Eve

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I REACHED my apartment around noon. As I entered the elevator the boy gave me one of those it’s-six-months-to-Christmas smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Thurston.”

“Morning,” I said and experienced the inevitable lift in my stomach as the elevator raced between floors.

“Did you see about the two guys who killed themselves last night outside Manola’s?” The elevator boy asked as I left the cage.

“No.”

“Sure thing. They got fighting over a dame and they fell off the sidewalk, bang under the wheels of a truck. One of the guys had his face stove in.”

“That should give him a new outlook,” I said and opened my apartment door.

Russell was in the lobby. “Good morning, Mr. Clive,” he said in a voice that told me he thought it was anything but a good morning.

“Hello.” I was about to go to my bedroom when I caught his eye. I stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Miss Carol’s waiting in the lounge,” he said reproachfully. His whole body, his face, his eyebrows oozed reproach.

“Miss Carol?” I stared at him. “What’s she want?” Why isn’t she at the Studio?”

“I don’t know, sir. She’s been waiting more’n a half an hour.”

I gave him my bag. “Put that in my bedroom,” I said, and walked across the lobby to the lounge.

Carol was by the window as I entered. She did not turn although she must have heard me. I admired her slim back and the cool white and red check frock she was wearing. “Hello,” I said, closing the door.

She stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and swung round on her heels. She looked steadily at me and my eyes gave ground. “Aren’t you working this morning?” I went on, crossing the room and standing by her side.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Swell.” I waved to the settee. “Sit down.”

As she walked to the settee, I said, “Nothing wrong,is there?”

She sat down. “I don’t know yet.” She reached for another cigarette, fitted it in her holder and lit up.

I suddenly felt a little tired and not in the mood to be lectured. I stood over her. “Look here, Carol . . .” I began, but she held up her hand.

“It’s not going to be a “Look here . . .” kind of conversation,” she said sharply.

“I’m sorry, Carol, but I’m on edge this morning.” I didn’t want to quarrel with her. “There’s something wrong. You’d better give it to me straight.”

“I met Merle Bensinger this morning. She’s worried about you.”

“If Merle Bensinger’s been discussing my affairs with you,” I said coldly, “she’s forgetting she’s my paid agent.”

“Merle likes you, Clive. She thought we were engaged.”

I sat down slowly in an armchair away from Carol. “Even if we were married, it’s still not Merle’s business to talk about my affairs,” I said, cold fury tripping my words.

“She didn’t talk about your affairs,” Carol said quietly. “She asked me to try to persuade you to work.”

I lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the empty fireplace. “But I am working,” I said. “If she’s worried about her goddam commission, why doesn’t she say so?”

“All right, Clive, if that’s the way you feel about it.”

“That’s just the way I do feel about it. For God’s sake, Carol, no writer can be bullied into writing. You know that. It’s either there or it isn’t. Merle wanted me to do a cockeyed article for the Digest. I just didn’t feel like it. That’s why she’s sore.”

“She didn’t say anything about the Digest, but never mind about Merle then.” She crossed her slim ankles. “About Bernstien, Clive.”

“What about him?”

“You know he came round to my place on Saturday?”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“I did what I could. I read him parts of your play. I even persuaded him to take it away with him.”

I stared at her. “You gave him a copy of the play?” I repeated. “Where did you get the script from?”

“Oh, I got it,” she said, a little impatiently. “That doesn’t matter. I did so hope . . .” She broke off with a gesture of despair. Then she said, “If you had been there, it would have made all the difference. I’m afraid you’ve missed a great chance, Clive.”

I dragged down a lungful of smoke. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “If Bernstien was all that anxious to do “Rain Check”, he’d have done it. A guy who has to be talked into buying a story doesn’t stay hot. He cools off after making a lot of promises. Don’t tell me Imgram had to talk Gold into buying his story.”

“There’s a big difference between “Rain Check” and “The Land is Barren”,” Carol said sharply. Then as I shifted impatiently, she went on, “I’m sorry, Clive. I didn’t mean it in that way. You can’t compare . . . I mean . . .”

“All right, all right,” I said angrily. “You don’t have to handle me with kid gloves. You mean my stuff isn’t good enough to stand up by itself. It needs you and Jerry Highams and me to slop over Bernstien before he’ll even look at it.”

She bit her lip nervously, but she didn’t say anything.

“Well, that’s not the way I want to sell my stuff. When I do sell it, I’ll sell it because it’s worth selling. I won’t need to peddle it like a street salesman. So to hell with Bernstien.”

“All right, Clive, to hell with Bernstien. But, you’re not getting anywhere, are you?”

“I’m all right. Can’t you lay off worrying about me? Now, look here, Carol, let’s get this straight. When I want anyone’s help, I’ll let you know. There’re too many people taking an interest in me. It embarrasses me.” So as not to hurt her feelings, I added, “Of course, I am grateful, but, after all, it is my business, I’m getting along fine.”

