Her hair was loose and hung over her shoulders in thick, luxuriant waves. He wanted to reach out and touch it, it looked so alive and warm, but he didn’t. He just puffed silently at his cigar.
“When my father used to have troubles,” she said, “he always came into the kitchen and smoked a cigar and drank a cup of coffee. ‘It clears the head,’ he used to say, ‘it helps a man to think.’ It’s funny you should do the same thing.”
He looked down at his cigar. “I’m not as wise a man as your father was. I make too many mistakes.”
She reached across the table and put her hand on his. “My father used to tell me a story that went something like this. There was once a very wise old man known in his village as Yacov the Wise. And people used to come from all the countryside to sit at his feet and thus gain in wisdom from the pearls the Wise One would drop from his lips. One day there came a young, impetuous man who wanted to learn all he could from the master in one sitting. He did not have time to sit, as the others did, for weeks at the feet of the Wise One. He had to learn everything at once so he could be about his business. ‘O Wise One,’ he said, ‘I am overcome with the wonders of your knowledge and would like to know how I could gain the wisdom so necessary in order to avoid the foolish mistakes of youth.’ The Wise One turned and looked at the brash young man. He looked at him for a long, long time. At last he spoke. ‘Impetuous young seeker after knowledge,’ he said gently, ‘you can learn to avoid the mistakes of youth by living to a ripe old age.’ The young man thought this over and at last he got to his feet and thanked the Wise One for answering his question. For it was the truth the Wise One had spoken. A mistake is not recognized until it has been made and passed. For a mistake recognized before it was made would not be made and therefore would not be a mistake.”
Peter turned his hand over and held her hand in his. He looked at her seriously and spoke softly in Yiddish. “Thy name was not given thee for nought. Thy wisdom is that of the good Queen whose name thou bearest.”
The coffee bubbled over on the stove. Startled, she jumped to her feet and turned off the flame. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Of what good is the wisdom of Queen Esther in a wife if she can’t make her husband a good cup of coffee?”
They laughed and suddenly began to feel better.
Peter stood up and put out his cigar. He was smiling warmly at her. “Come,” he said, “let’s go to bed. The worries can keep for the morrow.”
“No coffee?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No coffee. That can wait for the morrow too.”
They were sleeping when the telephone began to ring. Esther sat up in bed, frightened. To her, the telephone ringing in the night meant tragedy. She sat there in the dark, her heart pounding; her hand reached out for Peter.
He picked up the phone. “Hello,” he said, “hello.”
Johnny’s voice came excitedly through the receiver. “Peter, are you up?”
Peter answered in a testy voice: “To whom would you be talking if I was asleep?”
“It’s fixed, Peter,” Johnny was shouting. “We can make the picture!”
“You’re drunk,” Peter said flatly. “Go home and go to sleep.”
“I was drunk,” Johnny answered, “but honest, Peter, I’m sober as a judge now. It’s all set. We can make the picture!”
Peter was wide awake. “You mean it?” His voice was incredulous, he couldn’t believe his ears.
“Would I call you up at four o’clock in the morning if it weren’t the truth?” Johnny asked. “Now go back to sleep and be at the studio at eight o’clock and I’ll give you all the dope.” Johnny hung up the phone.
Peter clicked the empty receiver in his hand. “Johnny!” he said. “Johnny!”
There was no answer, the phone was dead.
Peter hung up and turned to Esther, his eyes shining with tears. “Did you hear him? Did you hear that crazy kid?”
She was excited. “I heard him,” she said.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” he cried, putting his arms around her and kissing her.
“Now, Peter,” she laughed happily, “remember. You want the neighbors should think we’re newlyweds?”
11
Johnny was seated at his desk talking excitedly to a short dark man as Peter entered the studio at a quarter to eight. Peter had never seen the man before. Johnny had some sheets of paper in front of him and was just showing them to the stranger when he saw Peter.
He jumped to his feet and came halfway across the office to meet Peter. The little man in the loud plaid suit followed him. Johnny looked at Peter and grinned. “This is Al Santos,” he said.
The two men looked at each other over clasped hands. Peter saw a small man, swarthy from the sun, a thin black stogie held firmly between strong white teeth.
