Eve

CHAPTER FOUR

IT is true to say that most men lead two lives — a normal life and a secret life. Society is, of course, only able to judge a man’s character by his normal life. If he makes a mistake, however, and his secret life becomes public property, then he is judged by his own secret standards and is, more often than not, ostracized as a punishment. In spite of this, he is still the same man who, a moment before, received the plaudits of Society. At least, he is the same man with the one important difference: he has been found out.

By now, because of my complete frankness, you may have come to the conclusion that I am an exceedingly unpleasant person. You may even have decided that I am unethical, dishonest, vain and worthless. These conclusions are not due to your insight and perception, they are due entirely to my own frankness.

If you met me socially, if you became my friend, you would find me quite as agreeable as any one of your other friends because I should be most careful always to be at my best in your company.

I would not bother with such an elementary point as this if it were not for the fact that you may wonder why Carol loved me. Even now I remember her with deep attachment. She was a person of great sincerity and integrity. I would not like you to judge her by my standards because she loved me.

Carol knew only that part of my nature that I chose to reveal to her. Towards the end of our association, circumstances became so difficult to control that she did finally discover my faults. But up to that time, I hoodwinked her as successfully as some of you are hoodwinking those who love you.

It was because Carol was always understanding and sym-pathetic that, after staying two days at Three Point, following the night I first met Eve, I drove into Hollywood to see her.

The service station at San Bernardino had taken care of my car. They had told me that they had also taken care of the Packard. As I drove down the hill road from Big Bear Lake, I came upon a gang of men working on the obstruction in the road. They had nearly cleared it, but I had some difficulty in passing. The foreman of the gang knew me and he had planks laid across the soft ground and a bunch of men practically carried the car over.

I reached Carol’s apartment off Sunset Strip about seven o’clock. Frances, her maid, told me she had only just returned from the Studios and was changing.

“But come right in, Mr. Thurston,” she said, beaming at me. “She won’t be but a few minutes.”

I followed her ample form into Carol’s living room. It was a nice room, modern and quiet and the concealed lighting was restful. I wandered around while Frances fixed me a highball. She always made a fuss over me and Carol had once laughingly told me that Frances considered me her most distinguished visitor.

I sat down and admired the room. It was simply furnished. The chair and large settee were of grey suede and the hangings were wine coloured.

“Every time I come into this room,” I said, taking the highball Frances offered me, “I like it better. I must ask Miss Rae to get me out some designs for my place.”

Carol came in while I was speaking. She was wearing a foamy negligée, caught in at her waist by a broad red sash, and her hair was dressed loosely to her shoulders.

I thought she looked pretty good. She wasn’t a beauty — at least, she wasn’t stamped from the Hollywood mould. She reminded me, as she came in, of Hepburn. She was the same build, nicely put together with the right things in the right places. Her complexion was pale which offset her scarlet lips and her skin seemed to have been pulled too tightly across her face, revealing the bone structure. Her eyes, her best feature, were big, intelligent and alive.

“Why, hello, Clive,” she said gaily, coming swiftly across the room. She held a cigarette in an eighteen-inch holder. The long holder was her only mannerism. It was a clever one because it showed off her beautiful hands and wrists. “Where have you been these last three days?” Then she paused and looked questioning at my bruised forehead. “What have you been doing?”

I took her hands. “Fighting a wild woman,” I said, smiling down at her.

“I might have guessed that,” she said, glancing at my knuckles, still skinned from the punch I’d given Barrow. “She must have been a very wild woman.”

“Oh, she was,” I said, leading her to the settee. “The wildest woman in California. I’ve come all the way from Three Point to tell you about her.”

Carol settled herself in the corner of the settee and drew her legs up under her.

“I think I’ll have a highball,” she said to Frances. A little of her gaiety had gone from her eyes. “I have a feeling Mr. Thurston’s going to shock me.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “I hope to interest you, but that’s all. I’m the one who’s shocked.” I sat down by her side and took her hand. “Have you been working very hard today? There are smudges under your eyes. They suit you, of course, but do they mean tears and toil or are you, at last, becoming dissolute?”

