He puffed at the cigarette and began to cough. With a grimace he threw it away. He hadn’t entirely shaken the cold, he thought, but a few days in the warm California sunshine would straighten him out.
7
He looked out the window as the train pulled into the Los Angeles station. The rain was spattering against the train with a wind-swept violence. He shivered as a chill ran through him. He put his hand to his cheek. It felt warm to his touch and he wondered whether he had a fever.
His cold had come back with increased intensity on the train. He throat was dry and sore and he had pains in his chest; his body throbbed with a dull ache. He opened a small box of aspirin and put two tablets in his mouth and chewed on them dully. Their clayish lemon bitterness eased the soreness in his throat a little. He looked up.
The porter stood next to his seat. “Ready to go, now, Mistuh Edge?”
Johnny nodded. He got up and buttoned his coat and followed the porter, who had taken his bag down the swaying aisle. The train lurched to a stop as they reached the platform.
A redcap came up as they walked down the steps. The porter gave him Johnny’s bag and turned to Johnny. “Hope you have a pleasant trip, Mistuh Edge.” He smiled.
“Fine, George,” Johnny answered, giving him a bill.
“Thank you, Mistuh Edge,” the porter said as Johnny started off.
“Cab, mistuh?” the redcap asked.
“Yeanh,” Johnny answered. He looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past ten o’clock. He would go directly to Peter’s house and then go home.
The rain beat down on him as he stood in front of Peter’s house and pressed the doorbell. He coughed and pressed the bell again. It was near midnight and the house was dark. He could see a light flash on in the windows near the door. He stood there waiting for the door to open.
The door opened a trifle and the butler’s head peered through the small opening.
“Let me in, Max,” Johnny said, “I’m drowning out here.”
The door opened wide and the butler came forward and took his bag from him. “Mr. Edge!” he exclaimed in a surprised voice. “We weren’t expecting you, were we?”
Johnny grinned as he stepped into the lighted room and took off his coat. “No,” he answered, “I wasn’t expected. Is Mr. Kessler home?”
“He’s already retired, sir,” the butler replied.
“Wake him up,” Johnny ordered. “I have to talk to him. I’ll be in the library.” He left the butler in the hall and walked into the library and turned on the light.
There was a dull glow of embers in the fireplace. He stirred them and put some small blocks of wood on them. The wood caught fire and began to burn. He turned around. There was a decanter on the cocktail table. He poured himself a drink.
Peter’s face was frightened as he came into the library and saw Johnny standing in front of the fire with a drink in his hand. Esther was right behind him.
He ran up to Johnny. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a surprised tone. “I didn’t believe Max when he told me you were down here.”
Johnny swallowed the rest of his drink. He could feel its warmth travel along his throat. He coughed. “I came out to see if I could knock some sense into your thick Dutch head,” he said pleasantly.
Peter sank into a chair. “Is that all?” he said with a tone of relief. “I thought something terrible happened.”
“Something terrible will happen if you don’t listen to reason,” Johnny replied.
Peter looked up at him. “Business?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Peter got out of his chair. “It can wait till morning,” he said. “First we’ll get you something hot to eat while you change your clothes. They’re soaking wet.”
“It won’t keep,” Johnny said tersely. He began to cough. The cough racked through him and he put his hand on his forehead. To make matters worse, now he had a throbbing headache.
Peter looked at Esther. “Mamma,” he said, “go get him something hot to drink.”
She turned silently and left the room.
Johnny finished his coughing and held up a protesting hand. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “I’m going home as soon as we’re through here.”
Peter looked at him strangely. “Dulcie is expecting you?” he asked.
Johnny shook his head. “No, but I thought it would be fun to surprise her.”
Peter looked out of the window. “On a night like this you shouldn’t go out any more. Stay here tonight, you can surprise her in the morning.”
“No,” Johnny answered, “the worst of the storm is over.”
Esther came back into the room with a pot of coffee. She put it on the cocktail table and poured a cupful and handed it to Johnny. “Here, drink it,” she said, “you’ll feel better.”
He took the hot drink from her gratefully and held it to his lips. “Thanks,” he said to her.
