The Carpetbaggers

14

Dear Mr. Pierce:

Thank you for sending me the enclosed script of Aphrodite, which I am returning. It is a most interesting screenplay. However, it is not one that I should particularly care to do.

Jennie Denton

She wondered whether she had been right in so summarily dismissing the script. She had mixed feelings about it. At night, in bed, reading it for the first time, she could not put it down. There was a fascination about the story that brought to her mind Standhurst's description of the courtesan who helped rule the world. The screenplay seemed to capture the sensual imagery and poetry of the original work and yet bring it all within the limitations and confines of the Motion Picture Code. Yet, the more she read, the less enthusiastic she became.

There was not one single line or scene that could be found objectionable. On the surface. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an acute awareness of the erotic byplay that would subtly work on an audience's subconscious. By the time she reached the end of the screenplay, she felt this was the writer's only purpose.

She fell asleep, oddly disturbed, and awoke still disturbed. At the studio, the next morning, she'd sent to the library for a copy of the original novel, then spent all of that day and part of the next reading it. After that, she again read the screenplay. It was not until then that she realized how boldly the beauty and purpose of the story had been distorted.

Still, there was no doubt in her mind that it could be made into a great motion picture. And even less doubt that the actress who played Aphrodite would become the most talked about and important actress of that season. The Aphrodite of the script was truly the goddess and woman who was all things to all men.

But that was not enough. For, nowhere in the screenplay could she find the soul of Aphrodite, the one moment of spiritual love and contemplation that would lift her out of herself and make her one truly with the gods. She was beautiful and warm and clever and loving and even moral, according to her own concept. But she was a whore, no better than any since time immemorial, no better than any Jennie had known, no better than Jennie herself had been. And something inside Jennie was appalled by what she had read. For, in another time and another place, she saw herself – what she had been and what she still remained.

She put the envelope on the dressing table and pressed the button for a messenger just as the telephone rang. She picked it up. It was not until she heard his voice that she knew how much she'd missed him. "Jonas! Where are you? When did you get in?"

"I'm at the plant in Burbank. I want to see you."

"Oh, Jonas, I want to see you, too. It will seem like such a long day."

"Why wait until tonight? Can't you come over here for lunch?"

"You know I can."

"One o'clock?"

"I’ll be there," she said, putting down the telephone.

"You can leave it here, John," Jonas said. "We'll help ourselves."

"Yes, Mr. Cord." The porter looked at Jennie, then back at Jonas. "Would it," he began hesitantly, "would it be all right if I troubled Miss Denton for her autograph?"

Jonas laughed. "Ask her."

The porter looked inquiringly at Jennie. She smiled and nodded. He took a pencil and paper from his pocket and quickly she scrawled her name on it. "Thank you, Miss Denton."

Jennie laughed as the door closed behind him. "Signing my autograph always makes me feel like a queen." She looked around the office. "This is nice."

"It's not mine," Jonas said, pouring coffee into two cups. "It's Forrester's. I'm just using it while he's away."

"Oh," she said curiously. "Where is yours?"

"I don't have any, except the one that used to be my father's in the old plant in Nevada. I'm never in any one place long enough to really need one." He pulled a chair around near her and sat down. He drank his coffee and looked at her quietly.

She could feel an embarrassed blush creeping over her face. "Do I look all right? Is my make-up smeared or something?"

He shook his head and smiled. "No. You look fine."

She sipped at her coffee and an awkward silence came between them. "What have you been doing?" she asked.

"Thinking, mostly. About us," he answered, looking at her steadily. "You. Me. This last time I was away from you, for the first time in my life I was lonely. Nothing was right. I wanted to see no other girls. Only you."

Her heart seemed to swell, choking her. She felt, somehow, that if she tried to move, she would faint. Jonas put his hand in his pocket and came out with a small box, which he handed to her. She stared down at it dumbly. The small gold letters stared up at her. Van Cleef Arpels.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it. The beautifully cut heart-shaped diamond suddenly released its radiance. "I want to marry you," he said softly.

She felt the hot, grateful tears push their way into her eyes as she looked at him. Her lips trembled but she could not speak.

It was the headline and lead story in Louella's column the next day. The telephone had been ringing in her dressing room all morning, until finally she'd asked the switchboard to screen all her calls. The operator's voice had a new respect in it. As Jennie started to put the telephone down the operator said, "Miss Denton?"

"Yes."

"The girls on the switchboard all wish you the best of luck."

Jennie felt a sudden happy rush of warmth go through her. "Why, thank you."

Later in the afternoon, Rosa called. "I'm so happy for both of you."

