Eve (17 page)

“Come on,” I said impatiently, “just how bad is it?”

She threw her cigarette away and walked over to the window. “Couldn’t be worse, Thurston. You’re up against the biggest toughest guy in pictures . . . Gold. He’s out to break you and he’ll do it. Between you and me and my dog’s fleas you might just as well pack your bag and skip. As far as Hollywood’s concerned . . . you’re out!”

I went to the sideboard and mixed myself a strong highball. I felt I needed it.

“Make that out in duplicate,” Merle snapped. “Do you think you’re the only one with nerves?”

I gave her a whisky and sat down. “How about that contract between me and Gold?” I said. “You’re not going to let him get away with that?”

Merle shook her head hopelessly. “The way this guy talks,” she said, addressing a vase filled with carnations. “Contract! He thinks he’s got a contract,” She swept round on me. “I couldn’t hold a blind, half-witted baby of two months to a contract like that. It means absolutely nothing. If Gold doesn’t like the story, it’s out.”

“Maybe he will like it,” I said uneasily. “Don’t tell me Gold’d be dopey enough to turn down a good story just to get even with me.”

She looked at me pityingly. “Don’t you understand your drunken frolic has cost Gold something like a hundred grand? A story’s got to be mighty good to make a guy like Gold forget a hundred grand. If you ask me I don’t believe there’s a writer in Hollywood who could make him forget all that money.”

I finished my drink and lit a cigarette. “Well,” I said, trying not to feel scaled, “What do I do? You’re my agent. Can’t you suggest anything?”

“There’s nothing to suggest. Gold’s blacklisted you and that’s all there is to it. You’ll have to write novels. The stage and movies are out.”

“Oh, no,” I said, suddenly angry. “He can’t do that to me. Why, it’s crazy . . .”

“Maybe it is, but I know what he can do. Gold’s the one guy in Hollywood I can’t handle.” She suddenly snapped her fingers. “But there is someone who could do it.”

I stared at her. “Do what? What are you talking about?”

“Put you right with Gold again.”

“Who?”

“Your girl friend . . . Carol Rae.”

I stood up. “And what the hell do you mean by that?”

She waved me to my chair. “Now don’t get upset,” she said soothingly. “Carol Rae could fix it for you. She and Gold are like that.” She crossed her fingers.

“Since when?” I asked, hardly trusting my voice.

Merle stared at me. “You know Gold wants to marry her, don’t you?”

“I know that, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t? What’s the matter with you? Let me tell you something. Gold’s never been married. He’s nearly sixty. Suddenly he falls for a girl and you say it means nothing. It means everything to Gold. A guy his age when he falls, comes down like a ton of pig-iron dropped from the Empire State building. Right now, that girl could do what she liked with Gold. I tell you . . . she could even fix you.”

I drew a deep breath and controlled my temper with an effort that made me sweat. “Well, okay, Merle, thanks for the tip. I’ll think it over.” How I kept my hands off her I don’t know, but I knew I couldn’t afford to make any more enemies. “I’ll watch it.”

She got up. “You’d better do more than that, Thurston,” she said. “I’ve told you how to handle it. It’s up to you now. If I were you, I’d drop this film script and get a novel out. Already some of your creditors have been on to me to know whether you’re on a spot with Gold. I’ve stalled them, but that won’t last long.

I was too dumbfounded to do anything but stare at her.

“And another thing,” she said, turning back from the door, “What’s all this about you going around with a tart?”

I felt myself flinch. “I’ve taken enough from you, Merle, for one morning. You keep your snout out of my business,” I snapped, turning away.

She eyed me and then raised her hands in a gesture of hopeless exasperation. “Then it’s true?” she said. “Are you crazy? Aren’t there enough women in this cesspool of glamour without picking on a floozie? They’re talking about you, Thurston. No writer can afford that kind of scandal. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake, or you and me’ll have to part.”

Blood drained from my face. “Hollywood’s not going to dictate to me!” I said furiously. “And that goes for you too, Merle! I’ll damn well please myself who I associate with and if you don’t like it, you know what you can do.”

