. “Tell me more,” she said. She wanted to know all about it. Maybe there was something she could do about evening the odds.

***

Ronsen sat on the edge of his seat uncomfortably. His eyes kept turning to the cleft of her bosom as it showed beneath the décolletage of her dress and then guiltily away.

She leaned forward and picked up the Silex. “Some more coffee, Mr. Ronsen?” she asked sweetly. She had already classified him in her mind. A money man. Very dull. Probably a wife and four children in a very proper home back East.

His face looked away from her. “No, thank you, Miss Warren,” he said politely. He cleared his throat. “About that business we spoke over the phone—uh.”

She put the Silex down and interrupted him. “Yes. Mr. Ronsen,” she said, leaning back against her chair. “About that business. If I understand correctly you came out here to investigate the situation at the Magnum studios?”

He nodded his head uncomfortably. This was a peculiar way to get information. But this was Hollywood, not Wall Street. They did things a little differently out here. And this woman—she made him nervous, she was so—so—his mind groped for the correct word. He suddenly found it. So flagrantly sexual. Or was the word “fragrantly”? A flush began to creep up into his face.

“Perhaps I could help you,” she suggested.

“I would be most grateful, Miss Warren,” he said stiffly.

Slowly and in detail she told him about what Mark Kessler had done. As her soft voice spoke on he could feel an excitement growing in him and he could barely keep from interrupting her. At several points he did in spite of himself.

“You mean to say that the work reports were issued showing improper allocation of funds between pictures and this was done deliberately?” he asked at one time.

She had nodded. “Yes. This had gone on until Johnny Edge came out to the studio and found out about it. He put a stop to it.”

“But how did he succeed in replacing the money that had been already spent on the picture improperly?” Ronsen asked.

She looked at him. “It was really very simple.” Mark had told her just what Johnny had done. “He borrowed money from the Bank of Independence on his stock in Magnum. Then he bought a half interest in the picture from Magnum and the money was replaced.”

“For how long a term was the loan?” he asked excitedly. The breaks were beginning to come his way at last. Maybe things would be easier than he thought.

Her brows wrinkled together in concentration. “For three months, if I remember rightly. It was while Kessler was still in Europe.”

“The note should be due about now,” he said reflectively.

“About this time,” she agreed.

“I wonder if he has the money to cover it?” he speculated aloud.

She smiled at him. “I don’t think he has,” she said quietly. “He was depending on the money from the picture to cover the note, and the picture is only just about finished now.”

A broad smile came to his face. He leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief quickly. Then he put them back on and looked at her. “Extraordinary,” he said, for a lack of other words to describe his emotions.

“I think it’s a most interesting little story, Mr. Ronsen,” she asked, looking directly into his eyes, “don’t you?”

He blinked his eyes rapidly several times. “Most interesting,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her.

She was smiling back at him. They understood each other.

11

The phone on Johnny’s desk began to ring urgently. He picked it up. Jane’s voice came crackling through it. “Vittorio Guido is on the phone, Johnny,” she said.

Johnny hesitated a moment. What did Vic want? The note wasn’t due for another week. He shrugged his shoulders. Might as well ask for an extension now as then. He wouldn’t have the money anyway until the picture came out and that didn’t look like a possibility for another month and a half. “Okay, put him on,” he said.

He heard the phone clicking, then Vic’s heavy voice. For a change Vic’s voice was hearty, almost human. “Hello, Johnny?”

“Hello, Vic,” he replied. “How are you?”

“Never better,” Vic replied. “And you?”

“Okay,” Johnny answered. He waited for Vic to come to the point. Suddenly he started. A thought had just come to him. Al. Had something happened to Al? He began to speak again, but Vic’s voice cut him off.

“I just called to remind you about your note, Johnny,” he said. “It’s due next week, you know.”

Johnny sank back into his seat. He didn’t know whether to be happy or sorry. He felt a wave of relief sweep over him that there hadn’t been anything the matter with Al. “I know, Vic,” he answered quietly. “I was going to call you on it.”

There was a strange change in Vic’s voice. A note of anxiety seemed to creep into it. “You have the money to meet it?” he asked.

“No, Vic,” Johnny answered. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’d like an extension.”

The anxiety seemed to leave Vic’s voice and again it was genial and hearty. “I’m sorry, Johnny, but I can’t,” he said carefully. “We ran into a rough situation out here lately and the board won’t approve my extensions without additional collateral being offered.”

“Holy Christ!” Johnny exploded. “How much collateral do they want anyhow? Isn’t one hundred and thirty-three percent good enough for them?”

“I don’t make the rules, Johnny,” Vic protested mildly. “You know that.”

“But, Vic, I can’t afford to lose that stock,” Johnny protested. “It’s more important than ever now!”

“Maybe you can raise the money somewhere else to cover it,” Vic suggested.

“That’s impossible,” Johnny said. “I haven’t any place to turn for dough like that.”

“Well, try anyway,” Vic told him. “I’d hate like hell to sell that stock out from under you. Though of course you won’t lose anything by it. If we get anything over the excess of the loan, we just deduct the interest and credit the rest to your account.”

