Beverly Hills Dead

28

Rick called Hyman Greenbaum when he couldn’t reach Sid Brooks by phone, then Sid called him back, and they made a dinner date at a little place on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Rick went into Eddie Harris’s office. “I have a dinner date with Sid Brooks,” he said.

“I’ll get that check cut,” Eddie replied, picking up the phone.

“Can you raise that much cash?” Rick asked. “If Sid’s in the middle of a divorce, I think he’d rather not deposit it into a bank account.”

“Not to mention avoiding taxes,” Eddie said.

“I’ll spread it among the production costs of Bitter Creek.”

“Okay, but don’t make a habit of this. My girl will bring it to you.” He held out an envelope. “Here’s what Sid needs to sign. Don’t forget to ask him what pseudonym he wants to use.”

Rick arrived at the restaurant on time, and Sid was already sitting at the bar. They shook hands and were led to a booth.

“How are you doing?” Rick asked.

“Better,” Sid replied. “I had a few bad days, especially when I learned that Alice was leaving and that she had taken everything I had with her. Hy sent me to a lawyer named David Sturmack; one phone call from him to her lawyer and my part of the money is back in the bank, and I’m living in my own house again. The phone number will be the same.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Sid. Who is this Sturmack? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Somebody Hy recommended; they’re in the same building. He’s only twenty-nine years old, and he came out of the war a colonel, and Hy says he’s very well connected, whatever that means.”

They ordered drinks and got menus. When their order was in, Rick got down to business. “Have you and Hy talked about what working is going to be like after the hearings?”

“Yes, at some length. What it boils down to is that I’m going to have to work under pseudonyms, and I won’t get my usual price.”

“I don’t want to know the pseudonyms, Sid, but I want to see whatever you want to write. We’ll have to keep it at arm’s length, just in case I get subpoenaed, or if questions arise from other studios.”

“I understand, Rick. I certainly don’t want to cause you and Eddie any embarrassment in the industry.”

“Eddie and I would just as soon tell all of them to go to hell, but there’s another consideration: the American Legion and some new groups plan to boycott and picket any films that have blacklisted writers, directors or actors associated with them.”

“All the more reason for pseudonyms,” Sid replied.

“This means we’re going to have to put a pseudonym on your credit card for Bitter Creek, too.”

Sid looked taken aback but nodded. “I guess that was inevitable.”

“Sid, you have a contract with us that guarantees your single-card credit on this picture, so you can sue us if you want to and probably win. It’s what I’d do in your position.”

“It’s what I would have done a couple of weeks ago, but it wouldn’t be in my interest to do that. I’m just going to have to lump it until things change.”

“I hope they change quickly, Sid. I really do.”

“Look, I’m the architect of my own fate, here; I’m not looking to blame anybody else.”

Rick nodded. Their food came and they ate quietly, making only desultory conversation. When the plates had been taken away and coffee served, Rick spoke up again. “I have a couple of pieces of good news, though.”

“I’ll take all the good news I can get,” Sid said.

“First, the bad news: Alan James’s picture, Dark Promise, was scheduled to open at Christmas at Radio City Music Hall, but because of the circumstances surrounding his death and, of course, because of the hearings, it was cancelled. Yesterday the distributors came to see Eddie, saw the incomplete rough cut of Bitter Creek, and offered us the slot at the Music Hall.”

“That’s wonderful!” Sid said. “I’m delighted.”

“It makes removing your credit all the more painful.”

“Don’t worry about that; it’ll be great for everybody who worked on it. Anyway, a lot of people around town know I wrote it; I’ll get a few pats on the back even if I don’t get a nomination.”

“Oh, Eddie wants you to sign this.” He gave Sid the envelope and watched as he read it and readily signed it.

Rick put a thick manila envelope on the table and shoved it across. “Here’s the other good news: we’re paying you another fifty thousand for your script. The envelope is full of cash, hundreds and fifties. We cleaned out the vault at the studio.”

Sid opened the envelope, peered inside and grinned. “I’ve never seen this much money before.”

“Neither have I. Of course, you don’t have to mention this to Alice or the IRS. If you want to pay Hy his commission, that’s up to you.”

“Of course I’ll pay Hy, but Alice can whistle for it; this is not marital income.” He patted the envelope as if it were a puppy. “Thank you, Rick, and thank Eddie for me, too. This will go a long way toward keeping me on my feet after the divorce.”

“Do you know what that’s going to cost you?”

“I had a second meeting with Doug Sturmack this afternoon, and he tells me, since Alice and I were married for twelve years and all during the time I made any money, I’d better get used to the idea of giving her half of everything. In the end we’ll have to sell the house and the apartment building in Santa Monica and split the proceeds.”

“Can’t you just buy her out of the house?”

“The idea is that we’d have the real estate appraised and each of us could buy the other out, but the fact is neither of us would have the cash. I couldn’t get a mortgage under the present circumstances, since I’m technically unemployed, and she couldn’t either, as a divorced woman with no job. Sturmack has already gotten their agreement to put both properties on the market.”

“I’m sorry; I know you love that house.”

“The house is a thing; it wasn’t very big, but it had everything we needed. When things change I can buy another one. I don’t mind letting it go just to get out of the marriage.”

Rick thought of something. “Do you have any idea what it’s worth?”

“I don’t know, maybe eighty or ninety grand. A house a couple of doors down went for a hundred grand, but it’s bigger than ours.”

“Do me a favor. Get it appraised, but don’t put it on the market for a few days. I know a potential buyer, and it would save you paying a broker’s commission.”

“All right, Rick.”

“Is there a mortgage on the house?”

“No. Both properties are free and clear.”

“Right. There’s something else I’d like to ask you about, Sid.”

“Shoot.”

Rick told him about receiving the two party cards in the interoffice mail, but he didn’t mention Glenna’s name. “Do you have any idea who at Centurion might have sent those cards?”

Sid shook his head. “No, I can’t imagine who would do that.”

“Sid, who would have access to membership records of the party in New York?”

“The chapter officers, I imagine.”

“Would they have kept your card, or was it issued to you?”

“Actually, they showed it to me, then kept it. They apparently didn’t want members showing their cards around.”

“So any officer of the branch could take the card, have it photo-stated, then replace it in the files?”

“Any officer or, I suppose, any clerical employee. I would imagine, though, that the cards would be kept under lock and key, and lately I doubt if they would have been kept on the premises of the party offices, since they are liable to be served with a search warrant.”

“One other thing: could a party member sign somebody else up for membership and pay his dues?”

“I’ve never heard of that being done, but somebody with the right access might be able to do that.”

“Without the person’s knowledge?”

“Yes, I’d think so.”

“That’s what I need to know, I guess. Thank you.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, Rick.”

The two men parted in front of the restaurant, Sid with the manila envelope under his arm.