The Dream Merchants (8 page)

Now there was an urgency in Peter, a restlessness she had never seen before, something she didn’t quite understand. She felt strangely excluded from his mind, somehow apart from him, and felt a vague hurt within her.

She heard the door open. Peter came into the kitchen, brushing the snow from him.

Johnny cleared his throat in relief. Esther’s protracted silence had added to his embarrassment, he was glad that Peter had come in. “Bad weather,” he said.

Peter nodded his head morosely. “It looks like we’ll be closed tomorrow too,” he said irritably. “It doesn’t seem to be letting up.” He took off his overcoat and dropped it on a chair, where it began to shed small drops of water as the snow on it melted in the heat of the room.

“That’s what I thought,” Johnny said. “I’ve been thinking of running down to New York and seeing Joe at the studio. Why don’t you come with me?”

“What’s the use?” Peter snapped, “I told you before I wasn’t interested.”

Esther looked up at him suddenly. Intuitively she knew from his voice that this was what had been troubling him. She turned to Johnny. “What is it you want him to do?”

Johnny turned to her, sensing an ally. “Bill Borden is opening a new studio in Brooklyn shortly and he’s putting his old one on the block. I want Peter to come down to New York and look at it. If he thinks enough of it, maybe he and Joe and me will go into it.”

“You mean make pictures?” she asked, watching Peter out of the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah. Make pictures,” Johnny answered. “There’s a lot of money in it an’ it’s getting bigger every day.” Excitedly he began to tell her about the possibilities he saw in it.

Esther listened attentively. It was all new to her, but Peter sank into his chair with an apparent air of boredom. It was only Esther who could see that beneath the mask of indifference on Peter’s face the idea had intrigued him.

Johnny talked about it all through supper. He could speak endlessly about it, and when he went downstairs to sleep, his words still lingered in Esther’s mind. Peter had not commented one way or the other; he seemed wrapped up in other thoughts.

About nine o’clock they went to bed. It was still snowing and the room was cold. Esther waited for him to come to bed; when he did he was sleepy, but Esther wanted to talk.

“Why don’t you want to go and see what Johnny says for yourself?” she asked him.

He grunted and turned over on his side. “What for?” he mumbled into his pillow. “The kid is all excited over nothing.”

“He was right about the nickelodeon,” she pointed out. “Could be he’s right about this.”

He sat up. “That’s different,” he said. “The nickelodeon we know is a novelty. When it wears off, we close up the thing; we’re not out no money because we went in cheap. But this is a big business. It takes a big investment to go into it. Yet it’s based on the same novelty, and when the nickelodeons close, where is it? Gone. With this when we close up, we made our money, so we don’t lose no sleep.”

She persisted. “But Johnny thinks it will get bigger. He says nickelodeons are opening up at the rate of over twenty a week.”

“So it’ll die so much quicker.” He lay back on the pillow again. A thought came to him. “Why are you so interested in what Johnny says all of a sudden?”

“Because you are,” she answered simply, “only I don’t go around looking for excuses why I shouldn’t do something because I’m afraid of it.”

Peter didn’t answer. “She is right,” he was thinking. “I’m afraid to take a chance. That’s why I won’t go down with Johnny. Because I’m afraid he’s right and I’ll pass it up anyway.”

They were quiet for a while. Peter was just drifting off to sleep when she spoke again. “Are you up?”

“I’m up,” he answered testily.

“Peter, maybe it’s a good idea that Johnny’s got. I got a feeling.”

“I got a feeling too,” he grumbled. “I got a feeling I should like to sleep.”

“No, Peter.” She sat up in bed and looked at him. “I mean it. Remember when the doctor told us to take Doris out of New York and how I felt about Rochester?”

He looked at her through the darkness. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had a healthy respect for her hunches. Time had proved her right many times. That time he had wanted to go somewhere else. Instead they came here and prospered, while the man who had taken the other place had failed. “So?” he asked.

