The Hollywood Trilogy (18 page)

She looked at me and laughed. “Gimme another sip,” she said. She laughed again and I felt her fingers on the back of my neck, gentle. She leaned in and kissed me.

“Maybe someday.” She got up and walked away.

When I went back inside and down to the screening room, Sonny was sitting between Karl and Chet, with the other actress behind them, all laughing and chatting merrily. But Sonny looked like a kid after Jody McKeegan, her face unformed, her laughter almost too innocent. Jody and Galba weren't in the room, and Jim was sitting off by himself, down close to the screen. I flopped down beside him.

“Is he in there?” I asked.

“Who? Oh, Max? We should look.” But neither of us got up.

“What's delaying things?” I asked.

“Maybe they're waiting for Max to zoom in,” Jim said. “I don't know, but I'm getting mighty bored. Mighty bored.”

I had nothing to say to that, so we just sat there and waited. Finally the lights went down, and the picture started. In the first five minutes I could tell
that it was not the kind of movie I would bother to go see. Fortunately for me, a splice came undone and up came the lights again.

Chet walked down the aisle. “Let's go get a drink,” he said. I didn't bother saying all we had to do for drinks was get on the phone, I just got up and followed him out.

“THE PRESIDENT really likes Larson and Ogilvie,” Chet said. We were sitting in the little bar off the living room.

“You mentioned that before,” I said. “Much thanks to the President.” Chet was sipping his brandy, so into the silence I said, “You know, it's really nice to know somebody out there is watching.”

“Well, I should tell you that when he learned I was going to be in Southern California for a few days, he telephoned me and asked specifically if I would be running into you fellows, and if so, to be sure to convey his best wishes.”

“Well now that is flattering,” I said.

“For me I think it's wonderful that he gets to sit down and relax with a film, even some television, if only for a couple of hours. Just a little relaxation, some laughs, can make all the difference.”

Come on, I thought, drop the other shoe. What I said was, “That's what we're here for.”

“Have you ever visited the White House? I know you haven't met the President because he mentioned the fact, almost wistfully, as if he hoped
he
could meet
you
.”

“No,” I said. “Never been there. We never even made Nixon's shitlist.”

Chet laughed and looked at his watch openly. “I wonder when the picture's going to be ready.”

“I'm not all that sure I care,” I said. “Big day tomorrow.”

“So have I. I'll be calling the White House early in the morning. Do you have any message in particular?”

“Um, hello, and keep up the good work?” I said, and he laughed again.

“As a matter of fact I'll make it even warmer than that, because I know that he's just like anybody else when it comes to being a fan, and in fact I think you might expect an invitation to the White House, the two of you, of course, sometime later this year, when things aren't quite so busy.”

Thud.

I remarked about how flattering it all was and how I was sure Jim would be delighted, just as delighted as myself, and how I wanted Chet to be sure to convey to the President Jim's and my delight at the prospect of an invitation. Neither of us brought up the question of exactly when. He changed the subject to our old troopship, the U.S.S.
Mann
, and had me laughing at his description of the two-week poker game they conducted in the newspaper office, and then told me a couple of stories about life in Washington, looked at his watch again and said, “Well, back to the film, I suppose,” pouring a little brandy into his pony.

“Don't cork that,” said Gregory Galba. He came in through the curtain and sat down next to me, elbows on the bar, glass extended. The back of his rug was up, so he must have been scrooched down in his theater seat in the screening room. Chet and I exchanged looks. Heh heh.

“Pour a good honest shot, Chester, none of your conservative ways here,” Galba said.

“Yes, sir,” Chet said, and poured.

“That's a good boy. You must have been a waiter back at Harvard.”

“Too busy studying the Orient,” Chet said. He looked pleasant, except maybe a little grim around the mouth.

“You work with Ed?” Galba said.

“Worked with Ed,” Chet said, his expression closed now. “Time to get back to the movie, I suppose,” he said.

“You go ahead, I want to talk to Ogle,” Galba said, taking charge of the room and everybody in it. He patted me heavily on the back. He assumed a droll obscene expression. “Saw you out kissing my lady friend, Ogle,” he said. “What's going on here?”

“We plan to elope,” I said. “You weren't supposed to know.” But the hair on the back of my neck was standing up, and I could feel sweat popping out on my forehead. Not, I hoped, enough to show.

“I hope you can afford her,” he said. “One of the goddamnedest women I ever met.”

Chet was gone by now. Just me and good old Gregory.

“I'm worried about Jim,” he said.

“WHY IS that?” I asked.

“Because of you, my young friend,” Galba said. “How well acquainted are you with Jim's situation these days?”

“He seems okay to me,” I said.

