The Inheritors (14 page)

“Sleeping,” she said. “It’s still four and a half hours to Rome and there’s not much to do.”

He nodded, finishing his drink. “Bring the bottle over here and sit down.”

“It’s against regulations
signore
.”

“It’s also against regulations for members of the crew to sleep while on duty. But we know about such things, don’t we?”

She glanced at him, then nodded. “
Si
,
signore
.” She took the bottle of whiskey from the galley behind her and put it on the table between them. She sat down opposite him.

He poured some whiskey into his glass. He sipped at it slowly this time. He was beginning to feel better.

“You are going to begin production of another film,
signore
?”

He nodded.

“With Marilu Barzini?”

It hadn’t been a con. She did know after all. “Yes.”

“She is very beautiful,” the stewardess said. “And very talented.”

“You speak as if you know her?” he guessed.

“She and I used to make the rounds together,” she replied. “But she had much more determination than I. And much more beauty.”

He studied her. There had been a faint hint of wistfulness in her voice. “Why did you stop?” he asked. “You are quite lovely yourself.”

“Thank you,
signore
,” she said. “But I could not do what she did. I could not live on promises. This job gave me security.”

“I will be at the Excelsior for a few days. Come and see me. Perhaps it is not too late.”

“You are very kind,
Signor
Benjamin. Perhaps I will come and visit you. But for the career it is too late. I am quite content now.”

“Are you?” He made a gesture with his hands and a hundred-dollar bill appeared between his fingers.

She looked at it, then at him. “What is that for?”

“Contentment,” he said, pushing it in front of her. He took her hand and guided it to his lap under the table. “I told you I thought you were lovely.”

She made a motion as if to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly while he opened the zipper and let himself free. She stared into his eyes behind the polished shining glasses, then her fingers tightened around the heat of his erection.

“Better get a towel first,” he said quietly. “I’m a quick comer.”

Ten minutes later he was back in his seat and sound asleep. He didn’t open his eyes until the big plane touched down at the Rome airport.

CHAPTER TWO

Sam closed the script and put it down. “I need a drink.” Charley Luongo, his Italian representative, had the drink ready almost before the words were out of his mouth. “What d’yuh think, boss?” he asked, the Brooklyn accent still in his voice although he had not been in America since he was sixteen.

“It’s strong stuff,” Sam said. “I don’t know.”

“It’s not her usual style, that’s for sure,” Roger said.

“Yeah.” Sam pulled at his drink.

Marilu Barzini made her name running around naked in Italian epics like
Icarus
and
Vesuvius
. Then she went into several American films as a sex symbol. Now she wanted something more. To be an actress. And she was willing to make sacrifices. She was cutting her price from one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a film to fifteen thousand for this one just to get someone to do it. And despite that, until Sam came along, she had no takers. Now he knew why.

It was downbeat. It was grim. Perhaps it would be great. But there was no way of telling whether it would become a commercial success or just another
Open City
or
Bicycle Thief
to play the art houses and gather a few critical posies.

He looked over at Charley. “If there was some way we could brighten it up,” he said. “Get some humor into it.”

“No chance,” Charley said. “She’s got her mind set on it. ‘Just like that, no changes,’ she says. Pierangeli, the director, agrees with her.”

“He should,” Sam said. “He hasn’t made a money picture in his life.”

“But he’s won every film award in Italy and Europe,” Charley said.

“Great,” Sam said unenthusiastically. “Let him try hocking that to the banks.”

“What are you going to do?” Roger asked.

“I’m going with it,” he said. “I haven’t any choice. Win or lose, it’s going to be an important picture. How they did it I don’t know, but they got the best actors in Europe for it. It’s up to us to promote the ass off it so we don’t lose.”

“You have a plan?” Roger asked.

“I have an idea,” he said. “But it depends on the cooperation I get from her.”

The telephone rang and Charley picked it up. “
Pronto
,” he said. He covered the mouthpiece. “They’re downstairs now.”