“What a sucker you are,” she said, her own temper rising. “I thought you and me could make money, but I was wrong. Okay, if that’s how you feel. It means nothing to me because you’re on the slide. You know me, Thurston, I’m frank. If you continue to kick around with this woman your name’s going to stink like a month-old corpse. Get wise. If you can’t do without her, for the love of Mike, don’t flaunt her before the public. Keep her out of sight.”

I was so angry I could have hit her. “So long, Merle,” I said, opening the door. “There’s plenty other vultures who’ll be glad to handle my affairs. As far as I’m concerned, you’re through.”

“So long,” she returned. “Watch your nickels, Thurston, you’ll need ‘em.”

She was gone before I could think of a suitable reply.

I began to pace up and down. What did she mean about my creditors? I did not owe any big amounts. What did she mean? I rang for Russell.

“Have we any outstanding bills, Russell?” I asked when he came.

“There are a few, sir,” he said, his eyebrows crawling to the top of his forehead. “I thought you kept check on them.”

I gave him a hard look and then went over to the desk. I opened one of the drawers and took out an assorted bundle of papers.

“You should have watched this, Russell,” I said angrily. “You can’t expect me to do everything in this damned apartment.”

“But I’ve never seen this lot before, sir,” Russell protested. “If I’d known they were here . . .”

“All right, all right,” I said irritably, knowing that he was right. I had been in the habit of putting all my bills in this drawer, promising myself to have a grand settling up at the end of the month. Somehow, I never got around to going through them.

I sat down at the desk.

“Here, get a pencil and paper and write the amounts down as I call them,” I said.

“Is — is anything wrong, sir?” Russell asked, suddenly anxious.

“Just do as I say and for God’s sake stop talking.”

At the end of a quarter of an hour, I found I owed thirteen thousand dollars to various stores and tailors.

I looked at Russell. “Not so good,” I said with a grimace. “No, it’s certainly not so good.”

“Well, at least, they’ll wait, sir,” he said, stroking his chin uneasily. “It’s just as well Mr. Gold has given you an offer, isn’t it? I mean you can’t go on much longer like this. I thought . . .”

“Never mind what you thought,” I broke in. “You’re not paid to think, Russell. Okay, beat it. I’ve got things to do.”

When he had gone I took out my bank book. I had fifteen thousand dollars in hand. If what Merle had said was true and my creditors were getting anxious, I would be down to nothing in no time. As I put the bank book away I noticed my hand was shaking.

For the first time since I had come to Hollywood I suddenly experienced a feeling of doubt. Up to now, with
Rain Check
bringing in a steady income, and my books selling well I had been confident of the future. But the play and the books could not go on forever. I simply had to make a success of this story for Gold. There were no two ways about it.

I spent the next three days trying to work out the blue print of my script. I worked hard, but at the end of the third day I found I had produced nothing of value. The main reason why my work was abortive was that, for the first time in my life, I knew that I
had
to succeed. This feeling created a spark of panic which finally prevented me thinking clearly and as I became more and more worried I found myself filling pages with meaningless words.

I finally pushed the typewriter aside, mixed myself a stiff whisky and soda and began to pace the room.

I looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past seven. Almost without thinking, I reached for the telephone and called Eve.

She answered immediately. “Hello.”

A great weight rolled from my mind when I heard her voice. I knew then that I had been wanting to call her for the past two days. I needed her to share my loneliness and through her, I wanted to regain my lost confidence in myself.

“Hello,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m all right, Clive. And you?”

“Fine. Look Eve, will you have dinner with me? Can I come round right now?”

“No . . . you can’t.”

My mind grew dark and heavy again.

“Now don’t say that. I want to see you.”

“I can’t.”

“But I want to see you tonight,” I persisted, feeling blood mounting to my head.

“I can’t tonight, Clive.”

Couldn’t she at least say she was sorry? I thought, furious with her. “You mean you’ve a dinner date?”

“Yes . . . if you must know.”

“All right . . . all right . . . I still want to see you. Can’t you cancel it?”

“No.”

I nearly slammed down the receiver, but thinking of the long hours I had on my hands, I tried again. “Wouldn’t it be possible to meet you after your dinner date?” I thought if she said no to that God knows what I’m going to do.

“Well I might,” she said reluctantly. “Do you really want to see me?”