She smiled at him. “You don’t look so good,” she said worriedly.
“I got a bit of a cold,” Johnny answered, “but it’s nothing.”
They sat down opposite him. Esther pulled her wrapper around her. It was damp and chilly in here, even with the fire going. She was glad she had made Peter put his bathrobe on. When he had heard Johnny was downstairs he had wanted to run down in his pajamas.
Peter looked at him. “Nu,” he asked, “so what was the big emergency that made you come out from New York and get here in the middle of the night?”
Johnny was quiet for a moment; then he put his coffee cup down and faced him. “We’ve got to make talking pictures,” he said flatly.
Peter jumped to his feet. “I thought we got that all settled,” he said angrily. “I said once before it won’t last and that’s all there is to it.”
Johnny looked up at him. “We lost a thousand contracts last month through cancellations. They’re coming into the office at the rate of more than a hundred a day right now. All for the same reason. No talking pictures. Ragin says he might as well quit and look for another job if he doesn’t get any to sell, because in three months there won’t be any job left for him. We’ll be out of business.”
“It will pass, it will pass,” Peter said excitedly, waving his hands in the air. “What does he want to do? Throw out all the pictures we got made? We got all our money tied up in them.”
“We’ll never get our money back if the exhibitors won’t play them,” Johnny retorted.
Peter looked down at him. For the first time doubt began to appear on his face. “You really think they won’t play them?” he asked in a hesitating voice.
Johnny returned his gaze levelly. “I know they won’t,” he answered with conviction.
Slowly Peter collapsed into the chair. His face had suddenly gone gray and strained. “Then I’m ruined!” he whispered in a cracked voice as the implications of Johnny’s statement sank into his mind. His hand reached out for Esther. It was as cold as ice.
“Not if we can get some talking pictures into work right away,” Johnny said.
Peter held up his hands helplessly. “How can we?” he cried. “All our money is in this program.”
“You can always go to Wall Street like Borden did,” Johnny prodded. He hated to say it, but he had to make sure that Peter would agree to his plan.
Peter shook his head. “It’s too late,” he replied. “We owe Santos six million dollars, and our agreement says we can’t borrow any more money anywhere until the loan is down to three million.”
Johnny reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. He looked at it a moment, then melodramatically handed it to Peter. “Maybe this will solve our problems.”
Peter looked questioningly at him as he opened the envelope. The check fell out of it and fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and looked at it, then back at Johnny. “What does Borden want to give me six million dollars for?” His face was dull and disbelieving.
“For the Magnum theaters,” Johnny answered slowly, watching Peter’s face.
Peter looked down at the check in his hand and then back at Johnny. For a moment he was silent. “But they’re worth close to eight million,” he protested weakly.
Johnny looked at the check in Peter’s hand. He almost smiled at the tight grip with which Peter held it. If he wanted to refuse the offer, he would have thrown it back at him. “I know,” he said softly, “but we’re in no position to bargain. Beggars can’t be choosers. We either take that check and give up the theaters or lose the whole thing.”
Peter’s eyes seemed to fill with tears. He looked at Esther helplessly.
Johnny caught the look and something inside him seemed to tighten up in sympathy. He got out of his chair, walked over to Peter, and put a hand on his shoulder consolingly. “Who knows, Peter?” he murmured. “It might all be for the best. When we get on our feet, maybe we can get them back. We may be smarter than we think. George Pappas thinks the theater market is due to break any day now. We might even be lucky to get out in time.”
Peter’s hand reached up and patted Johnny’s. “Yes,” he said, “we might be.” He stood up slowly. “I guess there’s nothing else we can do,” he said questioningly.
“That’s right,” Johnny answered, looking into his eyes. “There’s nothing else we can do.”
Peter looked down at the floor. “I should have known better,” he said quietly. “I guess I’m getting to be an old man.” He looked up at Johnny. “I ought to retire and leave the business to young fellers like you.”
“Baloney!” Johnny exploded brusquely. “There’s nothing the matter with you. Everybody is entitled to make a mistake once in a while. And you made less than anybody else in this business that I know about!”