“Tell them to come up,” Sam said. He went into the bedroom and closed the door, then into the bathroom and washed his face. He dried himself and then looked in the mirror. The lines of fatigue were in the corners of his eyes. Maybe after this was over he could get a little sleep.

As usual, her sheer beauty stopped him as he came through the door. He held his breath for a moment. It was almost too much. No woman could be like that. But she was.

“Sam,” she said in a warm voice. She held out her hand and leaned forward for his kiss.

He kissed her cheek. “I don’t believe it,” he said truthfully. “You are too beautiful.”

She smiled. She had learned to live with compliments and accept them as normal. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Hello, Nickie,” he said. Niccoli was her husband everywhere except in Italy. They shook hands. He turned to the third man. “
Signor
Pierangeli,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

The director nodded shyly. He spoke very little English. “
Signor
Benjamin.”

Marilu couldn’t wait. “The script, Sam, you read it? What do you think?”

Sam looked at her. “I like it. But I don’t think it will go. I have some ideas that I want to present to you and if we agree, we will go forward.”

“No changes, Sam,” she said imperiously.

He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “If we can’t even discuss my thoughts, Marilu, then there isn’t the faintest chance of our ever making a deal.” He walked to the bedroom door and opened it. “And that means you’ll never make the picture because I’m the only one who believes you’re enough of an actress to do it. And enough of an actress to become the first foreign actress to win an Academy Award.”

He shut the door behind him. He could feel the sweat standing out on his forehead. He went into the bathroom and washed his face. He wished he had a drink.

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door. “Yes?” he called out.

It was Nickie’s voice. “May I come in, Sam?”

Quickly he took off his jacket and threw it into a chair. He pulled open his collar and tie and leaned back on the bed. “Come in.”

Nickie came into the room. He was a slim, good-looking man and oddly enough a good producer. He did not have to depend on Marilu for his projects. It was the other way around. He had first seen the potential in her and brought her along from just another buxom Italian girl to the star she had become.

“You have to understand Marilu,” he said in a soft voice. “She’s very emotional.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam said. “But you must remember that I’m tired and exhausted. That I just flew four thousand miles and stayed awake all night to meet with her and if we can’t discuss anything, it’s useless.”

Years of dealing with temperament gave Nickie the patience of Job. “I think she would like to talk with you now,” he said. “She already regrets her sharp remark.”

“I think it would be better if we met after I had a little sleep,” Sam said. “Then I might be more patient myself.”

“If I might make a suggestion, Sam,” Nickie said smoothly. “Meet her without Pierangeli. She will be less defensive and more willing to listen to reason without him around.”

“You arrange it, Nickie. I’ll be ready anytime this evening from cocktails on.”

“Cocktails and dinner,” Nickie said. “She will be here.”

“And you?”

Nickie met his gaze. “You meet her alone. Believe me, it is better. This is your picture, not mine.”

“But I thought you were to be the producer?”

“I will,” Nickie said. “But I will be your employee. And it is just as well that Marilu understands this immediately. That way she will realize there is only one final authority.”

“Thank you, Nickie,” Sam said. “I appreciate that.”

Nickie smiled at him for the first time. “Don’t worry, Sam, it will be a commercial picture. Together we will see to it.

They shook hands and Nickie left. Sam stretched out and was asleep in a moment.

***

It hadn’t always been like that. As he fell asleep, he remembered the first time he had come to Rome. Almost four years ago.

The flight had been miserable. He found himself squeezed into an economy section seat between two Italian ladies who chattered incessantly and kept passing pieces of fruit back and forth in front of him. He cursed the stinginess of Roger, who had made the reservations for him. Roger could never see the necessity of first-class air travel. After all, the flights never lasted that long.

He landed in the blazing heat of an August morning and the chauffeur and car that were to meet him at the airport never showed. He climbed hot and sweating into a taxi, which took him to the Excelsior Hotel.