She again looked steadily at me. “Are you?” she said. “You’ve written nothing for two years. You’re living on the past, Clive. That’s just one thing you can’t do in Hollywood. A writer’s only as good as his next book or picture.”

“But my next picture is going to be good,” I said, trying to smile. Don’t fuss, Carol. After all, Gold has made me an offer That ought to tell you I’m not on the slide.”

“Oh, do stop posing, Clive,” she said, colour coming into her face. “It’s not a question of whether you can write. It’s a question of when you’re going to work.”

“Okay, suppose you leave that to me?” I said. “What are you doing away from the Studio? I thought you were tied up with Imgram.”

“So I am. But I had to see you, Clive. People arc talking.” She got to her feet and wandered across the room. “We’re supposed to be engaged, aren’t we?”

That was something I didn’t want to go into just then. “What do you mean . . . people are talking?”

“About this week-end.” She turned to face me. “How could you, Clive? How could you do such a thing? Have you gone crazy?”

Here it comes, I thought. “If I knew what you were talking about . . .”

“Why lie to me? I know what happened. I should have thought by now you’d got all that out of your system. You still don’t think you’re a college boy, do you?”

I stared at her. “What do you mean? Got what out of my system?”

She sat down again. “Oh, Clive, at times, you arc stupid and hateful,” she said, wearily. Anger had gone out of her voice. She was now desperately unhappy. “You want to be irresistible, don’t you? You want to be the big charmer and sweep all the women off their feet. Why do you pick on a woman like that? Where do you think it’ll get you?”

I reached impatiently for a cigarette. “You’re saying some pretty hard things, Carol.” I was controlling my temper with difficulty. “I’m not in the mood to stand much more of this.

Maybe you’d better go back to the Studio before we say something we’ll be sorry about later.”

She sat still for a few seconds, her hands clenched on her knees and her body tense. Then she drew a deep breath and relaxed. “I’m sorry, Clive,” she said. “I’m going the wrong way about it. Can’t you stop all this? Can’t you just drop the whole thing? It’s not too late, Clive.”

I flicked ash angrily onto the carpet. “You’re making a fuss about nothing,” I said. “For God’s sake, Carol, you must be sensible.”

“Did you get anywhere with her over the week-end?” she asked abruptly. “Has she fallen for your charms yet?”

I jerked to my feet. “Now look, Carol, I’ve had enough of this. I’d much rather you go. We’ll hurt each other in a moment.

“Rex Gold has asked me to marry him.”

Years ago I was kicked by a horse. It was my own fault. I had been warned of its viciousness, but I thought I could handle it. But it suddenly had lashed out and I remembered lying on the wet, muddy ground, pain twisting at my guts and staring at the horse, not believing that it could have done this to me. I felt the same twisting pain in my guts now.

“Gold?” I said and sat down again.

Carol beat her fists together. “I shouldn’t have told you now,” she said. “It’s blackmail, isn’t it, Clive? No, I shouldn’t have told you now.”

“I didn’t think that Gold . . .” and I stopped.

Why not? She was lovely. She was good at her job. She would make Gold a fine wife.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, after a long silence.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Not after this week-end.”

“What has the week-end to do with it?” I asked. “I’d’ve thought it was whether you loved him or not.”

“Not in Hollywood,” Carol said. “You know that as well as I do. If I thought that you and I . . .” She stopped, hesitated, and then went on, “You’re making it very hard for me, aren’t you?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You see, I love you, Clive.”

I reached out to take her hand, but she drew away. “No, don’t touch me. Let me talk. I’ve stood an awful lot from you. We’ve known each other for two years now. I suppose it’s silly of me to live in the past, but I can’t help remembering you when you first came to see Robert Rowan. Neither of us were anybody then. I liked you the moment I saw you. I thought your play was fine. I thought anyone who had these kind of sentiments must be good and kind and decent. I liked the scared, embarrassed look you always had when Rowan talked to you. You were simple and nice and not like the other men who came to that office. I thought you were going to do great things; that’s why I told you to come out here and leave New York and everything it stood for. There was a time, before you found all your other friends, when you were glad to have me for company. We went everywhere and did everything. Once you asked me to marry you and I said yes. But, you’d forgotten about it the next morning. You didn’t even bother to call me. I don’t know, even now, how you feel about me, but I know how I feel about you. But that doesn’t mean that I’m holding you to anything. That’s not the way I want you.”

I wished she had not started this. I knew a decision had to be made and I wanted time to think. Until Saturday night, I loved Carol, now I was not sure. I knew I could not let her go on talking like this, stripping herself in front of me, unless I met her half-way. Otherwise, it would finish when she left mc and I did not want it to finish. She was important to mc. She represented the past two years which were the best years of my life. She represented understanding and kindness. She gave mc confidence. It scared me to think what it would be like without her.