What did she think I was crawling on my hands and knees for? “Yes,” I said. “What time shall we say?”

“About nine thirty?”

“Suppose you call me when you’re back? Then I’ll come on over.”

“AH right.”

I gave her my number.

“Then about nine thirty. I’ll wait here for you.”

“All right,” and she hung up.

I put the receiver down. There had been no encouragement in that conversation. It had been flat, depressing and impersonal, but I did not care. I had to see her. It was like grinding down on an aching tooth, but I knew I could not face another night alone.

Russell came in as I was brooding about her. He glanced at me, then at the litter on my desk and his mouth pursed.

“All right, Russell,” I said irritably. “Don’t look like a bishop. Things aren’t so good. In fact, everything’s going to hell.”

His eyebrows began to crawl up his forehead. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” he said. “Is there anything particularly wrong?”

“I’m not getting the breaks,” I went on, after a pause. “Carol’s left me, Miss Bensinger’s quit, I can’t get going with my story and I’m in debt. That’s my hell for today. How do you like it?”

He rubbed his bald head with the palm of his hand. “I don’t know what’s come over you, Mr. Clive,” he said. “At one time you used to be working all hours of the day. Now, you haven’t worked for I don’t know how long. It’s been worrying me. If you don’t mind my saying so ever since you sent the book to that Miss Marlow, there’s been nothing but trouble.”

“Everyone’s trying to blame it on her,” I said, getting to my feet and pacing up and down. “But you’re all wrong. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

He permitted himself a respectful smile. “I hope I have not offended you, Mr. Clive,” he said, taking out his handkerchief and mopping his forehead. I could see he was very earnest and embarrassed. “I do hope, sir, you will give this woman up. She can do you no good in the long run. There’s Miss Carol. She’s a fine young lady, if I may say so. Why don’t you see her? Why don’t you tell her what has happened and ask her to help you? She won’t desert you if she’s sure you really want her.”

I thought of my date with Eve. It was no good. I had to see Eve tonight. It was no good listening to Russell. Perhaps he was right, but even if he was, I could not draw back now that I was making some progress with Eve.

“I’ll think about it, Russell,” I said, getting to my feet. “Maybe it’ll come out all right. I don’t know. Maybe I will see Carol. Right now I feel it’s hopeless, but I may change my mind by tomorrow.” I began to wander round the room. “Be a good fellow and get me some supper, will you? I shan’t be going out until late.”

He got to his feet, giving me a quick, shrewd look. I saw his lips compress and his face clouded with gloom, but he went off without saying anything further.

I felt a sudden affection for him. I was sure that he meant well and was genuinely worried about me. In my present mood, it was comforting to think at least someone cared about me.

I was restless for the next hour and as the minute hand crept round the face of the clock, I became increasingly nervy.

I glanced at the clock again. It was nine thirty-seven. Of course, I told myself, I could not expect her to be punctual, but any moment now the bell would ring.

I could no longer concentrate on my book and I sat waiting, a cigarette between my fingers and a sick hollow emptiness in my stomach.

Russell looked in to see if I wanted anything. I waved him impatiently away.

“Shall they put your car away, sir?”

“No. I’m going out any minute now. Tell them to leave it.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

I restrained the temptation to shout at him. “Yes, thank you, Russell,” I said with studied calm. “Good night and don’t fuss if I’m late.”

When he had gone, I was about to glance at the clock, but stopped myself in time. You wait until she calls, I said to myself. It’s no use looking at the clock. That won’t get you anywhere. She’ll ring. She said she would and she will.

I closed my eyes and waited. I waited a long time, feeling doubt, disappointment and frustration gathering in my mind like a clot of blood. I even began to count and when I reached eight hundred I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. It was five minutes past ten.

I walked to the telephone, dialled her number and waited. I let the bell ring for a long time, but there was no answer. I hung up.

Damn her, I said, damn her to hell.

Then I poured myself a whisky and lit a cigarette. While I was doing this my mind crawled with cold, disappointed fury. I cursed her. All along she had been like this. Unreliable, selfish, indifferent. She had promised to call me. She had no thought that my evening would be spoilt She just didn’t care what happened to me.