A reception clerk showed him to the room. He stared at it in dismay. It was narrow and dark, facing a rear courtyard. “There is a mistake,” he said. “I ordered a suite.”

“No,
signore
,” the clerk said politely, showing him the reservation. “This is what has been ordered.”

Sam looked at it. Roger had done it again. He was willing to bet now that he hadn’t even ordered a car to meet him. He gave the confirmation back to the clerk. “I would like a suite.”

Sam followed him downstairs to the reception desk. The assistant manager was definite. “There are no suites available,
signore
.”

Sam gestured with his hand. The corner of the hundred-dollar bill peeked from it. The assistant manager saw it. “Perhaps something could be found,
eccellenza
,” he said, turning to study the chart.

Sam watched him as he shuffled cards in the frame. “I want the best you have. I will be holding some very important meetings.”

“The Ambassador suite is available,” the assistant manager said. “But it is very expensive.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Very well,
signore
.” He turned back to Sam. “For how long will you need it?”

“A week, maybe ten days.”

“It will be payable in advance,
signore
.”

Sam took out his Diner’s Club card.

The manager shook his head. “I am sorry,
signore
. We do not accept credit cards.”

Sam took out his checkbook from an inner pocket.

“No personal checks,
signore
. Unless credit has been arranged in advance.”

“You do accept traveler’s checks?” Sam asked sarcastically.

The irony was lost on the assistant manager. “
Si
,
signore
.”

Sam put the attaché case on the counter between them. He opened it and let the man catch a glimpse of the neat rows of traveler’s checks it contained. He pulled out one package and snapped the case shut. He countersigned a check quickly and passed it across to the man.

“But it’s for a thousand dollars,
eccellenza
,” the assistant manager said. “The suite is only—”

“That’s okay,” Sam interrupted. “It’s the smallest I have. You just apply it and let me know when that’s used up.”

“
Si
,
eccellenza
,” the assistant manager said, almost breaking himself in half bowing. He personally escorted Sam up to the suite and pocketed the hundred-dollar bill with effusive bows.

Sam ordered a bar set up in the living room and when he went into the bedroom, the valet was already unpacking his bags. He looked around him with satisfaction. This was more like it. Roger would blow a cork when he found out what it cost, but it didn’t matter. He would have to learn.

He began to get rid of his clothes. They were sticky and uncomfortable from the flight. He went into the shower and by the time he came out, the telephone began to ring.

And it was never to stop ringing as long as he was there. The thousand-dollar traveler’s check had done its job well. And so had the assistant manager. It was better than being announced on the six o’clock news.

The first call he took was from Charley Luongo.

CHAPTER THREE

He came out of the shower and wrapped himself in the immense robe that served double duty as a bath towel. The bar was already set up and he poured himself a heavy Scotch and took it over to the window and looked out.

His view faced the American embassy and the Via Veneto as it curved toward the old city. The sight of the American flag somehow cheered him and he raised his glass and silently toasted it.

The ringing of the telephone called him back into the room. He picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Mr. Benjamin? This is Charley Luongo.” The accent was unmistakably Brooklyn.

“Charley Luongo? Do I know you?”

“No, Mr. Benjamin. But I know of you. You are an American producer who is coming to Italy to look at some films.”

“You are well informed,” Sam said. “What can I do for you?”

“You can give me a job,” Charley said.

“Doing what?” Sam asked.

“Anything. You name it.” Charley’s voice was serious. “I translate, chauffeur, guide, negotiate, secretary, pimp, I have experience. Two years assistant production manager on
Ben Hur
, one year sales department and advertising, Columbia Pictures, two years independent production,
Cinematrografica Italiana
. Good references. Besides, I’m honest. I’m not like these local guineas who will steal you blind if you don’t keep your hands in your pockets all the time.”

“You’re not Italian?”

“I’m Italian, but I was brought up in the States. I came here before the war with my parents. I was just sixteen. I was drafted into the American Army when they invaded.”