“Jim is what our Jewish friends would call a
macher
,” Galba said, almost spitting on me with his Yiddish. “He likes things to happen, he likes to be there. He's always
on
, if you get my meaning.”

I got that he was telling me about a man I had known nearly all my life, but I nodded and looked into my goblet and tried to keep from tapping my foot against the barstool. A servant came in and told us the picture was about to start again, and Galba waved him off.

“You're different,” he said to me. Now he was going to tell me about somebody I
had
known all my life. No wonder he was a big success in business. “You're a relaxed kind of character, you've found your little niche, you do a picture, a couple of Tonite-type shows, a month at the club and you're happy. You seem to have a good sense of your own limits. In fact, I admire you. Under guidance you took a little bit of talent and made it pay off, like a man who don't lift nothing too heavy. I'm not insulting you, wipe that look off your face, I'm telling you a compliment, do you think I see myself as a genius? I'm a man who likes to gamble and hates to lose, that's the long and short of me, and you're in many ways a similar character. But Jim is different, you know that, Christ, you probably know Jim better than anybody else alive, except you maybe know him a little too well, and you forget he's different from you, touchier, more drive, a more mysterious personality, you know.

“Now, take this business of him not wanting to go out as a single,” he said.

“Hum?” I said, or something like it.

“What is that all about, can you tell me? I need your advice in this matter and I'm not afraid to ask you. Why is Jim afraid to work without you?”

“I don't know that he is,” I said. “Look, I really don't like to talk about my partner. . . .”

Galba smiled with charm. “I know, I understand, but
you
have to understand that Jim's
in
a lot more things than you, and some of the things are also personal involvements of mine, or say, for example, a situation where I might have recommended Jim to people, as an associate and employee of
mine, with the understanding that certain things would happen that didn't happen. Like repayment. Don't look so shocked, Ogle, you know Jim can't handle money. What do you do with yours, by the way, I never see you at the tables and I never hear about you being in anything; what do you do, cash your check at the grocery store and bury the money in Mason jars?”

“I buy a lot of goat futures,” I said, but Galba only looked impatient.

“Jim wants very much to expand activities,” he said.

“That's fine,” I said. “He seldom asks my advice about anything, so . . .”

“Any expansion, we've been led to believe, would have to involve you as his partner. I don't have to tell you what's out there, yen and pounds and marks . . .”

“Rubles and pice and francs . . .”

“Please shut up when I'm talking to you,” he said warmly with a nice pat on the hand to remove the sting of the words. “Dollars are wonderful to have, but a world tour by you fellows . . .”

Thud. Thud.

“. . . would bring in some really useful amounts of money. I don't have to tell you how well your pictures do in places like Japan and Afghanistan and around the world.”

“Gregory,” I said, and stood up. My hands were shaking. “My position on this is clear, and I think I made it clear: I don't want to talk about a world tour, or even a benefit or a weekend in Mexico.”

The man could be a monster, but he could also charm you to death, and I feared the charm more. I backed away to the curtain.

He smiled and came toward me. “Don't be upset, David. But we must keep talking. I don't know if you have any idea how much trouble Jim is in . . .”

“Not enough to say anything to me about it,” I said.

“But that's just it. You'd be the last person he could talk to. We know you boys, we know what you're like. If Jim came to you and said, ‘Dave, old buddy, I need us to do some work overseas, just once, one world tour, for me to get healthy,' you would be forced not only to say yes, but to slap him on the back and pet him and kiss him and tell him the world is a wonderful place to tour. Isn't that right?”

“Not necessarily,” I said weakly. I had left my goddamn goblet on the bar, and my mouth was dry.

“So he
can't
talk to you, because you can't refuse him.”

“Gregory,” I said. “You seem to have this all worked out, but to remind you of our contract . . .”

He didn't interrupt me with words, but he did look sad, like a Mafia Don who has to shoot his dog, and I shut up about the contract. It was no defense anyway; it just said that I would work here and there and nowhere else. This had all been tried before and would be tried again, I was not surprised by anything but the escalation—not just a couple of gigs in Reno or Atlantic City, not a command performance in Buckingham Palace, not a visit to a tennis tournament in Monaco, but a whole world tour, capped by a triumphant appearance at the White House, because I didn't doubt for a minute that the two things were connected, despite certain well-advertised animosities.

“Let's go see the movie,” I said.

“I saw it,” he said shortly. “Come back and sit down.”

I came back and sat down.

“Is there some champagne under there?” I asked. There wasn't, and we had to send for some.

This was going to take a while. I rolled the bottle of champagne around in its bucket of ice and then poured myself a fresh goblet.

“Er, your toupee is up in back,” I said.