The Love Machine (66 page)

“How much longer does your wife’s show run?”

“Until June in New York. Then it goes on the road for a year. I’m going too. They’re building up the part of the brother. I’ll play it.”

“Why would you take a small role?” Dan asked.

“To be with Pauli. She needs me.”

“She needs you like she needs extra teeth,” Dan said.

“You looking to be slugged right here at ‘21’?”

“I’m looking to put some sense in your head.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that you’re sitting around every night with the biggest power on television. No one in the business has the autonomy of Robin Stone. And you should latch on to it while it lasts. Because eventually it has to blow up in his face. I’ve been watching him. The way he acts, I feel he almost has a death wish—he seems to delight in making enemies. It’s almost as if he’s testing—seeing how far he can go, how far he can push everyone. There’s some kind of a sickness behind his arrogance and drive. So if you’re smart, you’ll sit back and listen to me.”

“I don’t need advice from a has-been.” Dip’s voice was ugly.

Dan shot his old Cheshire-cat grin. “Perhaps two has-beens make for more strength than one. How would you like to be co-owner of a package?”

“I don’t know about packages.”

“What are you doing for dinner?” Dan asked.

“Nothing—that is, I’m supposed to check with Robin.”

“Can you get out of it tonight?”

Dip smiled. “I can do anything I want.”

“Then let’s go. I have an appointment with Peter Kane from the Johnson-Harris office at Voisin. Oh—you haven’t signed to go on Pauli’s road tour yet, have you?”

“No. I’m waiting to see how they rewrite the part.”

Dan scribbled his name on the check. “Then come with me. Listen, but keep your mouth shut.”

“No one talks to me like that,” Dip said.

“I can. Because I’m about to make you a very rich man.” He
rose, and Dip followed him out of the restaurant.

Dip toyed with a bourbon-and-water at Voisin. Dan and Peter Kane had martinis.

Dan immediately steered the conversation to Dip’s career. Oddly enough, Peter Kane was interested. Everyone agreed the critics had been vindictive because of their antipathy for Robin.

“This poor boy has inherited all of Robin’s enemies and none of his friends,” Dan explained.

“What friends has Robin got?” Peter Kane asked. “Not even a steady girl. I hear Ike Ryan sometimes fixes him up with a scene—he likes the three-way bit. Tell me, Dip, is he queer?”

“Queer for girls,” Dip answered.

“Well, I think your acting career has gone down the drain because of Robin,” Peter Kane said seriously. “Everyone in the business knows Robin Stone is your best friend, and if
he
won’t use you, they have to figure you’re pretty bad. So they have no interest. He’s hurt you very badly in not giving you a big show.”

“I never looked at it that way,” Dip said slowly. “Maybe that’s why I get no offers.”

He sat quietly while the two men discussed various shows on different networks. When dinner was over, Peter Kane turned to Dan. “I have the viewing room booked for nine—we’d better get a move on.”

Dan turned to Dip. “We have a new show. It’s my package, and Peter is representing it. We’ve just made a pilot. It’s a spy series, and we can bring it in cheap. Vic Grant is playing the lead. I want you to look at it and see if you like it.”

Dip’s spirits soared. Vic Grant was a contract player when he was a star. Vic hadn’t made a decent picture in two years.

Dan signed the check and they went directly to the projection room at the Johnson-Harris office. Dip watched the show. It was a good shoot-’em-up. Vic wasn’t bad, but Dip knew he could do better—the part was made to order for him. And it would really put him right back on top!

When the lights came up, Dan looked at him. “Like it?”

“I think it could be great,” Dip said enthusiastically.

“Let’s go downstairs. There’s a bar across the street and it’s quiet. We can discuss the mechanics of the thing,” Peter suggested.

“I’m with you, pal,” Dip said.

They sat at a back table. Dip ordered a bourbon and drank it straight. If Dan and Peter saw him as this fast-drinking, devil-may-care detective, he couldn’t let them know he usually stuck to ginger ale or beer.