“I believed you when you said you loved me,” she went on. “I suppose it was because you meant so much to me. There was something fine about you, Clive, when you were poor. I suppose success is bad for some people. It’s been bad for you. You sec, I’m worried about you. I can’t really see how you’re going to get anywhere now. You haven’t learned anything new since you first began to write. You think you have the magic touch, but you haven’t. No one has . . . there isn’t such a thing. It all comes from working and never being satisfied and moving on to a bigger theme each time you write. Then, of course, you must feel you want to say something and that something must be worth while saying.”

“That’s a terrific speech,” I said impatiently, “but we’ll take it as read if you don’t mind. What about you? Are you going to marry Gold?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to, but it has many advantages.”

“Are you sure?”

“Gold has imagination . . . power . . . money. He would give me a free hand. There are some great pictures to be made. Perhaps that is something you won’t understand, Clive. But I’m ambitious. Not for myself. I want to see better pictures made. I could influence Gold. He would listen to me.”

“Never mind about educating the world, let’s concentrate on ourselves. You don’t have to marry Gold to educate the world, do you?”

“Would you mind?”

I had to talk now or I’d lose her. “Of course I’d mind, but I want you to try to see it from my angle. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, but there isn’t much I can do about it right now. Something’s gone wrong. I can’t write any more. If something doesn’t happen soon, I’ll be in a fix. I’ve been in a fix before, of course, but I’ve always been alone. I couldn’t stand being in a fix with you.”

She examined her slim brown hands. “It’s only because you are out of touch with the things that matter. You’ve been having too good a time.” She paused, adjusted her cuffs so that they hid her wrists, and then jerked out, “Why did you have to take that woman where you would be seen together?”

Rage swept through me. “So that goddam success-writer squawked, did he?” I said. “I thought he would. That’s just about his weight — making mischief and gossiping.”

“Jerry Highams saw you too,” Carol said wearily.

“Well, what of it? Highams knows why I’m seeing her.

There’s nothing else to it Carol. I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ve a whale of a story I want to write about her. But that’s all.”

Carol stood up. “I must get back to the Studio,” she said. “I’m sorry about all this, Clive. There’s nothing we can do, is there?”

“Don’t you believe me?” I asked, going to her. “Gold commissioned this story. How else can I write it if I don’t meet the woman?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Clive, and I don’t particularly care. I’m rather tired of your women friends. I’ve had to share you with so many of them. I don’t feel like competing with professionals. Until you’ve dropped her, I think we’d better not meet.”

“You can’t mean that, Carol,” I said in alarm. “Don’t you want me to have a break? Gold’s offering fifty thousand dollars. I can’t write the story if I don’t see her.” As she turned away. I took her arm. “Look, I tell you there’s nothing in it except the story. Can’t you believe that?”

She pulled her arm free. “No . . . but don’t forget to be careful, Clive. You’ll get hurt. She knows how to handle a man like you.”

My temper boiled up at this. “All right,” I said, furious with her now. “You’re a dear, sweet girl. Thank you for the warning. I’ll be careful. Every time I see her, I’ll think of you and your warning and I’ll be very, very careful.”

She flushed. “You can keep your cheap sarcasm. You are asking for trouble and I’m very much afraid you’ll get it.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of anything. As long as I have your pity, I’ll get along fine,” I said. “We don’t have to quarrel about it, do we? It’s nicer for us to be agreeable and sort of phony about all this, isn’t it?”

“You’re the authority on phony, of course,” she retorted stung to anger. “But, if that’s really how you feel, then we don’t have to quarrel about it.”

“Swell.” I was determined to make her as angry as I was. “And ask mc to the wedding. I won’t come, but ask mc because that’ll be the one time I’ll be able to turn Gold down. But I’m not turning down his fifty thousand dollars.”

There was contempt in her eyes and I suddenly wanted to hurt her.

“I can imagine the kind of wedding that Gold’ll give you,” I went on, smiling at her. “It’ll be a technicolour wedding. You know the sort of stuff. The bride looked lovely. She gave herself to Rex Gold so she could educate the world by making better pictures. That’ll get a hell of a laugh.” I took out my cigarette case and selected a cigarette. “You did say you weren’t competing with the professionals? Is that quite true, my sweet?”

“I hope she hurts you,” Carol said, her face white. “You need hurting. You need a woman like that who can prick your mean, horrid little ego. I think she’ll do it. I hope so. I hope so very much.”

“You know, I’m glad you’re a girl. I’m glad you’re in my apartment and under my protection, because it stops me doing what I feel like doing.”

“I suppose you’d like to punch me in the face?”

“That’s it. That’s just what I’d like to do, my pet.”

“Good-bye, Clive.”

