He slid the chair under me as I sat down at the table. “It’s a pity to give the place up, isn’t it, Mr. Clive?” he said, spreading a snowy napkin across my knees. “I thought you liked it out there.”
“So I do, but I have to cut down on something and Three Point is costing me plenty.”
“I see, sir.” His eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “I wasn’t aware that we were financially embarrassed. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Maybe it isn’t as bad as that,” I said, not wishing him to be scared. “Let’s face it, Russell. “Rain Check” is now only paying $200 a week. Last week, it didn’t pay at all. There’ll be nothing from the books until the end of September and when I do get payment it won’t be all that good. So I have to cut down for a while.”
Russell looked vaguely alarmed. “Won’t you be writing something else before long, sir?”
“I’m working on something now,” I said, taking the cup of coffee he handed to me. “Once that’s finished, we’ll be on top of the world . . . or we should be.”
He didn’t look impressed. “I’m glad to hear that, sir,” he said. “Would it be another play?”
“It’s this picture I was telling you about for Mr. Gold.”
“Oh, I see, sir.” His fat face became gloomy.
I still had Merle on my mind, so I called her office. Her secretary said she had gone away for the week-end. I asked for an appointment for Monday, but she said Merle was tied up all the week. I said I would call her later.
At six o’clock, just as I was leaving to pick up Eve, Carol rang.
“Oh, Clive, I was scared I was going to miss you,” she said, her voice was tense with excitement.
“Two more minutes and you would have missed me,” I said, wondering what was coming.
“You really must come over, Clive.”
With my eye on the clock, I said it was impossible.
“But I’ve been talking to Jerry Highams about “Rain Check”,” she went on, her words stumbling over themselves. “He says Bernstien’s looking for a story. They’re both coming over to see me tonight and if you were there you might interest Bernstien in your plot. Jerry thinks it’s right for him. I told him you’d be here.”
I wondered if Carol had guessed what I was intending to do and had thought of this to prevent my seeing Eve. If Bernstien was really interested in
Rain Check,
it would be ridiculous to let such an opportunity slip. Bernstien was second only to Jerry Highams and he had a big reputation for slick, sophisticated pictures.
“Look, Carol,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “I’m really tied up tonight. Can’t Bernstien see me on Monday?”
She said he had to make a decision over the week-end as Gold was getting impatient. He had two other stories he was considering, but if we all worked on him we might easily get him to do
Rain Check
“It’s just his type of picture,” Carol urged. “He’ll listen to Jerry and if you’re there and can give him an outline, I’m sure he’ll go for it. Now do be sensible, Clive, this is so important.”
But so was Eve. If I put her off at the last moments I might never get the chance of taking her out again.
“I can’t do it,” I said, not bothering to keep the impatience out of my voice. “Don’t I keep telling you? I have to go out of town.”
There was a long pause and I heard Carol catch her breath in a little gasp. That told me she was losing her temper too. “What’s so important, Clive?” she asked sharply. “Don’t you want to get into pictures?”
“I am in them, sweetheart, remember?” I said. “Aren’t I working for Gold?”
Was I working for Gold? Only God and Gold knew that.
“Oh, do be sensible, Clive.” There was an edge to her voice now. “What will they think if you don’t show up?”
“That’s not my headache,” I snapped back. “I didn’t make the arrangement. You knew I was tied up, didn’t you?”
“I knew all right, but I thought your work came first. All right, Clive, have a good time,” and she hung up on me.
That made two women who were sour with me. I slammed down the receiver and then shot three inches of bourbon into a glass and swallowed it at a gulp. Then I snatched up my hat and went down to my car.
By the time I turned into Laurel Canyon Drive, the bourbon was hitting me and I felt fine. I pulled up outside Eve’s house and I flicked the horn. Then I lit a cigarette and waited. I waited exactly one minute and fifteen seconds which brought the hands of the dashboard clock to six-thirty. Then Eve came out of the house.
When I saw her, I was out of the car and opening the white gate for her in a split second.