Carol sighed. “I’ve been working. I have no time to be dissolute and I’m sure I’d be very bad at it. I am never any good at anything that doesn’t interest me.” She took the highball from Frances and smiled her thanks.

Frances went away.

“Now,” she went on, “tell me about your wild woman. Are you in love with her?”

I looked at her sharply. “Why do you think I must fall in love with every woman I met? I’m in love with you.”

“So you are.” She patted my hand. “I must remember that. Only, after three days without seeing you, I was wondering if you had dropped me. So you’re not in love with her?”

“Don’t be tiresome Carol,” I said, not liking her mood. “I’m most certainly not in love with her,” and settling back against the cushions I told her about the storm, Barrow and Eve. But, I didn’t give her all the details.

“Well, go on,” she said as I paused to finger the bruise on my forehead. “After she had laid you out, what did she do? Pour water over you or skip with your wallet?”

“She skipped without my wallet. She didn’t take a thing . . . she wasn’t the type. Don’t get this woman wrong, Carol, she isn’t the usual kind of hustler.”

“They seldom are,” Carol murmured smiling at me.

I ignored that. “While I was unconscious, she must have dressed, packed her grip and gone off into the storm. That was quite a thing to do . . . it was blowing and raining like hell.”

Carol studied my face. “After all, Clive, even a hustler has her pride. You were rather beastly to her. In a way, I admired her for knocking you on your conceited head. Who was the man, do you suppose?”

“Barrow? I have no idea. He looked like a travelling salesman. Just the kind of jerk who’d pay a woman to go out with him.”

I hadn’t told Carol about giving Barrow the hundred and ten dollars. I didn’t think she’d understand that part of the story.

“I suppose you didn’t want to get rid of him so you could have a heart to heart chat with the lady?”

I felt suddenly irritated that she should have touched truth so quickly. “Really, Carol,” I said sharply, “a woman of that type doesn’t appeal to me. Aren’t you being a little ridiculous?”

“Sorry,” she said, wandering over to the window. There was a pause, then she went on, “Peter Tennett said he’d be over. Will you have supper with us?”

“I now regretted telling her about Eve. “Not tonight,” I said, “I’m tied up. Is he calling for you?”

I wasn’t tied up, but I had an idea at the back of my mind and I wanted the evening to myself.

“Yes, but you know Peter . . . he’s always late.”

I knew Peter Tennett all right. He was the only one of Carol’s friends who gave me an inferiority complex. But I liked him. He was a grand guy. We got along fine together, but he had too many genuine talents for me. He was producer, director, script writer, and technical adviser all rolled into one. Everything he undertook had, so far, been successful. He had the magic touch and he ranked as number one at the Studios. I hated to think what he made in a year.

“Can’t you really come?” Carol asked, a little wistfully. “You ought to see more of Peter. He might do something for you.”

Lately, Carol had been continually suggesting various people who might put something in my way. It irritated me that she should think I needed help.

“Do something for me?” I repeated, forcing a laugh. “What on earth could he do for me? Why, Carol, I’m getting along fine . . . I don’t need any help.”

“Sorry again,” Carol said, not turning from the window. “I seem to be saying all the wrong things tonight, don’t I?”

“It isn’t you at all,” I said, going over to her. “I’ve still got a headache and I’m edgy.”

She turned. “What are you doing, Clive?”

“Doing? Well, I’m going out to dinner. My — my publishers . . .”

“I don’t mean that. What are you working at? You’ve been at Three Point for two months now. What’s happening?”

This was the one subject I wanted to avoid with Carol. “Oh, a novel,” I said carelessly. “I’m just laying out the blueprint. I start working seriously next week. Don’t look so worried,” and I tried to smile at her assuringly.

Carol was an extraordinarily difficult person to lie to. “I’m glad about the novel,” she said, shadows in her eyes, “but I wish it were a play. There’s not much in a novel, is there, Clive?”

I raised my eyebrows, “I don’t know . . . film rights . . . serial rights . . . maybe Collier’s will take it. They paid Imgram fifty thousand dollars for his serial rights.”

“Imgram wrote an awfully good book.”

