The Inheritors (26 page)

She started to throw it out the window. Junior’s hand stopped her. “Fire zone,” he said, taking the cigarette from her fingers. “Do you want to get a ticket?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked in an annoyed voice.

“Look,” he said, jerking a thumb at the rear window behind him.

I looked into the mirror. The police car was on my tail. Junior put the cigarette in his mouth. “This is good hash.”

I looked at Lawyer Girl. Her face was suddenly pale. I reached over and patted her hand. “Easy, Jane,” I said. “Try a real cigarette.”

She looked at me. “You’re both crazy,” she said. Her hand was trembling under mine.

I took a cigarette from the glove compartment and lit it. I gave it to her.

She sucked the smoke deeply into her lungs. The color began to come back into her face. “I could be disbarred if they caught me with that.”

I stopped for a traffic light and the police car pulled up next to us. “Beautiful car,” the young patrolman called.

“Thank you,” I said. “Want to drag?”

He grinned back at me. “Can’t. I’m on duty.”

The light changed and I let them pull out ahead of me. They went to the next corner and turned off. “Okay, Junior,” I said. “Kill the reefer.”

He started a protest, but then he caught a glimpse of my eyes in the mirror. Silently he pinched it out and put the roach in his pocket.

I turned onto Coldwater and began to climb up the mountain. The traffic had begun to ease off and I opened her up a little. She took the corners like a ballerina.

“Man, this is better than flyin’,” Junior said.

I glanced in the mirror. He was doing fine. The reefer had hit him.

“Where we goin’?” he asked.

“I’m dropping you at my place,” I said. “Then Lawyer Girl and I are going to a meeting with her boss.”

***

The best way to describe the Bel Air Hotel is Hollywood genteel. The conservative crowd went there.

Spencer was waiting for me in his suite. No bungalows for him. He wanted every comfort close by, no long wait for service while the boys trotted a half mile with his breakfast.

He rose to his feet when we came in. The years were kind to him. He wore well. I took his hand. The grip was as strong and firm as ever. “This is a surprise,” I said.

He smiled. “I’m glad to see you.” And he meant it.

I introduced Lawyer Girl. “She works for you,” I said. “House counsel at KSFS in San Francisco.”

He turned on the charm. “No wonder they say the West is more progressive; back East the lawyers don’t look like you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“I wouldn’t have called you like this. But some important matters came up that we must talk about.” He looked at Lawyer Girl.

She picked up. “If you gentlemen have business to discuss, why don’t I wait in the cocktail lounge?”

“Would you mind, my dear?” he asked. “I’d be very grateful.”

We watched the door close behind her. He turned to me. “She seems a fine girl. Is she a good lawyer?”

“I imagine so,” I answered. “They seem to like her up there.”

“How about a drink?” he asked.

I nodded and followed him to the small bar set up in the suite. I mixed two Scotches and water.

“Make mine light,” he said.

I added more water and gave him the drink. “Okay?”

“Fine.”

I followed him back to the couch and we sat down. He was silent for a few moments while we sipped our drinks. “I suppose you’re wondering why?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I’m sixty-five,” he said. “The board wants me to stay on for another five years. They’re willing to change or waive the mandatory retirement rule.”

“They’re smart,” I said.

“I don’t want to,” he said.

I sipped at the drink.

“It’s three years since you left,” he said. “It doesn’t get easier and I can’t keep up with it.” He put down his drink and looked at me. “After the foundation and me, you’re the biggest stockholder in the company.”

I knew what he meant. The fifteen percent of the stock that came to Barbara from her own trust fund and her mother’s estate. “I won’t give you any problems,” I said. “I gave you the voting privileges on it and I’ll pass it on to anyone you tell me to.”

After a few moments, he spoke. “That’s not what I want.”

“What is it then?”

“I want you to come back,” he said.

I looked at him. Then I got up and went to the bar and made myself another drink. I drank some and went back and sat down.

“I have thirty percent, the foundation, twenty-five. With your stock, that’s seventy percent,” he said. “And there’s no one around that I would trust with it.”

