Eve

CHAPTER SEVEN

I DID not see Carol for the next two weeks. I telephoned each morning and evening, but I was told that she was either at the Studio or at Mr. Gold’s house. I did not know whether she was avoiding me or whether she was really busy with her script. If it had not been for the way she had walked out on me, I should not have given it another thought. She often disappeared for a week or so when she was working hard, but, now I was worried. I remember the look in her eyes when she had said, “It is rather like that.” For the first time in two years, I knew I had hurt and angered her.

I could, of course, have gone to the Studio, but first, I wanted to talk to her on the telephone where she could not watch me while I talked. As I have already said, she was very difficult to lie to. If I were to convince her that there was nothing between Eve and myself, I would have to handle the situation with care. So I continued to the Studio.

I had settled in my apartment much to Russell’s annoyance. He had hopefully believed that I would stay at Three Point for at least another month. I thought a lot about Eve. On the third night after our meeting I drove over to Laurel Canyon Drive and passed her house. There were no lights showing and I did not stop; but it gave me an odd feeling of satisfaction just to have seen the house again.

On the fourth day, immediately after lunch, I called her.

The maid Marty answered. When I asked for Eve, she wanted to know who was calling.

After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Mr. Clive.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Miss Marlow’s engaged right now. Can I take a message?”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll call later.”

“She won’t be long,” she said. “I’ll tell her you called.”

I thanked her and hung up. I sat holding the telephone for several minutes, then I put it on the table with a little grimace. Why was I feeling bad? I asked myself. I knew what she was, didn’t I? I did not ring her again that day and I did no work. I thought about Gold and I tried to work out a blue print for the script we had discussed. But I was not successful. Until I knew Eve better, I would not hope to make much progress.

I must have been a trial to Russell as he was used to my going out and leaving him the apartment to himself. I spent the rest of the day wandering between the large lounge, my bedroom and my small library. I had a date with Clare Jacoby, the singer, in the evening, and although I did not feel like listening to her incessant chatter, I could not very well put her off. I returned to the apartment just after midnight, a little drunk and irritable.

Russell was waiting up for me and after he had brought me a whiskey I sent him to bed. Then I telephoned Eve. I sat listening to the steady burr-burr of the bell, but there was no answer. I slammed down the receiver and went into my bedroom to undress. In pyjamas and dressing gown, I returned to the lounge and called her again. It was now twenty to one.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello yourself.” I found my mouth had gone dry at the sound of her voice.

“You are very late, Clive.”

She said she would recognize my voice, but I didn’t think she would. That was one score for her.

“How are you?” I settled back in my armchair.

“All right,” she said.

I waited, expecting her to say something else, but the line was silent. This was my first experience of the many unsatisfactory telephone calls I was to have with her, so I had no warning that her replies would be non-committal and monosyllabic.

“Hello?” I said, after waiting a moment. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded remote and flat.

“I thought we were cut off.” I settled back in my chair again. “Did you like the book I sent you?”

There was a long pause, then I heard her say something as if she were speaking to someone with her.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I can’t talk now,” she said. “I’m engaged.”

A wild, unreasonable rage surged through me. “Good God!” I exclaimed. “Do you work all night as well as all day?” But I was talking to a dead telephone. She had hung up.

I sat thinking for almost an hour. It began to dawn on me that Eve was going to be an even harder proposition than I had first thought. In fact, as I brooded about her and Gold’s offer, I experienced a slight feeling of panic. It was four days since I had seen her and I had not even scratched the surface. The fact that she had hung up on me like that showed that she was not yet interested in me. She did not even say that she was sorry. “I can’t talk now, I’m engaged,” and down had gone the receiver. I clenched my fists.

In spite of my anger, her indifference made me all the more anxious to see her. During those two weeks that I saw nothing of Carol, I visited Eve three times. There is no point in recording those three meetings. They ran practically parallel with the previous meeting. We talked uneasily about the merest trifles and at the end of a quarter of an hour I left, being careful always to put two twenty dollar bills on the chest of drawers. Each time I called on her I brought her a book for which she seemed genuinely grateful. Although I tried to break down her reserve she remained wooden and suspicious. I realized that if I was to get anywhere with her I would have to try more forceful tactics. Finally I decided on my line of action.