"I'm in a daze," Jennie laughed, looking down at the diamond sparkling on her finger.

"You know that dinner invitation?"

"Yes."

"David and I were just thinking. How would you like to make it an engagement party? At Romanoff's with all the trimmings."

"I don't know." Jennie hesitated. "I’d better check with Jonas."

Rosa laughed. "Jonas? Who's he? Only the groom. Nobody ever asks the groom what he wants. It doesn't have to be a big party, if you don't want one."

"All right." Jennie laughed. "You've twisted my arm."

"And you'll have a chance to show off your engagement ring. I hear it's a real smasher."

Jennie held out her hand and the diamond winked at her. "It's very nice," she said.

"Bernie is yelling for his dinner. I’ll call you at home tonight and we'll make the arrangements."

"Thanks, Rosa. 'By."

There was a strange car parked in the driveway when she got home from the studio that night. She drove into the garage and entered the house through the back door. If it was another reporter, she didn't want to see him. The Mexican woman was in the kitchen. "A Senor Pierce is in the living room, senorita.

What could he want, she wondered. Perhaps he hadn't received the script yet and had dropped by for it. Pierce was seated in a deep chair, a copy of the script open on his lap. He got to his feet and nodded. "Miss Denton."

"Mr. Pierce. Did you get the script? I sent it out several days ago."

He smiled. "I got it. But I thought perhaps we might discuss it further. I'm hoping I can talk you into changing your mind."

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Before we talk about it," he said quickly, "may I offer my congratulations on your engagement?"

"Thank you. But now I must ask you to excuse me. I do have an appointment."

"I'll only take a few minutes of your time." He bent over and picked up a small carrying case that had been lying on the floor behind the chair.

"But; really, Mr. Pierce- "

"I'll only be a few minutes." There was a peculiar sureness in his voice. It was as if he knew she would not dare to refuse him. He pressed a button and the top of the carrying case popped open. "Do you know what this is, Miss Denton?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She was beginning to get angry. If this was his idea of a joke, she wasn't going to like it. "It's an eight-millimeter projector," he said in a conversational tone, as he snapped on a lens. "The kind ordinarily used for the showing of home movies."

"Very interesting. But I hardly see what it has to do with me."

"You will," he promised, looking up. His eyes were cold. He turned, looking for an electrical outlet. He found one against the wall behind the chair and swiftly plugged the cord from the projector into it.

"I think that white wall across from you will do very well for a screen, don't you?" He turned the projector toward it and flicked a switch. "I took the liberty of putting on the reel of film before I came here."

The whir of film sounded and Jennie turned to watch the picture being thrown against the wall. The scene showed two naked girls on a couch, their arms around each other, their faces hidden. A warning bell echoed in her mind. There was something curiously familiar about the scene.

"I got this film from a friend of mine in New Orleans." Pierce's voice came casually from behind her as a man walked into the scene. He, too, was nude and one of the girls turned toward him, facing directly into the camera.

Unconsciously Jennie let out a gasp. The girl was herself. Then she remembered. It had been that time in New Orleans. She turned to stare at Dan Pierce, her face white.

"You were photogenic even then. You should have made sure there was no camera."

"There wasn't any," she gasped. "Aida would never have permitted it." She stared at him silently, her mouth and throat suddenly dry.

He pressed a switch and as the film stopped, the light faded. "I can see you're not very interested in home movies."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"You." He began to close up the machine. "But not in the usual sense," he added quickly. "I want you to play Aphrodite."

"And if I don't choose to?"

"You're lovely, you're a star, you're engaged," he said casually. "You might not be any of the three if this film should happen to fall into the wrong hands. Together with a summary of your professional activities." His cold eyes flashed at her. "No man, even one as crazy as Jonas Cord, wants to marry the town whore."

"I'm under contract to Norman. My contract doesn't allow me to make any outside pictures."

"I know," Dan said calmly. "But I'm sure Cord would authorize the purchase of this script if you asked him. Bonner will make the picture."

"What if he won't? Jonas has pretty definite ideas about pictures."

A faint smile came to his lips. "Then, make him change them."

She drew in her breath slowly. "And if I do?"

"Why, then you get the film, of course."

"The negative, too?"

He nodded.

"How do I know that there are no dupes?"

His eyebrows went up approvingly. "I see you've learned," he said. "I paid five thousand dollars for that little can of film. And I wouldn't have done that if I hadn't been sure there were no other copies. Besides, why kill the goose? We may want to do business together again sometime."

He packed up the projector. "I’ll leave the script with you."

She didn't answer.

He turned, his hand on the door, and looked back. "I told you I'd only be a few minutes," he said.