The Carpetbaggers

5

I LOOKED DOWN AT THE BLUE-COVERED SCRIPT in my hand, then back up at Rina. Time hadn't taken anything away from her. She was still slim and strong and her breasts jutted like rocks at the canyon edge and I knew they would be just as hard to the touch. The only things that had changed were her eyes. There was a sureness in them that hadn't been there before.

"I’m not much for reading," I said.

"I thought that was what you'd say," she said. "So I arranged with the studio to screen the picture for you. They're waiting down there right now."

"How long you been out here?"

"About a year and a half. Ever since I came back from Europe."

"Staying at Nevada's all this time?"

She nodded.

"You sleeping with him?"

She didn't evade. "Yes. He's very good for me."

"Are you good for him?" I asked.

Her eyes were still on mine. "I hope so," she said quietly. "But that doesn't really matter. You don't give a damn whether I am or I'm not."

"I was just curious," I said, getting to my feet and dropping the script on the chair. "I was just wondering what it takes to keep you."

"It's not what you think," she said quickly.

"What is it, then?" I shot back. "Money?"

"No." She shook her head. "A man. A real man. I never could make it with boys."

That touched home. "Maybe I’ll make it in time," I said.

"You just got married five days ago."

I stared at her for a moment. I could feel all the old familiar excitement climbing up in me. "Let's go," I said tersely. "I haven't got all night."

I sat in the darkened projection room with Rina on one side of me and Von Elster, the director, on the other.

Rina hadn't lied. The picture was great, but for only one reason. Nevada. He held the picture together with an innate core of strength that somehow illuminated the screen.

It was the strength I had always felt in him but up there it was larger, more purposeful, and no one could escape it. He started out on that screen as a sixteen-year-old boy and rode off into the hills in the end as a twenty-five-year-old man. Not once during the whole picture was I ever aware of his real age.

I leaned back in my chair with a sigh as the lights came up. I reached for a cigarette, still feeling the excitement of the screen. I lit the cigarette and dragged on it. The surging reached down into my loins. There was still something missing, I felt vaguely. Then I felt the heat in my thighs and I knew what it was.

I looked at Von Elster. "Outside of that small bit about the madam in New Orleans and the convict's daughter in the cow town, there aren't any women in the picture."

Von Elster smiled. "There are some things you don't do in a Western. Women is one of them."

"Why?"

"Because the industry feels that the image of the clean, strong man must be preserved. The hero can be guilty of any crime but fornication."

I laughed and got to my feet. "Forgive the question," I said. "But why can't you just add voices the way you did the music? Why make the whole thing over?"

"I wish we could," Von Elster said. "But the projection speed of silent film is different from sound film. Talking film is projected at the speed of speech, while silent film moves much faster, depending on dialogue cards and broader action to carry the story."

I nodded. Mechanically, what he said made sense. Like everything else in this world, there was a technology to this business and it was beginning to interest me. Without mechanics, the whole thing would be impossible.

"Come back to the hotel with me. I'd like to talk some more about this."

I saw a sudden look of caution come into Rina's eyes. She glanced at Von Elster, then turned to me. "It's almost four o'clock," she said quickly. "And I think we've gone about as far as we can without Nevada."

"O.K.," I said easily. "You bring him up to the hotel in the morning. Eight o'clock, all right?"

"Eight o'clock will be fine."

"I can drop you off at your hotel, Mr. Cord," Von Elster said eagerly.

I glanced at Rina. She shook her head imperceptibly. "Thanks," I said. "Rina can drop me on her way home."

Rina didn't speak until the car pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. "Von Elster is on the make," she said. "He's worried. He's never made a talking picture before and he wants to do this one. It's a big picture and if it comes off, he'll be in solid again."

"You mean he's shaky?" I asked.

"Everybody in Hollywood is. From Garbo and Gilbert on down. No one is sure just what talking pictures are going to do to their career. I hear John Gilbert's voice is so bad that MGM won't even pencil him in for another picture."

"What about Nevada's voice?"

"It's good," she said. "Very good. We made a sound test the other day."

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about."

"Are you going to do it?" she asked.

"What's in it for me if I do?" I countered.

"You could make a lot of money," she said.

"I don't need it," I said. "I’ll make a lot of money, anyway."

Her eyes turned to me, her voice was cold. "You haven't changed, have you?"

I shook my head. "No. Why should I? Does anybody? Did you?" I reached for her hand. It was cold as ice. "Just how much are you willing to give to bail Nevada out?"

Her eyes were steady on mine. "I'd give everything I've got if it would help."

I felt a kind of sadness creeping into me. I wondered how many people would say that for me. Right then, I couldn't think of one. I let go of her hand and got out of the car.

She leaned toward me. "Well, Jonas, have you made up your mind?"

"Not yet," I said slowly. "There's a lot more I have to know about."

"Oh." She leaned back disappointedly.

"But don't you worry," I said. "If I do it, you'll be the first one I come to for payment."

She signaled the chauffeur. He put the car into gear. "Knowing you," she said quietly, "I never expected anything else."

The limousine rolled away and I turned and walked into the hotel. I went up to my room and opened up the script. It took about an hour and a half to go through it. It was almost six o'clock before I closed my eyes.