The following morning I came down to the dining room to find Russell waiting to serve breakfast. It was now ten days since I had seen Carol and I knew that Russell was worried about this. I could tell that by his continuous disapproving looks.

“You might put a call through to Miss Carol,” I said, as I flipped through my letters, “and see what she’s doing. If she’s at home I’ll speak to her.”

While he was making the call, I glanced at the headlines of the newspaper. There was nothing there to interest me and I dropped the paper on the floor.

Russell, after murmuring into the telephone, hung up and shook his head. “She’s out, sir,” he said, his round, fat face sagging with gloom. “Why don’t you slip down to the Studio and see her?

“I’m too busy to slip down to the Studio,” I said shortly, “And what business is it of yours anyway?”

He stood opposite me, moving the toast within my reach. “Miss Carol’s a nice young lady,” he said, “and I don’t like to see her treated badly, Mr. Clive.”

“So you think I’m treating Miss Carol badly, do you?” I said, spreading butter on my toast and avoiding his disapproving glance.

“I do, sir. I think you should see her. She’s a nice young lady and she deserves to receive better treatment than the other young ladies you know.”

“You are poking your nose as usual into something that does not concern you. Miss Carol is extremely busy and has no time at the moment to be sociable. I’m not neglecting her and, if you will remember, I call her twice a day and have been doing so for the past two weeks.”

“Then, all I can say, sir, is she’s avoiding you,” he returned obstinately. “You shouldn’t allow it.”

“I think you’d better do my bedroom now, Russell,” I said coldly. “I have everything I want at the moment.

“This Miss Marlow, sir,” he said, “She’s a professional lady, isn’t she?”

I stared at him in amazement. “And how did you know that?”

An almost pious look settled on his face. “Being a gentleman’s man, sir,” he said, a little pompously, “I feel it is part of my duties to know something of the worldly aspects of life. The name, sir, if I may presume, is a little obvious.”

“You think so, do you?” I said, trying not to smile. “And what if she is?”

His bushy white eyebrows crawled to the top of his head. “I can only warn you, Mr. Clive. That sort of woman never did anyone any good. And if I may say so, any attempt to establish a social relationship with her would be fraught with disaster.”

“Do stop talking like a drip and get upstairs,” I said, feeling this had gone far enough. “I am meeting Miss Marlow to get a background for a picture. Mr. Gold’s commissioned me to write it.”

“I’m surprised to hear that, sir. I always understood Mr. Gold was a person of intelligence. No one in his right senses would consider making a picture in connection with that subject. If you will excuse me, I will do your room.”

I watched his dignified exit rather thoughtfully. On the face of it, he was right, yet Gold had definitely promised to do the story. I picked up my letters again and opened them, hopefully looking for a letter from the Studio. It was not here and I realized it was perhaps a little early to expect it I went over to my desk and checked my bank balance. I was surprised to find it so low. After a moment’s hesitation, I tossed the bills into the trash basket. They would have to wait for payment Then I called Merle Bensinger, my agent.

“Look, Merle,” I said, as soon as she came on the line, “what’s happening to “Rain Check”? I haven’t had this week’s receipts.

“I was writing to you about that, Clive,” she returned. Merle had a bright metallic voice which I always found a little overpowering on the telephone. “The cast has been given a week off. I think they deserve it, the poor dears. They’ve been at it now for twenty weeks.”

“So while they disport themselves, I’m supposed to starve?” I said crossly. “Isn’t there anything else coming in? How about my books?”

“You know there’s nothing until September, Clive.” She sounded startled. “Sellick’s don’t make up their accounts until September . . .”

“I know — I know,” I said sharply. “Well, if you can’t do anything for me, Merele, at least listen to my news. Gold’s offered me a contract. I ought to have told you before. I outlined a story to him a couple of weeks ago and he’s offering fifty thousand dollars for it.”