“You’ve got some good men there,” I said.

“They are good men,” he said. “But they’re not you. They are men who are working at their jobs. If another network wanted them tomorrow and the price was right, they would be gone. They’re not Sinclair.”

“You’re the only Sinclair,” I said.

“No, I’m not,” he answered. “You’re a Sinclair. And it’s not just the name. It’s an attitude, a being. You know what I mean.

I knew. What he was talking about was a way of life. A Sinclair didn’t build a business for business’s sake, or even the money. What they did was build monuments. Bridges to the future that would last after they were gone. He didn’t understand that this was his monument. Not mine. I was silent for so long that he began to speak again.

“I never wanted you to leave. You know that.”

I nodded. “It was the best thing to do. For all of us.”

“I didn’t agree with you then. I don’t agree with you now,” he said. “Others have made bigger mistakes and ignored them.”

“They weren’t me,” I said.

“You and your sense of perfection. Don’t you realize yet that no one, nothing, is perfect?”

“It wasn’t that.”

“What was it then?” he asked. “You did what you set out to do. You saved your stupid friend’s business for him. He didn’t care what happened to you. All he thought it would take to pay you off was money. What did you have to feel guilty about…? to punish yourself for? In the long run, no one was hurt. Not your friend. Not us. Only you.”

“Not that either,” I said.

“Tell me then. You owe me that much.”

I said simply, “I wore out.”

“I don’t understand.”

I sipped the drink. “It’s not that difficult. I fought all the wars. Over and over again. And they were always the same wars. The ratings war. The talent war. The business war. How many wars do you have to win to prove yourself?

“Maybe I’d won too many. Maybe it was time I lost one just to taste the newness of defeat. At least it was something different.”

“That’s not all of it,” he said.

He was smart. “True,” I admitted.

“What else was it?” he asked.

“I had a dream,” I said. “I was part of the biggest opportunity man ever had to talk to man. And we were blowing it. Because of the wars. There was so much we could do. And we didn’t.”

“It’s not too late,” he said. “If you come back, you can shape it in your image. I’ll support you.”

“It is too late,” I said. “It’s gone past that now. Too much has happened. The whole thing has become too complex.”

He looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t say anything at all.

“Do you still mean what you said about voting your stock with me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Would you have any objection if we sold the company?”

“None at all,” I answered. “If you think that’s best for it.”

“I’ve been approached by several conglomerates,” he said. “I haven’t talked to them. Maybe now.”

Something was beginning to happen. For the first time in what seemed like a hundred years, I began to turn on. “Do you mean that?”

He nodded. “Yes. Why?”

“I have an idea,” I said. “Supposing I could show you how you could get all the financial benefits that would come by selling the company without really selling?”

“I’ve had merger offers before.”

“Not the same thing,” I said.

“What’s different about it?”

It took me three minutes to explain it to him. I could see he was intrigued. “Do you think you could do it?” he asked when I was finished.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Give me six hours and I’ll let you know.”

“You can have more than that,” he said. “I’m in no hurry.”

“I’ll know in six hours. Where will you be this evening if I have to get in touch with you?”

“Right here,” he said, an expression of surprise on his face. “Where did you think I would be? I’m too old for your kinds of games.”

I turned left on Sunset from the Bel Air gate. It was dark and the headlights of the oncoming cars flicked on and off in our eyes.

“He’s not at all what I thought he was,” she said. “He’s really quite charming.”

“He can be when he wants to,” I said.

“He’s supposed to be as cold as ice,” she said. “But he’s not like that with you.”

I looked at her. “In a kind of way we’re still family.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I was married to his daughter once.”

“Oh,” she said. “I see.” She took her own cigarette. I held the lighter for her. “Maybe you’d better take me to the airport now.”

“Why?” I asked.

She drew on the cigarette. “You seem to be kind of involved tonight. I’d only be in the way.”

“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “If I didn’t want you down here, I wouldn’t have asked you to come.”

She was silent. “Do you want to go to bed with me, is that it?”

“Yes. Partly.”

“What’s the partly?”