“We’re planning to ask one hundred and twenty-five thousand for it,” Dan explained. “We can bring it in at ninety, some weeks less. We’ll add the ten-percent commision to the package, and that leaves us with a thirty-thousand-dollar profit, to be split three ways if necessary.”

“You mean I’d get one third of the action, instead of salary?” Dip asked.

“Oh, I think we could also arrange a token salary—say a thousand a week, plus office expenses.”

“What in hell would I need an office for?”

“You’ll need it for your company. You can’t take the money as salary, it would all go in taxes. My company is the Danmill—you get a name for yours. If you like, my lawyer can handle it all.”

It was going too fast for Dip. “How would I know I could trust
your
lawyer?”

“Because your company will get all the profits and send Danmill its share.”

“Where would we film it? Here or in L.A.?”

“Wherever IBC thinks best. They have big studios in L.A., but I’d rather get the action of the streets in New York, the feel of the city.”

“Oh-has IBC bought it?” Dip asked.

“They will, I hope.”

Dip nodded enthusiastically. “Well, I know I can play the hell out of the part.”

Dan and Peter looked at one another. Dan spoke. “I’m sure you could, but we have Vic Grant tied up for two years. He did the pilot for scale, with the stipulation that he’d get the part if the show was sold.”

“Then why am I here?” Dip asked.

“Because you can make Robin Stone buy it.”

Dip started to rise, but Dan grabbed his arm. “Sit down! Tell me, would you rather be a ham actor all your life, or a millionaire?”

Dip glowered at him. “You know all evening you’ve been begging for a belt.”

Peter cut in. “Dip, face it. You haven’t
got
it. Not on television anyway. You’ve had every chance. Now why don’t you get smart and make some
real
money? There’s more prestige in being a package owner and a producer than in being an actor.”

“What makes you so sure IBC will buy it?” Dip asked suddenly.

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “It seems to me you sit around Danny’s telling everyone you have Robin Stone in your pocket. Well, now’s the time to prove it. Make him buy it. There will be a lot of dropouts in January. As further incentive, tell him that if he buys it, he gets one third of the profits. You can pay him any way he wants it—cash, trips, a house in the country.”

“Isn’t there trouble with the government?”

“We have an excellent tax man. There are ways to make Robin’s third look like legitimate write-offs. If he wants a Cadillac, we use it in a few scenes and say it’s for the show. The country home we buy because we shoot a lot of footage in it. We build sets and give him the furniture. If he wants cash, we find a million ways to build up dummy expenses. You let us worry about that.”

“You mean I just go to him and tell him how it is?”

Dan shrugged. “Obviously you know the best way to handle him.”

“And how much did you say there’d be in this for us?”

“With a three-way split, ten thousand apiece.”

“What happens to Pete, here?”

“I just want the agency to get the commission,” Peter said. “If I break through with a sale to Robin Stone, I’ll get a vice-presidency out of it. That’s all I care about.”

Dip stared into space. “My name has to be on the screen as producer.”

Dan laughed. “Everyone would know it was a phony.”

“I don’t give a damn. Pauli won’t know. The public won’t know. I want billing—bigger than Vic Grant. That’ll impress Pauli.”

“All right,” Dan conceded. “I’ll be executive producer. You’ll have a frame for yourself as producer.”

Dip smiled. “Give me a letter first, all signed and witnessed, saying I get two thirds of the action. After all, suppose I go in and
make Robin take it and then you guys welsh?”

“I’ll have the letter drawn up first thing in the morning,” Dan said.

Dip met Robin at the Lancer Bar the following afternoon. He had Dan’s letter in his pocket. He waited until Robin had started his second martini before he brought up the subject of the pilot. He described it graphically, acted out the role and finished with a flourish: “And one third of the profits goes right into your pocket, buddy boy.”