“That’s not the idea,” Johnny said. “I don’t care about the money, that’s not the important thing. I need the stock.”

Vic’s voice was hesitant but strong. There was a sound in it that seemed to give it a double meaning. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Johnny,” Vic said. “Keep in touch with me if anything breaks.”

“Yeanh, Vic,” Johnny said dryly.

“So long, Johnny,” Vic said. His voice was cheerful.

“So long, Vic.” Johnny stared at the dead phone in his hand. Vic would see what he could do for him all right. He knew just where he stood with that guy. For a moment he thought of calling Al at the ranch. Then something inside him rebelled at the thought. He couldn’t be running to Al all his life every time he was in trouble. He was old enough to stand on his own feet. He put the phone down. Maybe everything would turn out all right anyway. Mark had said that Ronsen hadn’t picked up anything out at the studio. He hoped Mark was right for once. But deep inside him he knew he was wishing with one hand and reaching for the moon with the other.

***

Vic put down the phone and smiled across his desk at his visitor. “It looks as if you will get that stock, Mr. Ronsen,” he said slowly.

Ronsen smiled. “I’m glad, Mr. Guido.” He looked right across the desk at Vic. “I must admit that it will be a great relief to me personally when Magnum is once again operating in the manner it should. I can’t stand seeing a business being operated in such a slipshod way.”

Vic looked at him. “I agree with you perfectly, Mr. Ronsen,” he said. “I feel very much the same way about it. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Santos they wouldn’t have one cent in loans from us.”

“You can rest assured, Mr. Guido,” Ronsen said, getting to his feet, “that under proper auspices Magnum will again be in a position to discharge its obligations to you. I will see to that myself.”

Vic lumbered from his chair. “I will be in touch with you next week, then,” he said.

Ronsen nodded. “That’s right. Next week.”

Vic walked to the door with him. Maybe now Al would believe him when he said that Johnny wasn’t such pumpkins.

***

Johnny stared up into the night. He couldn’t sleep. His talk with Vic had disturbed him more than he had realized. He sat up in bed and switched on the light. He looked at the phone.

The call went through quickly. In a few seconds Doris’s voice was answering. “Johnny!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you called!”

He smiled at the happy note in her voice. “I had to cry on somebody’s shoulder, sweetheart, and I figured it might as well be yours,” he said wryly.

A note of concern leaped into her voice. “Why, darling, what’s wrong?”

He told of his conversation with Vic.

“Does that mean he will sell the stock away from you?” she asked.

“That’s just what it means, sweetheart,” he replied.

“Why, that’s wicked!” she cried. “If he’ll only wait, he’ll get his filthy money back!”

“I think Vic knows that as well as we do,” Johnny said, his voice bitter. “But he just wants to make things as tough for me as he possibly can.”

“The beast!” she exclaimed. “I have a good mind to call him up and tell him off!”

He almost laughed at the fierce note that seemed to leap into her voice. Unaccountably he began to feel better. There was no real reason for him to do so, nothing had changed. She seemed to be very close to him suddenly, almost as if she were in the room with him. “You’d better not, sweetheart,” he said to her. “It wouldn’t help anyway. All we can do is wait and see what happens.”

“Johnny, I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded perilously close to tears.

Now he was reassuring her. “Don’t worry about it, sugar,” he said consolingly. “It’s not your fault.”

“But, Johnny,” she wailed unhappily, “everything’s going wrong. Papa’s mad at you. Vic won’t give you back the stock. The business is in trouble.” She sniffed into the phone.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said consolingly. “Everything will turn out all right.”

She was silent for a moment. “Do you really think so, Johnny?” she asked in a small, doubtful voice.

“Sure I do,” he lied magnificently. His voice rang with assurance he did not feel.

Her voice perked up. “Then as soon as Papa gets over being mad at you,” she said, “we can get married!”

He smiled into the phone. “Sooner if you like, sweetheart,” he replied.

***

The telegram lay on his desk when he got back from lunch. He picked it up and tore it open. He sank into a chair as he read it. A chill seemed to be running through him. It was over. Vic had sold him out. He clenched his fist suddenly. The bastard! He didn’t believe he would do it. But he did, damn him!

He read the telegram again:

He crumpled the telegram angrily in his fist and threw it into the basket under his desk. Await his orders as to disposition. He knew what he would tell him to do with it if he could. He could take the God-damn dough and shove it. One dollar at a time.

***

Mark came into the room just as Doris folded the letter. He looked down at her, smiling. “From the boyfriend?” he asked pleasantly.

She looked up as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Yes,” she answered in a dull voice.

“What’s he got to say?” he asked curiously.

She looked away from him. “Vic Guido sold him out yesterday,” she said in the same toneless voice.

“He did?” Mark’s voice was filled with surprise.

She nodded her head.

“That’s too bad,” he said aloud. Inside him there was an elation.

Suddenly Doris was staring at him. Her voice was almost a whisper. “It’s your fault!” she said accusingly.

Mark looked back at her. “I didn’t ask him to do it,” he protested defensively.