“Well, now I got a feeling this was one of the things we came here for and now the time is right for us to go back to New York. I never said nothing because we came here for the baby’s health, but now, thank God, the baby’s all right and I’m lonely. I miss my people, my family. I want Mark to go to cheder where my papa used to pray. I want to go where I can hear people speaking Yiddish and I want to stand with my children in front of the matzoh bakery on Rivington Street and smell the matzos warm from the oven like my father and I used to do. And suddenly the feeling is strong in me that the time has come to go back home. Please, Peter, go down and look. If it’s not good, don’t do nothing about it, but go and look.”

It was a long speech for her; in that way she was a great deal like her father, and Peter was impressed. He pulled her head down on his shoulder. There were soft wet spots on her cheek where it lay against his neck. With his free hand he stroked her hair. When at last he spoke, his voice was very soft and he spoke in Yiddish. “All right, so I’ll go and look.”

She turned her face toward him. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered, and then suddenly turned to English. “But I’m not making no promises!”

Esther lay awake for a long time listening to Peter’s slow breathing as he slept. It was funny sometimes how hard you had to work to convince a man that it was right for him to do the thing he really wanted to do.

8

They reached Borden’s studio at three o’clock the next afternoon. Expertly Johnny led him through the studio to where Joe was working. Joe waved his hand when he saw them. “Grab yourself a seat and watch,” he shouted to them above the noise of the studio. “I’ll be with you in a little while.”

It was almost an hour before Joe came over. Meanwhile Peter had looked around the studio. Even his inexperienced eye could recognize the aura of intense activity going on around him. There were three crews working on different platforms. Johnny explained to him they were called stages. The people themselves had an air about them that indicated a pride, a sureness, an awareness that their work was the most important thing in the world.

Peter watched Joe. Joe was rehearsing a group of actors in a scene he was about to photograph. Again and again he made them go through the motions of the scene until they did just what he wanted them to do. It reminded Peter of when he was a boy and used to bring his father lunch in the music hall in Munich. His father played second violin in the orchestra there. The orchestra had been rehearsing as Peter had come into the hall, the maestro would be shouting, and then suddenly all would be silence as they would play the number for the last time before the evening concert. When the number was finished, the maestro would nod his head if he was satisfied and say to them: “Now, my children, you are ready to play for the King if he should come.”

That was what Joe was doing. He was making them play a scene over and over, and when he had it just right, he would capture it on film. For here the camera was king. A vague tightness came into Peter’s chest as he watched. This was something he could understand. His father had made him practice violin day in and day out, for his father wanted him some day to play beside him in the orchestra. Peter knew how much it had cost his father to send his son to America when the Kaiser began to conscript all young men and boys into his army. Time flew by quickly for him. The hour that Joe had taken with the scene seemed but a few minutes to Peter, so completely had he been absorbed.

“So you finally came down?” Joe smiled.

Peter was cautious. “Things were quiet. I had nothing better to do,” he explained.

“Well, what do you think of it?” Joe asked, waving his hand at the studio around him.

Peter was still cautious. “It’s all right. Very interesting.”

Joe turned to Johnny. “I think I saw the boss come in while I was working. Why don’t you take Peter over to meet him? I got another scene to shoot before I can call it a day.”

“All right,” Johnny answered.

Peter followed him back to the office. The office was a large room with a few men and girls sitting at desks and working. At the back of the office there was a little railing. Just inside the railing was the desk of William Borden. It was a big roll-top desk that completely hid the little man who sat behind it. Only the top of his bald head could be seen over it as he occasionally moved or spoke into the telephone perched on the side of it.

Johnny led Peter through the railing up to the desk. The little man looked up.

“Mr. Borden,” Johnny said, “I’d like you to meet my boss, Peter Kessler.”

The little man sprang to his feet. Peter and he looked at each other for a few startled moments. Then Borden smiled and thrust out his hand. “Peter Kessler,” he said in a thin high-pitched voice. “Of course. Don’t you remember me?”

Peter took his hand and shook it. He looked puzzled. Suddenly a light of recognition came into his eyes. “Willie—Willie Bordanov.” He nodded his head excitedly, his face smiling. “Sure, your father had—”

“That’s right”—Borden was grinning—“the pushcart on Rivington Street in front of Greenberg’s hardware store. You married his daughter, Esther, I remember. How is she?”