Robin grabbed him by the coat and pulled him close. “Now you listen to me, you slob. Danton Miller got rich making deals like that when he ran IBC. I’ve thrown out every agent who ever dealt with him. Don’t you ever toss my name around in a slimy deal like this.”

“Then it’s no dice?” Dip’s voice was groveling.

“No dice regarding the kickback to me!” Then he turned to Dip. “Look, if you’ve got a good pilot, show it to me. If it’s halfway good, it’ll take precedence over any other show. If Dan wants to put your name up, that’s his business.”

Dip’s smile was broad with relief. “Then you’re not mad?”

“Only when you put me in your league, chum. Look, I’m always looking for shows. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go into the production end. You’ve got a gangsterlike intelligence that I admire. If I buy this show and they put your name up as producer, I know damn well Danton will do all the work. But if you just sit around and take bows, then I take back what I said about your intelligence. Hang around, learn everything there is to be learned, watch the cameramen, learn about below-the-line costs—that’s the first place where your profits go. Watch out for musicians and overtime. But as for the three-way split—forget it. Cut up the gravy between yourself and Dan, and whatever you have to give the crummy agent.”

Robin viewed the pilot with Dip. When it was over, he stood up. “It’s not good—it’s
great!
Tell Dan he’s got a deal.”

Dip took a long walk after he left Robin. He decided he despised Robin Stone. He also hated Danton Miller. He hated every mother-fucking son of a bitch in the world. How had he gotten into
such a situation? A wife who was a star and treated him like he was her servant. Men like Robin and Dan, who blatantly told him he was a lousy actor. Where had all the sunshine gone? The days when he used to walk into a room and light it up? The days when women clamored around him? Now they ducked him. Pauli had told him to stay away from the girls in the show—none of them wanted to go out with Robin Stone. But he had to get Robin girls to stay on the right side of him. Anyway, Robin was a weirdo with the broads—he’d never forget that whore he had beaten up. And the girls complained that Robin was cheap—he wouldn’t take them anywhere, just the Lancer Bar or the Steak Place and then a roll in the feathers. And if they didn’t perform the way
he
wanted, he sent them home without taxi fare. Dip sighed, and headed for Sardi’s. He had taken to dropping in for lunch, casing the place—trying to spot new eager young actresses he could get for Robin. Of course Robin never asked for a date, but he always seemed pleased when Dip winked and said, “Have I got a new number for you, buddy boy—this one really swings!”

How had he come to this? Well, from now on it would be different. He’d be big again. Thirty thousand a week split two ways… . Why
two
ways? How would Dan know whether or not Robin took a cut? He wouldn’t. He’d take
two thirds
, plus his salary. He’d tell them Robin wanted it in cash, and let them and their fancy tax man figure a way to cover it. And he’d put those ten G’s in a safe-deposit box each week.
Tax-free!
He’d be rich. But he was damned if he was going to sit around and watch cameras and learn how to be a producer—let the shmucks like Dan Miller do that for their shitty little one third. He’d take two thirds and have a ball. And in a subtle way he’d let word get around that Robin was on the take. Then every guy who wanted to sell a package would come to him and offer him two thirds—one for himself, one for Robin. He could become a real power. Pauli would be kissing his ass—she wouldn’t give him the “too tired” jazz when he wanted to ball her. Soon he’d be in the position to give
her
a job! Suddenly his spirits dropped. Pauli! Jesus, she was like a sickness to him. He couldn’t get her out of his system. Sometimes he wanted to kill her, but with all the gorgeous broads he met, she was the only one who turned him on. He had even tried the orgy
route with Robin, one girl and the two of them. He had sat and watched Robin getting blown and it hadn’t excited him. When it was his turn he had only been able to get it up by pretending the girl was Pauli. And she had been a real looker, too! Well, wait until the name Dip Nelson blazed across the television screen in living color, wait until he had a show on the air—two shows, maybe even three—then Pauli would realize he was the biggest man in town.