“Al’s going to let us make the picture out at his place,” Johnny explained.
Peter smiled. “I’m sure glad to know you, Mr. Santos.”
Al took the stogie from his mouth and waved it at Peter.
“Al’s the name. Nobody calls me mister.”
Peter’s smile grew broader. This was the kind of man he felt most at home with. Plain, regular, unpretentious. “Right, Al,” he said, taking a cigar from his pocket. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your letting us make the picture at your studio.”
Johnny interrupted. “Who said he’s got a studio?”
Peter almost dropped the lighted match he was holding to his cigar. “He hasn’t got a studio?”
“No,” Johnny answered.
Peter was bewildered. “So where then are we going to make the picture?”
“On his property,” Johnny answered. “He has the space. Just last winter Griffith shot a picture out his way and he says it’s perfect for moving pictures.”
Peter looked at Johnny in dismay. “That picture that Griffith made last year was made in California. We haven’t the money to get out there.”
Johnny grinned. “We have now. Al’s lending us the dough.”
Peter turned to Al; his face was serious. “I appreciate your kindness, Al,” he said slowly, “but you must know that we haven’t any security to offer.”
For a moment Al studied the man in front of him. Having heard from Joe and then from Johnny just how serious the situation was for Peter, he could understand what effort was required for Peter to tell him what he did. Johnny was right. This Kessler was a square shooter. He smiled slowly. “I’ve got all the security I need, Peter. Many years I have known Johnny. Since he was a littla boy. Twice now he’sa leave me to work for you. For Johnny to do this, I figure that the man he’s work for is alla right. Now from the way you talk I know.”
“You’re the man that owned the carnival?” Peter began to understand.
“I used to own the carnival,” Al answered. “Now, I’ma retired.” He turned to Johnny. “Look, Johnny, you get things settled with Peter here. I’m gonna back to the hotel and get some sleep. I’m not young like you fellas any more.” He had been up all night talking to Johnny and now he was tired; weariness began to show in his face.
“All right, Al,” Johnny replied. “We’ll get things squared away and call you.”
Al shook hands with Peter. “I’ma glad to meet you, Peter. Now don’t you worry about a thing. Everythinga will be alla right.”
Peter looked at him gratefully. “Thanks to you it will be,” he said. “I don’t know what we would have done—”
Al didn’t let him finish. “Don’t thanka me, Peter. I spend a longa time in show business. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to retire, but my brother, Luigi, he insist. ‘Al,’ he say, ‘you gotta enough money. Now stoppa work and come out here and enjoy your life. We make a good wine just like in Italy, we gotta oranges and people like at home. Come outta here and live.’ I think it over. He’s a right. I’ma getting old. No use to work like horse no more, so I decide to do what Luigi say. But alla time I think a man shoulda have something to do. Something he’sa interest in, to keep busy. This a good thing. I know show business. With the carnival I go all over the country and see the people going to the movies. Every day it’sa getting bigger. When Johnny talks to me, I say to myself; ‘It’s a good thing.’ So I make up my mind.”
Peter smiled at him. He understood all the man had said; he saw the way Al had looked at Johnny as he spoke. His words did not tell Peter half as much as that glance had; they were just the framework upon which Santos hung the real reason for doing what he did.
Al smiled back at him, he could see that Peter understood, and without saying a word to each other each man was drawn closer to the other because of a common bond they had for Johnny. Al turned and left the office.
The three of them looked at each other after he had gone. Joe went over to Peter and grabbed him by the arm. “What a break!” he exclaimed.
“California,” Peter said dazedly. The import was just beginning to dawn on him. “Why, that’s three thousand miles away.”
“Three thousand or twenty thousand,” Johnny laughed, “what’s the difference? We can’t make it here.”
“But Esther and the kids,” Peter said, “I can’t leave them here.”
“Who said we’re leaving them here?” Johnny answered. “We’ll take them with us.”
“That’s good,” Peter said, beginning to smile. Suddenly his expression turned to dismay, his face grew long and worried.
“Now what’s the matter?” Johnny asked.
“I was just thinking,” Peter replied, “the danger—”
Johnny was bewildered. He looked askance at Joe. “Danger? What danger?”