Peter smiled. He began to feel better. “Do you really think so, Johnny?” he asked, his eyes shining.
“Of course I do,” Johnny answered promptly. “If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t say it.”
Esther looked at Johnny and smiled gratefully. He was such a good boy, she thought, he knew what it meant to be kind.
Johnny insisted upon going home and Peter ordered the car out. He watched Johnny climb into it and waved to him as the chauffeur put it into gear and started down the driveway. He saw Johnny begin to cough as the car moved away.
He closed the front door and walked back to the library thoughtfully. He had been a fool not to see that talking pictures were a logical development of the business. He would have lost everything if Johnny hadn’t decided to come out here and surprise him. There weren’t many people like Johnny in this business who would look out for someone else the way he did.
He stopped suddenly as a thought came to him. Johnny had said Dulcie didn’t expect him either. A cold fear began to sweep through him. He knew Dulcie, but he didn’t know what Johnny would find when he got home. He went to the telephone and gave the operator Dulcie’s number. He didn’t want Johnny to be hurt. He didn’t care what happened to her, but he didn’t want Johnny hurt.
He stood there for almost five minutes listening to the phone ring without an answer. At last he hung up and went upstairs to bed heavily. He had a strange premonition of dread. Something was going to happen. He knew it.
He stopped at the telephone in the upstairs hall again and tried the number. Again no answer. Slowly he put the phone down. Maybe he was being foolish to worry about it. She was probably sleeping and didn’t even hear the phone.
He walked into the bedroom. Esther looked at him. “Who were you calling?” she asked.
“Johnny’s wife,” he said lamely, strangely reluctant to say her name, “I didn’t want her to be frightened.”
Esther’s eyes were understanding as she looked at him. She spoke in Yiddish. “A shame,” she said, shaking her head, “a shame.”
8
The ringing of the phone woke him up. He reached over and turned on the table lamp next to the bed.
Dulcie’s eyes were open. She was watching him. “What did you do that for?” she asked lazily.
He looked at her. “The phone is ringing,” he said unnecessarily, reaching out to pick it up and hand it to her.
She put out a hand to stop him. “Let it ring, Warren,” she said softly. “I don’t expect any calls.”
He took his hand from the phone. “Maybe it’s something important,” he said.
“It’s probably a wrong number,” she replied unsmiling.
The ringing of the phone disturbed him. It had a warning sound in the stillness of the night. It seemed to be trying to tell him something. He sat up in bed and took a cigarette from the night table and lit it. His hands were trembling slightly.
She shifted her head on the pillow and looked up at him. “Why, Warren,” she said with a teasing smile, “I do believe you’re nervous.”
He didn’t answer. He got out of bed and walked to the window and looked out. The rain was pouring from the skies, he could hear the dismal howling of the wind. He turned and looked at her. “It’s the weather,” he said irritably. “It’s enough to drive anybody nuts. Nothing but rain for three days.”
She sat up in bed and looked at him. He had been upset ever since the announcement of his impending divorce had been given out. She held out her arms toward him. “Come back to bed, baby,” she said in a low husky voice, “Mamma’s got something that will soothe your jumpy nerves.”
He looked at her. The phone stopped ringing.
“See?” she said, tilting her head to one side and smiling, “I told you it would stop.” Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulder.
Slowly he walked back to the bed. The springs creaked beneath him as he sat down beside her and put his cigarette out in the tray. “Nothing frightens you, does it, Dulcie?” he asked.
She laughed merrily. She shrugged her shoulders quickly and the nightgown slipped to her waist. “Why should it?” she asked, taking his hands and pressing them to her breast. “I’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”
The phone began to ring again and she could feel him start. “Take it easy,” she said softly. “It will stop in a minute.”
He sat there tensely, listening to it ring. She was right. It rang only a few times and then stopped.
She laughed again. “See, I was right.” She reached over and took the receiver off the hook. “Now it won’t bother us any more.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re all alike,” she whispered against his ear softly, “afraid of noises. Like babies.”
She was warm within his arms. Slowly he could feel the tension leave him, and replacing it came a sense of growing excitement. For a little while the only sounds in the room were the sounds of their breathing.