The Carpetbaggers

8

I OPENED ONE EYE SLOWLY AND PEERED AT my wrist watch. Two o'clock! I sat up quickly and the pain almost split my skull. I groaned out loud and the door opened.

It was Dan, already dressed in cream-colored slacks and a loud sports shirt. He held a glass of what looked like tomato juice. "Here," he said. "Drink it down, pal. It'll wash the fuzz away."

I lifted the glass to my lips. It tasted awful going down but he was right. A moment later, my head began to clear. I looked around the bedroom. It was a shambles. "Where are the girls?" I asked.

"I paid them off an' sent them home."

"Good." I got to my feet woozily. "I gotta get down to the studio. They were going to start shooting at nine."

Dan smiled. "I called and told them you were tied up but would get down there this afternoon. I figured it was better if you got some sleep. That was a hectic night."

I grinned at him. It sure was.

Dan and I had really tied one on the night before. I'd met him coming off the set and offered to give him a lift downtown. But on the way we'd decided to stop and eat. I was wound up tighter than a dollar watch and he'd offered to help me unwind. Steaks at a spot he knew, which ought to have been closed but wasn't, along with bourbon and later the works. The works came out of his little black book, which all agents seem to carry. I'd unwound all right but now I wondered if they'd ever be able to wind me up again.

His Jap houseboy had shirred eggs and sausages ready when I came out of the shower. I was starved. I ate six eggs and about a dozen of the little bangers. When I put down my fourth cup of coffee Dan smiled and asked, "How are yuh feeling now?"

I grinned back at him. "I never felt better in my life." It was true. For once I felt relaxed and loose. There wasn't the usual tightening in my gut as I thought about the day. "You said something about getting down to business?"

We'd talked the night before, more than I usually did with a stranger. But Dan Pierce was different. He was a type I hadn't encountered before and he fascinated me. He was tough, shrewd and knew what he wanted. I was in over my head and I knew it. I wouldn't be for long, but until I got the hang of it I could use someone like Dan Pierce.

"I sold my agency this morning to MCA."

"What for?"

"Because I'm coming in with you."

"Aren't you jumping the gun a little?" I asked. "I'm only in for this one picture. What’ll you do after that?"

Dan smiled. "That's what you say. It even might be what you really believe, right now. But I know different. You got a feel for this business – a natural feel for it that not many people have. And there's a challenge that you can't resist. You just found another gambling game. You'll stick."

I sipped at the coffee. It was strong and black, just the way I liked it. "And just how do you figure you can help?" I asked.

"Because I know all the angles in this business, all the dirty tricks it would take you a long time to find out about. You're a busy man and time's the most valuable thing you've got. I wouldn't be worth half as much if motion pictures were your only business. But it's not. And it never will be. It's just another game of craps."

I stared at him. "Give me a free sample."

"For one thing," he said quickly, "I wouldn't have started the picture until I'd had a sound test on everyone."

"That's something I already learned. I want a sample of what I don't know."

He reached around behind him for a blue-covered script. "If Rina comes off on the screen like that test indicates, we can make a few changes in this and save ourselves four hundred thousand dollars."

"How?"

"By building up her story and confining more of the picture to the New Orleans episode. It'll save five weeks of exteriors and nobody knows yet how good those microphones work outside."

I reached for a cigarette. "If we did that," I said slowly, "what happens to Nevada? His part would be cut way down."

Dan's eyes met mine steadily. "Nevada's not my problem any more, he's MGA's. I'm workin' for you now an' I figure you already used up all the sentiment you're entitled to on this picture. This is just like any other kind of business. The big thing is to make money."

I dragged on the butt and sipped at the coffee. For the first time since Rina called, I was back to normal. For a while, she'd had me spinning like a top. I didn't know whether I was coming or going. I felt different now. "What kind of deal do you have in mind?"

"No salary. Just a ten-per-cent piece of the action and an expense account."

I laughed. "I thought you said you sold your agency."

"That's the only way I can figure my compensation without adding to your overhead."

"Don't kid me," I said. "You'd be living off the expense account."

"Sure I will. But even with a salary, I would. How do you expect me to do a job for you if I can't spend money? Money is the only thing in this town nobody talks back to."

"I’ll give you a ten-per-cent participation in profits. But no stock interest."

He studied me for a moment. "What about the expense account?"

"That's O.K."

He stuck out his hand. "It's a deal."

It was after three o'clock when we walked onto Stage Nine. The place was jumping, a mumble of buzzing, efficient noise, as they got ready for the next take. Nevada was standing on the edge of the set; Rina wasn't anywhere in sight. I stopped near the sound man. "How's it coming?"

He looked up at me and grinned. "Sounds great," he said, tapping his earphones.

I smiled and walked over to Nevada. He was talking to the director and they both turned as I came up. "How's she doing?"

The new director shrugged. "She was a little nervous at first but she's settling down. She'll be O.K."

"She’ll be great," Nevada said warmly. "I never figured all the times she cued me on the script that it would come in handy for her too."

One of the assistant directors hurried up. "We're ready now, Mr. Carrol."

The director nodded and the assistant turned around and yelled, "Places, everybody!"

The director walked over to the camera as Nevada moved out on the set. I turned and saw Rina entering from the side. I stared, unable to believe my eyes. Her long, white-blond hair was tied up on top of her head and they'd bound her breasts so tight she looked like a boy. Her mouth was painted in a tiny Cupid's bow and her eyebrows were penciled to a thin, unnatural line. She was no longer a woman – she was a caricature of every ad in Vanity Fair.

Dan's face was impassive. He stared at me, his eyes unrevealing. "They did a good job," he said. "She's right in the image."

"She don't look like a woman."

"That's what they go for."

"I don't give a damn what they go for! I don't like it. Broads that look like that are a dime a dozen in this town."

A faint smile came into Dan's eyes. "You don't like it, change it," he said. "You're the boss. It's your picture."

I stared at him for a moment. I felt like walking out onto the set and blowing a fuse. But instinct held me back. I knew one more display like yesterday's would demoralize the whole crew. "Tell Carrol I want to see him," I said to Dan.

He nodded approvingly. "Smart," he said. "That's the right way to do it. You may need me even less than I thought!" He walked over to the director.

A moment later, the director called a ten-minute break. He came over to me and I could see he was nervous. "What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Cord?"

"Who O.K.'d that make-up and costume?"

The director looked at me, then over his shoulder at Rina. "I'm sure it was approved by wardrobe and make-up," he said. "Nevada told them to give her the full treatment."

"Nevada?"

He nodded. I looked at Dan. "I want everybody concerned in my office in ten minutes," I said.

"Right, Jonas."

I turned and walked out of the building.