She was wearing a dark blue coat and skirt, a white silk shirt, no hat and under her arm, she carried a large handbag with her initials in platinum on the flap. That does not sound anything unusual, but if you could have seen the cut of that costume you would have stared as I was staring. Its severity and the way it was moulded to her trim figure made it the smartest outfit I had seen on a woman for a long time.
Then I noticed her legs. In Hollywood, legs are just commonplace. Ugly looking legs are as rare as natural platinum blondes. But Eve’s legs meant something. They were not only pretty and neat and beautifully hosed, but they had a distinct personality of their own.
I realized with a shock of startled pleasure that I had a smart, sophisticated, well-groomed woman on my hands. Nor did she look plain. She was carefully made-up . . . not too much . . . and her eyes were bright.
“Hello there,” I said, taking her hand. “Are you always so punctual?”
She pulled her hand away as she asked, “Do I look all right?”
I opened the car door, but she made no move to get in. She stood frowning at me, her even teeth nervously chewing her underlip.
“You look terrific,” I said, smiling at her. “Smart as paint. That costume’s a knock out’
“Don’t lie,” she said sharply, although her frown went away. “You know you’re just saying that.”
“No kidding. What are you waiting for . . . get in. If I’d’ve known you were going to look as good as this, I’d’ve been here yesterday.”
She got into the car. Her skirt was so tight that it rode up as she settled down on the springy cushions. I took my time closing the door.
“Did anyone tell you that you’ve a swell pair of eyes?” I said, grinning down at her.
She hurriedly adjusted her skirt. “Now behave, Clive,” she said, with a little giggle.
“That’ll be hard work with you looking like you do,” I said and slid under the steering wheel.
“You’re sure I look all right?” She opened her bag and peered into a small enamel-backed mirror.
“Positive,” I said, offering her a cigarette. “You could go anywhere with anyone.”
She looked at me with malicious humour. “I bet you thought I was going to look like a tart, didn’t you?” she asked. I could see she was pleased that she had surprised me.
I laughed. “I’ll admit it,” and I gave her a light.
“Do you know what?” She forced smoke down her nostrils. “I’m as nervous as a cat.”
I was nervous too. Perhaps not nervous, but shy. This was a new experience for me and I was getting a big bang out of it.
“I don’t believe it. Why should you be nervous with me?”
“Well, I am. Where are we going?”
“First the Manhattan Grill and then to see
My Sister Eileen.
All right?”
“Hmmm.” She flicked ash from the cigarette. “I hope you’ve a table against the wall.”
“Why?” I asked puzzled. “Why do you want a table against the wall?”
“I like to sec people coming in,” she said, not looking at me. “I have to be careful. Clive. My husband has friends all over.”
Now I was discovering things. “So that’s why we can’t go to the Brown Derby and the rest of the high spots,” I said. “Would your husband object to me?”
She nodded. “It’ll be all right once I’ve told him about you, but I don’t want anyone to tell him first.”
“You mean he wouldn’t mind you going out with me if he knew about me?”
Again she nodded.
“Why wouldn’t he? I’d mind like hell if I were your husband.”
Her lips tightened. “He trusts me.”
That’s more than I would do, I thought. If I were your husband I would not trust you further than I could throw you. “I see,” I said. “Well, how are you going to put me right with your husband? You don’t even know who I am.”
She looked at me out of the corners of her eyes. “I was rather expecting that you’d tell me that.”
I did some quick thinking. “Do all your other men friends tell you who they are?” I hedged.
“I don’t go out with other men,” she said. “You see, I do have to be careful.”
“In your game with an unsuspecting husband, I suppose you do,” I returned. “But where is he? What does he do, for God’s sake?”
She hesitated for a moment “He’s an engineer. I only see him once in months. He’s in Brazil now.”
I didn’t know whether I liked all this. “Suppose he takes it into his head to fly back tonight?” I asked jokingly, although at the back of my mind I thought it would be an awkward situation for me if he did.
She shook her head emphatically. “He won’t. You don’t have to worry. He always tells me when he’s coming back.”
I still was not too happy. “Maybe he might surprise you some day. Isn’t it risky?”
“Why? You don’t think that place is my home, do you? It’s just my business address. I was thinking about taking you back to my real home tonight, but then I thought it would be better not.”