“That’s terrific. That’s what they call restrained drama. It’d make a great curtain. Nothing vulgar . . . final, of course, but definitely not vulgar. You’re a swell script writer and you’ve a swell sense of the theatre. But you’ll have to watch your lines on your wedding night, my sweet.”

She was at the door. She didn’t look back. Then she was gone.

When the door closed behind her, the room seemed very empty. I went over to the sideboard and poured myself a whisky. I drank it without putting the bottle down and I immediately poured another. I did that four times. Then I put the bottle back and walked into the lobby. I was feeling a little tight and I wanted to cry.

As I put my hat on, Russell came down the stairs. He looked at me mournfully, but he didn’t say anything.

“Miss Carol’s marrying Mr. Rex Gold,” I said, carefully pronouncing my words. “I know you like these snappy little gossip items, Russell. You’ve heard of Mr. Rex Gold, haven’t you?

Well, she’s marrying him. She’s marrying him so she can make good pictures and educate the lower classes.” I leaned on the banister rail. “Do you think the lower classes want to be educated? Do you think the sacrifice is worth while? I don’t. I don’t think they give a goddamn whether she marries Gold or whether they have better pictures. But you can’t argue with women.”

Russell looked as if I had hit him in the face. He tried to say something, but words” would not come. I left him and took the elevator to the street.

I got in the car.

“You poor guy,” I said to myself. “I feel so sorry for you.”

Then I pressed the starter and drove to the Writers’ Club.

The usual crowd was not in the club today. I said hello to the steward and went into the bar.

“A double Scotch,” I said, pulling up a stool and sitting down.

“Yes, Mr. Thurston,” the bartender said. “Would you like a little ice?”

“Listen,” I leaned forward, “if I wanted ice, I’d ask for ice. I don’t want a lot of talk from you or anyone else.”

“Certainly, Mr. Thurston,” he said, going red.

I drank the whisky neat and shoved the glass back at him. “I’ll have it again without ice and without a lot of talk. You don’t even have to mention the weather.”

“Certainly, Mr. Thurston.”

If I did not sell Gold my story I would be like this guy before long. I would be so hard up for money that I would have to take anything anyone liked to hand out to mc.

I finished my whisky. “Fill it up again.”

Just then Peter and Frank Imgram came in.

It was too bad that they had to come in at that moment because I was very angry and rather drunk. I got off my stool.

Peter smiled at me. “Hello there, Clive,” he said. “Have one with me? You know Frank Imgram, don’t you?”

I know him all right.

“Sure,” I said and took a step backwards and got into position. “The Hollywood gossip writer, isn’t he?” And I let Imgram have it, full in the mouth. He fell back and gurgled and reached fingers in his mouth to keep from choking on his bridgework. He may have written The Land is Barren, but his teeth weren’t his own. That was something I had over him.

I didn’t wait to see what happened. I just walked out of the bar. I went through the lobby and into the street. I got into my car and started the engine. I had to control myself because I wanted to go back and hit the little louse again. I wanted to hit him again so badly that I ached behind my eyes and nose and at the back of my neck.

I thought: Merle Bensinger, Carol, dear, sweet Carol and now Frank Imgram . . . possibly Peter Tennett. They would all hate my guts now. I was certainly making a mess of things. If I went on like this I would be getting quite a name for myself.

I drove fast down Sunset Boulevard. In a few days, perhaps, no one would want to talk to me. Perhaps I would have to resign from the Club. Never mind, I said to myself, you still have Eve. I slowed down, because I suddenly wanted to talk to Eve. That was something no one was going to do anything about. They might stop me from beating up Imgram, but they certainly would not stop me telephoning Eve.

I pulled up outside a drugstore, left my car and went in.

I had trouble with the dial. I was tighter than I thought. I mis-dialled three times before I got it right. By that time I was sweating and angry.

Marty came on the line.

“Miss Marlow,” I said.

“Who is that?”

What the hell was it to do with her? Why didn’t Eve answer the telephone herself? Did she think I wanted to talk to her servant every time I called? Did she think I wanted to give my name to a servant who would tell the milkman, the iceman and all the guys she got drunk with?

“The man in the moon,” I said, “that’s who it is.”

There was a pause, then she said, “I’m sorry, but Miss Marlow’s out.”

“No, she isn’t,” I said, angrily. “Not at this time, she isn’t. Tell her I want to talk to her.”

“What name shall I give?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mr. Clive . . . now are you happy?”

“I’m so sorry, but Miss Marlow’s engaged.”

“Engaged?” I repeated stupidly. “But it’s not yet two o’clock. How can she be engaged?”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I will tell her you called.”

“Now wait a minute,” I said, feeling sick and empty, “you mean she has some guy with her?”

“I will tell her you called,” Marty said and hung up. I dropped the receiver and left it swinging on its cord. I felt like hell.