“And I’m going to write an awfully good book too,” I said. Even to me, it sounded a little lame. “I’ll write another play in a little while, but I’ve got this idea for a book and I don’t want it to grow cold on me.”

I had an uneasy feeling that she was going to ask me what the book was about. If she’d done that, I would have been in a spot, but at that moment Peter came in and for once I was glad of the interruption.

Peter was one of the few successful Englishmen in Hollywood. He still had all his clothes made in London and the Sackville Street cut was right for his English type of figure, broad in the shoulders and slimming down at the hips.

His dark, thoughtful face lit up when he saw Carol. “Not dressed yet?” he said, taking her hand. “But looking very lovely. Sure you’re not too tired to come out tonight?”

“Of course not,” Carol said smiling.

He looked over at me. “How are you, my dear boy?” He shook hands. “Doesn’t she look wonderful?”

I said she certainly did and noticed his eyes were question marks when he saw my bruise.

“Give him a drink, Clive, while I dress,” Carol said. “I won’t be long.” She looked over at Peter. “He’s being stuffy . . . he won’t dine with us.”

“Oh, but you must . . . this is an occasion, isn’t it, Carol?”

Carol shook her head helplessly. “He’s dining with his publishers. I don’t believe it, but I suppose I’d better be tactful and pretend I do. Look at that bruise . . . he’s been fighting a wild woman.” She laughed, turning to me, “Tell him, Clive . . . he may think it’s a story.”

Peter beat me to the door. He opened it. “Don’t hurry,” he said. “I’m feeling very leisurely tonight.”

“But I’m hungry,” Carol protested. “Don’t let’s be too late,” and she ran from the room.

Peter came over to the little bar in the far corner of the room where I was fixing myself another drink. “So you’ve been fighting, have you?” he said. “That’s quite a nasty bruise you have there.”

“Never mind about that,” I said. “What will you drink?”

“A little whisky, I suppose.” He leaned against the bar and selected a cigarette from a heavy gold case. “Carol’s told you the news?”

I gave him bourbon and water. “No . . . what news?”

Peter raised his eyebrows.” Funny kid . . . now I wonder why . . .” He lit his cigarette.

I had a sudden sinking feeling. “What news?” I repeated, staring at him.

“She has been given the script of the year. It was arranged this morning . . . Imgram’s novel.”

I slopped whisky on the polished bar. Hearing him say that was wormwood to me. Of course, I knew I couldn’t have handled Ingram’s theme. It was too big for me, but it came as a blow to hear that a kid like Carol was to do it.

“Why, that’s terrific,” I said, trying to look pleased. “I’ve been reading it in Collier’s. It’s a great story. You producing?”

He nodded. “Yes, there are all sorts of angles. It’s just the kind of story I’ve been looking for. Of course, I wanted Carol to do the script, but I didn’t think Gold would agree. Then, while I was working out how best to persuade him, he actually called me in to say she’s to do it.”

I came around from behind the bar and carried my drink to the settee. I was glad to sit down. “What will it mean?”

Peter shrugged. “Well, a contract, of course . . . bigger money . . . screen credit . . . and another chance if she makes good.” He tasted his whisky. “And she will, of course. She is very talented.”

I was beginning to think that everyone in this game had talent except myself.

He came over and dropped into an armchair. He seemed to sense that the news had shaken me. “What are you working on now?”

I was getting tired of this interest in my work. “A novel,” I said shortly. “Nothing of interest to you.”

“That’s a pity. I’d like to film something of yours.” He stretched out his long legs. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you before. Ever thought of working for Gold? I could give you an introduction.”

I wondered suspiciously if Carol had been getting at him.

“What’s the use, Peter? You know me. I can’t work for anyone. From what Carol tells me working at your Studio is refined hell.”

“It’s also big money,” Peter said, taking the drink I handed to him. “Think it over and don’t leave it too long. The public has a short memory and Hollywood an even shorter one.” He didn’t look at me, but I had a feeling that there was more to it than just casual conversation. It was almost a warning.

I lit a cigarette and brooded. There is one thing you don’t tell other writers or producers in Hollywood. You don’t tell them that you are out of ideas. They find that out quick enough for themselves.