“You’re an attorney,” I said. “Stick around. I may need one before the night is over.”

I don’t know whether she liked that. She didn’t speak until we turned into the driveway at my house. I pulled into the carport and killed the lights.

She made no move to get out of the car. Like she was waiting to be kissed. I took her into my arms. Her lips were soft and warm and hungry. We clung together for a hard minute, then she broke away.

“Don’t start,” she said. “I can’t go through that again.”

“You seemed to survive all right.”

“How do you know?” she asked. “I wasn’t playing. Why do you think I ran back to San Francisco?”

“You had a job waiting.”

“That’s what I kept telling myself. That I was just another girl to you. That at times you didn’t even remember my name. But it wasn’t the way I felt.”

I didn’t answer.

“It’s been more than three years,” she said.

“Give me your hand.”

She put her hand in mine. I could feel it trembling slightly. “I’m not a monster,” I said.

“Did you ever think about me? Once in the four years? Just once?”

“I thought about you this afternoon,” I said. “Isn’t that enough of an answer?”

“No.” She withdrew her hand and looked at it. “Would you believe I haven’t been with another man since you?”

“That explains it,” I said. “No wonder you’re so uptight. We’d better get inside.”

She threw me an angry look and got out of the car, slamming the door. I caught her as she came around my side and held her.

“Is that all you think it is?” she snapped.

“It can still be pretty good,” I said. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

She pulled free of me and went up the walk to the house. I followed her.

I could hear the shouting voices as soon as I opened the door. We went down the steps past the bedroom.

Sam and Junior were standing in the center of the living room shouting at each other. For background they had the newscast of the latest riot at Berkeley on the television set.

“Hello,” I said and walked around them and turned off the television.

“You’re still not so big I can’t knock you on your ass!” Sam shouted, moving toward Junior.

I slipped between them.

Junior grabbed my arm. “He told the pigs! He blew the whistle! Ask him, he doesn’t even deny it!”

“Cool it!” I said sharply.

Junior stared angrily at me for a moment, then turned and stormed outside to the terrace. He lit a cigarette and stood there looking down at the city.

I turned back to Sam. He glared at me, his face still mottled with anger. “Isn’t it enough that you cost me my daughter?” he said bitterly. “Do you have to take my son too?”

Hollywood, 1960–1965

BOOK THREE

SAM BENJAMIN

CHAPTER ONE

The Studio Policeman at the Trans-World gate waved to him as the limousine entered the lot. “Good morning, Mr. Benjamin.”

“Good morning, John,” Sam said, from the backseat. “It looks like it’s goin’ to be a nice day.”

“Sure does, Mr. Benjamin,” the policeman answered. “No smog.”

The limousine rolled in and turned right on the road next to the gate. It moved past the first row of administration buildings and stopped before a two-story office located on a corner of its own. The car pulled into a parking place with a small sign: RESERVED FOR MR. SAMUEL BENJAMIN.

A maintenance man was polishing the brass plate next to the entrance, SAMARKAND PRODUCTIONS. He nodded as Sam went in. “Good morning, Mr. Benjamin.”

“Good morning.” Sam continued on down the corridor to his office. It took up the whole far corner of the building. He entered through his own door. At the same time his secretary entered from her office.

“Good morning, Mr. Benjamin.”

“Morning, Miss Jackson,” he said, going behind his desk.

She placed some papers before him. “Mrs. Benjamin just called. She said you forgot to take your gout pills before you left the house.” She walked over to the bar and came back with a glass of water, which she gave him with two pills.

“Okay,” he said, grumbling. He swallowed the pills. “I bet I’m the only man in the world ever to get gout eating kosher hot dogs.”

She placed another pill before him. “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“Your diet pill,” she said. “You’re allowed fifteen hundred calories today. Mrs. B. said you had three hundred for breakfast and that you were going to have eight hundred at dinner. That means cottage cheese for lunch.”

“Shit,” he said. He swallowed the other pill. “Now can we go to work?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. She picked up the papers from the desk and looked at them. “Rushes for
Washington Arch
will be at screening room three at eleven o’clock.”