The two men were talking excitedly when Johnny left them and went back to see Joe. He had a hunch that something would come of it. Something had to come of it. Bill Borden was the best salesman the picture business had ever had. He felt more sure of it than ever when Peter told him they were going to have dinner with Borden at his home that night.

***

It was after dinner, while they were sitting in the kitchen of the Borden apartment, that the talk got around to the picture business. The evening had gone by and, much to Johnny’s disgust, the two men had done nothing but talk of their friends and their youth. It was Johnny who brought the talk around to the subject. He had started Borden talking about the combine, which was Borden’s pet anathema. Then gradually he led him around to making the statement that if there were more independent producers in the field, the combine would have to fold.

Johnny nodded his head in agreement. “I been telling Peter that, but Peter thinks the hardware business is safer.”

Borden looked at Peter, then at Johnny. “Maybe Peter is right, the hardware business is safer. But the picture business has more opportunity. It offers greater rewards for those who are willing to pioneer. Look at me. I started in three years ago with fifteen hundred dollars capital. In another few weeks I will have finished building a studio in Brooklyn that cost me fifteen thousand dollars, with equipment extra. My pictures are selling all over the country and I’m doing eight-thousand-a-week business. Next year this time, with my new plant, I’ll be doing twice that.”

The figures impressed Peter. “How much would it cost to start in the business today?” he asked.

Borden looked closely at him. “Are you serious?”

Peter nodded his head and pointed to Johnny. “My young friend here has been plaguing me for the last six months I should be going in with him to the picture business. So I’m serious. If there’s money in it, why should I make jokes?”

Borden looked at Johnny with a new respect. “So that’s why you didn’t take the job I wanted to give you,” he said to him. “You had plans of your own.” He turned back to Peter. “A dozen times I wanted Johnny to come to work for me and each time he said no. Now I know why.”

For some reason Peter was touched. To think that Johnny had turned down jobs offered him and never even mentioned it. “Johnny’s a good boy,” he said. “He’s like one of the family.”

Johnny was embarrassed. “How much would it take, Mr. Borden?”

The two older men smiled understandingly at each other. Borden leaned back in his chair. “You should be able to go into business with ten thousand dollars.”

“Then it’s out of the question for me,” Peter said. He lit a cigar. “I ain’t got that much.”

“But—” Borden leaned forward, his voice grew a little excited. “I got an idea.” He got out of his chair and walked over to Peter. “If you really would like it, I got a proposition to make you.”

“Nu?” asked Peter.

“Like I said,” Borden answered, his voice once more calm, “I’m opening up in Brooklyn, a studio, in a few weeks. I had planned to sell my equipment at this studio because I got for my new place all new equipment.” He leaned over Peter’s chair and dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “For six thousand dollars I can let you have my equipment at the old studio and it’s a bargain.”

“Willie,” Peter said, getting to his feet and looking down at Borden, “you haven’t changed a bit since the days you tried to sell me two-cent shoelaces for a nickel off your father’s pushcart. I might be green in the picture business, but I’m not so dumb as you think. You think I don’t know the condition of your old equipment? It’s not for nothing I spent all these years in the hardware business not to know merchandise. If you had said to me three thousand dollars, I might have listened, but six, I laugh.”

Johnny caught his breath. Was Peter crazy? Didn’t he know that you couldn’t get equipment in this business—that the combine controlled everything and that there were men who would jump at the opportunity of getting that equipment for six thousand dollars?

Borden’s reply was even more amazing to Johnny. “Peter,” he said, “the only reason I made you an offer so sensational like that is because I want you in this business. I got anyway a feeling that you’re going into the picture business, so I’ll make you another proposition. From you and only you I’ll take three thousand dollars in cash down and three thousand dollars I’ll take in chattel mortgage. Such confidence I got in you as a person, you can pay me when you make the money.”

The spirit of bargaining had caught Peter. “Make it five thousand, two down and the rest mortgage, and I’ll consider it. I’ll even talk to Esther about it.”