The brandy came and he sniffed at the balloon-shaped glass and sighed. “Excellent,” he murmured and held the glass cupped in both hands.
I was in no hurry. I cut the end of the cigar carefully and lit it. It was smooth, mild and satisfying.
“I am interested,” Gold went on, “in a story based on facts. I like the idea of your modelling your character on someone you know. She sounds right. You will obviously bring her to life because she is already alive. All you have to do is to capture her likeness and put it on paper. I should like you to take a further step. I would like you to put yourself in your hero’s place and, before you write, go through the experiences you have planned for your hero.”
“Now look, Mr. Gold . . .” I began, but he raised his hand.
“Let me go on. Hear what I have to say first. You may find that your ideas won’t work out the way you think they will. But, that won’t matter, the result will be psychologically right. You are a man of the world. I imagine that you have had considerable success with women in the past. This woman you have chosen as the subject for a story would be a worthy opponent, wouldn’t she? Why don’t you make her fall in love with you? It would be a very interesting experiment.”
I didn’t say anything. He was suggesting the very thing I had planned to do. All the same it made me uneasy because I had Carol at the back of my mind.
“I would buy such a story, Mr. Thurston,” Gold went on quietly. “Whichever way it turned out it would be interesting. The experiment would be between you and me and, of course, the woman in question. No one else need know about it.”
We looked at each other and I knew he realized that I was uneasy about Carol.
“I’ll admit the idea had crossed my mind,” I said. “But dealing so intimately with a woman of that reputation is a little tricky.”
A flicker of a smile appeared in Gold’s eyes. I had an uncomfortable feeling that he saw through me. “Then you’ll do it?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, as a business proposition, I’ll do it,” I said. “But I don’t want to waste my time unless I receive some kind of compensation.”
“Tell me the story in a few words.”
I thought for a moment. “This will be the story of a successful wanton who preys on men. I will handle all the background stuff of her relations with men so that Hays won’t kill it. The only thing we need really stress is that she takes money and presents from men who are infatuated with her. Then an entirely different type of man comes into her life, and this is where the drama really begins. At first, like the other men, he falls for her, but as he gets to know her, he realizes what a cheat she is and decides to play her at her own game. He does and he beats her in the end. Then tired of the game, he leaves her and goes off to hunt elsewhere. I see it as a Scarlet O’Hara and Reith Butler set-up.”
“And you really think it will work out that way?” Gold asked, pointedly disbelieving.
“Certainly. It’s a question of the stronger will.”
Gold shook his head. “Providing your woman is as bad as the one you have described, I am sure it will not work out that way.”
“Well, let us experiment and see. As you say, whatever the result, it should make an interesting script.”
Gold brooded. “Yes, I think it will. All right, do it. I will pay you two thousand dollars for the treatment. If it is what I want then I will pay a further fifty thousand for a complete shooting script. You can have all the help you want from the Studios, but, of course, you can please yourself about that.”
I suppressed my excitement with difficulty. “May I have that offer in writing?”
“Certainly. I will tell my people to get in touch with you.”
“Will you wait three months? If I don’t succeed in three months, it won’t be worth wasting any more time.”
He nodded. “Three months then. It will be an interesting experiment in real life. You should have quite an exciting time before you.” He signalled a waiter. “And now I must go to the club. Won’t you join me, Mr. Thurston?”
I shook my head. “I’d rather not, thank you. You’ve given me quite a lot to think about and I have plans to make.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I DID not see Carol for the next two weeks. I telephoned each morning and evening, but I was told that she was either at the Studio or at Mr. Gold’s house. I did not know whether she was avoiding me or whether she was really busy with her script. If it had not been for the way she had walked out on me, I should not have given it another thought. She often disappeared for a week or so when she was working hard, but, now I was worried. I remember the look in her eyes when she had said, “It is rather like that.” For the first time in two years, I knew I had hurt and angered her.
I could, of course, have gone to the Studio, but first, I wanted to talk to her on the telephone where she could not watch me while I talked. As I have already said, she was very difficult to lie to. If I were to convince her that there was nothing between Eve and myself, I would have to handle the situation with care. So I continued to the Studio.
I had settled in my apartment much to Russell’s annoyance. He had hopefully believed that I would stay at Three Point for at least another month. I thought a lot about Eve. On the third night after our meeting I drove over to Laurel Canyon Drive and passed her house. There were no lights showing and I did not stop; but it gave me an odd feeling of satisfaction just to have seen the house again.
On the fourth day, immediately after lunch, I called her.
The maid Marty answered. When I asked for Eve, she wanted to know who was calling.
After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Mr. Clive.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Miss Marlow’s engaged right now. Can I take a message?”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll call later.”
“She won’t be long,” she said. “I’ll tell her you called.”
I thanked her and hung up. I sat holding the telephone for several minutes, then I put it on the table with a little grimace. Why was I feeling bad? I asked myself. I knew what she was, didn’t I? I did not ring her again that day and I did no work. I thought about Gold and I tried to work out a blue print for the script we had discussed. But I was not successful. Until I knew Eve better, I would not hope to make much progress.
I must have been a trial to Russell as he was used to my going out and leaving him the apartment to himself. I spent the rest of the day wandering between the large lounge, my bedroom and my small library. I had a date with Clare Jacoby, the singer, in the evening, and although I did not feel like listening to her incessant chatter, I could not very well put her off. I returned to the apartment just after midnight, a little drunk and irritable.
Russell was waiting up for me and after he had brought me a whiskey I sent him to bed. Then I telephoned Eve. I sat listening to the steady burr-burr of the bell, but there was no answer. I slammed down the receiver and went into my bedroom to undress. In pyjamas and dressing gown, I returned to the lounge and called her again. It was now twenty to one.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello yourself.” I found my mouth had gone dry at the sound of her voice.
“You are very late, Clive.”
She said she would recognize my voice, but I didn’t think she would. That was one score for her.
“How are you?” I settled back in my armchair.
“All right,” she said.
I waited, expecting her to say something else, but the line was silent. This was my first experience of the many unsatisfactory telephone calls I was to have with her, so I had no warning that her replies would be non-committal and monosyllabic.
“Hello?” I said, after waiting a moment. “Are you still there?”