“So you’ve two homes? Where’s the other one?”
“Los Angeles.” By the way she said it I knew I wasn’t getting any more out of her.
“So he doesn’t know anything about Laurel Canyon Drive?”
“Of course, he doesn’t.”
“And you have to be careful?”
She hunched her shoulders. “He’d kill me if he found out,” and she giggled suddenly.
I started the engine and engaged the gear. “You’ve an odd sense of humour.”
She shrugged. “I suppose he’ll find out. I always say my sins will find me out. They will too. Then I’ll have to run to you for protection.”
“Before I commit myself, I want to know just how big your husband is,” I returned, knowing she was fooling.
“He’s very big,” she returned, sliding down in her seat so that her head rested against the cushioned back. “And tough and strong.”
“Now you’re getting me scared,” I said grinning. “You’ll be telling me he beats you next.”
She smiled in a secret sort of a way. “He does sometimes.”
I shot her a quick, startled glance. “You’re the last woman I would have thought to stand for that.”
“I’d stand anything for him except another woman.”
I could tell by her voice that she meant it and I experienced an irritable pang of envy. I had not reckoned with a husband for a rival.
“How long have you been married?”
“Oh a long time.” She turned her head so she could look at me. “And don’t keep asking questions.”
“I won’t,” I said and to change the subject, “do you know what would be swell?”
“What?”
“A large Scotch and soda. Don’t you think that’d be swell or don’t you drink?”
“I don’t mind, but I don’t drink much.”
“How much?
She giggled. “I can’t take it. Three Scotches and I’m tight.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m just telling you.” She flicked the cigarette butt out of the window.
“All right, then let’s get tight,” I said and turned the car into Vine Street and pulled up outside the little bar in sight of the
Brown Derby.
She peered out of the window doubtfully. “Is this all right?” she asked. “I haven’t been here before.”
“It’s all right,” I said, getting out of the car and walking round to open the door for her. “I always come here when I want to do a Garbo.” As she got out, I again admired her legs. “You should relax. After all, we haven’t done anything wrong . . . yet.”
She followed me into the bar which was half empty.
The Negro bartender smiled at me.
“You sit over there and I’ll get you a drink,” I said. “Scotch?”
She nodded and moved across to a table in the far comer. I saw several men watching her with intent expressions. They watched her all the way to the table and one even turned in his chair to watch her sit down.
“Two double whiskies,” I said to the bartender.
He shot them across the counter.
“And dry ginger.”
As he went to the refrigerator, I leaned forward so that my back was to Eve and I emptied one of the whiskies into the other glass. If three whiskies made her tight, I thought, let’s see what four can do.
The Negro gave me the dry ginger and I divided it between the two glasses.
“There you are,” I said, joining Eve at the table. “To a lovely week-end.” I drank some of the dry ginger. It tasted like hell without any whisky.
She looked at her glass. “What’s this?”
“A whisky with a lot of dry ginger,” I said. “What do you think it is?”
“There seems an awful lot of whisky.”
“They leave the dry ginger out in the sun here. It gives it a suntan.”
She drank half of the liquor, pulled a face and put the glass on the table. “There’s more than one whisky in that.”
“Can I help it if the barman gets the shakes? Come on, one more and we’ll go.”
“You’re trying to get me tight,” she said sharply.
I laughed at her. “Nuts,” I said. “Why should I want to do that?”
She shrugged, finished the whisky and didn’t protest as I went to the bar again. I went through the same process. For a time, anyway, I wanted to keep sober.
I kept my eye on her when we got into the street. As far as I could see, the whisky hadn’t touched her. “Three whiskies and I’m tight,” she had said. Perhaps I should have kept it to three. She was now carrying eight whiskies and she looked as sober as a coffin.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, when we had reached the Manhattan Grill.
“All right.” She slid out of the car. “Why?”
“I just like to keep in touch with you,” I returned, following her into the grill room.
There was a big crowd in the cocktail bar and Eve hung back. Her eyes scanned faces and the two lines above the bridge of her nose were now deep furrows.