Peter’s voice grew serious. “The Indians.”
Joe looked at Johnny and they burst into laughter. The tears began to run down Joe’s cheeks, he held his hands to his sides. “The Indians, he says,” he managed to gasp.
Peter looked at them as if they were crazy. “What’s so funny?”
They went off into another gale of laughter.
***
Arrangements were made for the cameras and equipment to be packed immediately. It would take almost a week for everything to be made ready for shipment.
Later that afternoon, after the excitement had subsided, Johnny went over to Sam Sharpe’s office. With him he had taken the check Sharpe had sent them in the morning mail. He was going to return it and insist that Craig fulfill his share of the bargain.
Jane saw him come into the office. “If it ain’t the vice-president himself!” she wisecracked. “How’s the picture business?”
He stood in front of her desk. There was a hurt look in his eyes. He didn’t speak.
She looked up at him. The light from the ceiling lamp shone brightly on him and for the first time she saw how he looked. She hadn’t seen him since that night he had taken her for a ride in the park and she had felt hurt. But now when she saw him, saw how thin he had become, the newly formed lines etched into his face around his eyes and mouth, she was suddenly contrite. Now all the things that Sam had told her suddenly became real.
Impulsively she reached out and took his hand. Her voice was low. “I’m sorry, Johnny, I didn’t want to be mean.”
He held her hand. “It was my fault, Jane. I should have known better.”
“It was mine as much as yours, Johnny. We just want different things. Now that we know, we can forget it.”
He smiled at her. “It’s amazing,” she thought, “how bright and young he looks when he smiles.”
“You’re okay, Jane,” he said.
She smiled back at him. “You too, Johnny.” Her tone became businesslike. “You wanted to see Sam?”
He nodded.
“Go right in,” she told him.
Sam was sitting at his desk when Johnny stuck his head inside the door. “Come in, Johnny,” he cried. “Come in. I was just thinking about you.”
They shook hands and Johnny took out the check. “I’m returning this,” he said, placing the check on Sam’s desk.
“Now, wait a minute, Johnny.” Sam stood up. “You remember what I said yesterday. I don’t take money for not doing the job.”
“You’ll do the job, Sam,” Johnny said. “We’re giving you a date for the picture. Craig will have to live up to his agreement now, whether he likes it or not.”
“You mean you got a place to make it?” Sam asked. “But yesterday I thought you were through.”
Johnny smiled at him. “That was yesterday, Sam. But this is the picture business, where yesterday doesn’t count. Today we’re set.”
“Craig won’t like this.” Sam grinned. “But I’m tickled. Where you going to shoot the picture?”
“This is strictly confidential, Sam”—Johnny lowered his voice—“but we’re going to California to do it.”
“California!” Sam grinned happily. “Now I know Craig won’t like it.”
“We’re leaving next week,” Johnny said. “I’ll see to it that you get his ticket in plenty of time for him to be at the station to go with us.”
Sam picked up the check and tore it up. “He’ll be there,” he promised, “if I have to drag him by the heels.”
***
The only people who were told where they were going were Borden and Pappas. No chance was taken of the news leaking out. The cast and crew of the picture were enjoined to keep their mouths shut about it.
Al Santos left for California promising them that he would try to have everything ready when they arrived. Esther arranged to close the apartment and put the furniture in storage until their return. She took the children out of school so they could be ready to leave.
Doris was excited. She read every book on California that she could lay her hands on and she was the first among them to become a Californian. She became a Californian the day after she was told they were going there.
It was two days before they were due to leave that the phone on Peter’s desk began to ring. Johnny came in from the studio, where he had helped pack the last of the equipment, to answer it, for Peter wasn’t around.
It was Borden. “Is Peter there?” he asked. His voice was shrill and excited.
“No,” Johnny answered. “Why? What do you want him for?”
“I just learned that the combine bought up some of your notes and they’re going into court this morning to get a judgment against you!”
“This morning?” Johnny yelled. If the combine got that judgment they wouldn’t be able to move a bit of equipment. It was all combine-licensed. “But we’re leaving Friday night!”
“Not if they get that judgment,” Borden said. “You better get out tonight if you can.”