“Why, that’s wonderful.” Her voice sounded even brighter and more metallic. “Do you want me to look after the arrangements?”

“I suppose so,” I said, a little doubtfully. Ten per cent meant parting with five thousand dollars, but Merle did know her job and if Gold was going to try a double cross, she would know how to handle him. “Yes, you’d better look after it. I’ll send you the correspondence when I get it.”

“How’s the new book going?”

“Never mind about the new book. I’ve got Gold on my mind right now.”

“But, Clive,” her voice signalled alarm, “Sellick’s are expecting it by the end of the month.”

“Then they’ll have to expect it,” I returned. “I tell you I’m busy.”

There was a pause, then she said, “But haven’t you begun it yet?”

“No, I haven’t. To hell with Sellick’s. I’m after Gold’s fifty thousand.”

“I shall have to tell Mr. Sellick. He’ll be very disappointed. They’ve advertised it, you know, Clive.”

“Tell whom you like. I couldn’t care less. Tell the President if it’ll make you feel any better, but for God’s sake, Merle, don’t bother me with Sellick’s headaches,” I snapped, feeling suddenly irritated with her. “Isn’t Gold a better proposition?”

“The money’s better, of course,” she said slowly, “but, its some time since you wrote a book and you must think of your name.”

“I’ll look after that,” I assured her. “Don’t worry about my name.

She remembered something. “Oh, Clive,” she said, “I’ve an offer from the Digest. They want an article on the “Women of Hollywood”. Three thousand dollars. Fifteen hundred words. Would you like to do it for them?”

It wasn’t often Merle put anything in my way. I was pleased. “Sure,” I said. “When do you want it?”

“Can you do it today? I’ve been holding it and it’s urgent now.”

That rather spoiled the offer. What she really meant was she had been trying to get someone to write it and had so far failed. “Well, all right. Leave it with me. I’ll get Russell to bring it over first thing tomorrow morning.” I said good-bye and hung up.

Russell came in just then to clear the breakfast things.

“I have an article to do for the Digest,” I said. “Have I any dates today?”

Russell liked to be consulted about my appointments. “You promised to see Miss Selby at three, sir,” he said. “And you’re dining with Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wilbur tonight.”

“Well, Miss Selby isn’t important. She’s a damn little nuisance anyway. Tell her I’ve had to go out of town. If I have the afternoon to myself I should be able to manage. I’ll dine with the Wilburs.”

I left him pottering about the living room and went upstairs to dress. By the time I was through it was twenty to twelve. It was time to ring Eve.

The bell rang for quite a while before she answered. She sounded sleepy.

“Hello there,” I said. “Did I get you out of bed?”

“You did, Clive,” she said. “I was fast asleep.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but look at the time. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“I never get up before twelve. You ought to know that by now.”

Well, anyway, she was at least stringing some sentences together for a change.

I drew a deep breath. “Eve,” I said, “you wouldn’t like to spend a week-end with me, would you?”

There was a long pause, then she said in a flat, indifferent voice. “If that’s what you want.”

“We might take in a theatre. How about this week-end?”

“All right.”

If she should only sound just a little enthusiastic, I thought angrily. “Fine,” I said, keeping the disappointment out of my voice. “Where would you like to dine?”

“I’ll leave it to you.” There was a pause and then she said, “But it mustn’t be . . .” and she ran through a bewildering number of restaurants and hotels which left me gasping.

“But there’s nothing to choose from after that little lot’s been eliminated,” I protested. “For instance, why on earth can’t we go to the Brown Derby?”

“I just can’t,” she said. I could imagine the two furrows above the bridge of her nose deepening. “Or any of the other places I’ve told you.”-

“Well, all right,” I said, feeling that if I pressed her she would refuse to go altogether. “I’ll send you a line. Then we definitely meet on Saturday?”

“All right,” and down went the receiver before I could say how pleased I was.