I knew that if I went back to Three Point the same thing would happen as had happened these past two days. I’d think about Eve. I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since I found myself lying on the floor in the deserted cabin with the sun coming through the curtains. I had tried to wash her out of my mind, but I couldn’t do it. She was there in my bedroom, she was sitting with me on the porch, she was staring at me from the blank sheet of paper in my typewriter.

It finally got so bad that I had to talk to someone about her. That was why I had come into Hollywood to see Carol. But when I began to talk, I found I couldn’t tell her the things that were really on my mind. I couldn’t tell Peter either. I couldn’t tell them how I was feeling about Eve. They would have thought I was crazy.

Maybe I was crazy. I had the pick of some twenty smart, attractive women. I had Carol who loved me and who meant a lot to me. But that didn’t seem enough for me. I had to become infatuated with a prostitute.

Perhaps, infatuated wasn’t the right word. I had sat on the porch, the previous night, with a bottle of Scotch at my elbow and I had tried to reason it out. Eve had hurt my pride. Her cold indifference had been a challenge to me. I felt she was living in a stone fortress and I had to storm that fortress and break down its walls.

I was pretty drunk by the time I’d come to these conclusions, but I’d made up my mind I was going to conquer her. All the women I’d played around with in the past had been too easy. I wanted a proposition that I could really get my teeth into. Eve would give me a run. She’d be difficult and the idea excited me. It would be a contest with no holds barred. She wasn’t an innocent little thing who could be twisted around my finger without any effort. She had unconsciously thrown down the challenge and I was going to take it up. I had no doubts what the final results would be. Nor did I think of what would happen once I’d taken her by storm. That could take care of itself when the time came.

I snapped out of my thoughts as Carol came in. She had changed into an ice-blue evening dress over which she wore a short ermine coat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said, jumping to my feet. “I’m terribly glad and proud of you, Carol.”

She looked at me searching. “It is exciting, isn’t it, Clive? Won’t you come now . . . we ought to celebrate.”

I wanted to, but I had something more important to do. If we’d been alone, I’d have gone with her, but with Peter, it wasn’t quite the same thing.

“I’ll join you later if I can,” I said. “Where are you eating?”

“The Vine Street Brown Derby,” Peter said. “How long will you be?”

“It depends,” I said. “Anyway, if I don’t turn up, I’ll meet you both here after dinner . . . all right?”

Carol put her hand in mind. “It’ll have to be,” she said. “You will try, won’t you?”

Peter got up. “Well, then, let’s go. Are you coming our way?”

“I promised to meet my publisher at eight,” I explained. It was only half past seven. “Do you mind if I stay here for a few minutes? I’d like to finish my drink and I have some calls to make.”

“No . . . come on, Peter, we mustn’t interfere with business.” Carol waved to me. “Then we’ll see you? Are you going back to Three Point tonight?”

“I think so, otherwise, if I’m very late, I’ll go over to the penthouse, but, I want to start work tomorrow.”

When they had gone, I poured myself out another whisky and picked up the telephone book. There were a number of Marlows in the book. Then with a sudden feeling of excitement I saw her name. The address was a house on Laurel Canyon Drive. I had no idea where that was.

For several seconds, I hesitated, then I picked up the tele-phone and dialled her number. I listened to the steady burr- burr of the bell, then there was a click and my blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house.

A woman, it wasn’t Eve, said, “Hello?”

“Miss Marlow?”

“Who is calling?” The voice was cautious.

I grinned into the telephone. “She won’t know my name.”

There was a pause, then the woman said, “Miss Marlow wants to know what you want.”

“Tell Miss Marlow to come off her high horse,” I said. “I’ve been advised to call her.”

There was another pause, then Eve came on the line. “Hello,” she said.

“Can I come and see you?” I kept my voice low so she wouldn’t recognize it.

“You mean now?”

“In half an hour.”

“I suppose so.” She sounded doubtful. “Do I know you?”

I thought this was a hell of a conversation. “You will before long,” I said and laughed.

She laughed too. Her laugh sounded good on the telephone. “Then you’d better come along,” she said and hung up.

It was as simple and as easy as that.