“Yes.” Her voice sounded remote and flat.
“I thought we were cut off.” I settled back in my chair again. “Did you like the book I sent you?”
There was a long pause, then I heard her say something as if she were speaking to someone with her.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I can’t talk now,” she said. “I’m engaged.”
A wild, unreasonable rage surged through me. “Good God!” I exclaimed. “Do you work all night as well as all day?” But I was talking to a dead telephone. She had hung up.
I sat thinking for almost an hour. It began to dawn on me that Eve was going to be an even harder proposition than I had first thought. In fact, as I brooded about her and Gold’s offer, I experienced a slight feeling of panic. It was four days since I had seen her and I had not even scratched the surface. The fact that she had hung up on me like that showed that she was not yet interested in me. She did not even say that she was sorry. “I can’t talk now, I’m engaged,” and down had gone the receiver. I clenched my fists.
In spite of my anger, her indifference made me all the more anxious to see her. During those two weeks that I saw nothing of Carol, I visited Eve three times. There is no point in recording those three meetings. They ran practically parallel with the previous meeting. We talked uneasily about the merest trifles and at the end of a quarter of an hour I left, being careful always to put two twenty dollar bills on the chest of drawers. Each time I called on her I brought her a book for which she seemed genuinely grateful. Although I tried to break down her reserve she remained wooden and suspicious. I realized that if I was to get anywhere with her I would have to try more forceful tactics. Finally I decided on my line of action.
The following morning I came down to the dining room to find Russell waiting to serve breakfast. It was now ten days since I had seen Carol and I knew that Russell was worried about this. I could tell that by his continuous disapproving looks.
“You might put a call through to Miss Carol,” I said, as I flipped through my letters, “and see what she’s doing. If she’s at home I’ll speak to her.”
While he was making the call, I glanced at the headlines of the newspaper. There was nothing there to interest me and I dropped the paper on the floor.
Russell, after murmuring into the telephone, hung up and shook his head. “She’s out, sir,” he said, his round, fat face sagging with gloom. “Why don’t you slip down to the Studio and see her?
“I’m too busy to slip down to the Studio,” I said shortly, “And what business is it of yours anyway?”
He stood opposite me, moving the toast within my reach. “Miss Carol’s a nice young lady,” he said, “and I don’t like to see her treated badly, Mr. Clive.”
“So you think I’m treating Miss Carol badly, do you?” I said, spreading butter on my toast and avoiding his disapproving glance.
“I do, sir. I think you should see her. She’s a nice young lady and she deserves to receive better treatment than the other young ladies you know.”
“You are poking your nose as usual into something that does not concern you. Miss Carol is extremely busy and has no time at the moment to be sociable. I’m not neglecting her and, if you will remember, I call her twice a day and have been doing so for the past two weeks.”
“Then, all I can say, sir, is she’s avoiding you,” he returned obstinately. “You shouldn’t allow it.”
“I think you’d better do my bedroom now, Russell,” I said coldly. “I have everything I want at the moment.
“This Miss Marlow, sir,” he said, “She’s a professional lady, isn’t she?”
I stared at him in amazement. “And how did you know that?”
An almost pious look settled on his face. “Being a gentleman’s man, sir,” he said, a little pompously, “I feel it is part of my duties to know something of the worldly aspects of life. The name, sir, if I may presume, is a little obvious.”
“You think so, do you?” I said, trying not to smile. “And what if she is?”
His bushy white eyebrows crawled to the top of his head. “I can only warn you, Mr. Clive. That sort of woman never did anyone any good. And if I may say so, any attempt to establish a social relationship with her would be fraught with disaster.”
“Do stop talking like a drip and get upstairs,” I said, feeling this had gone far enough. “I am meeting Miss Marlow to get a background for a picture. Mr. Gold’s commissioned me to write it.”
“I’m surprised to hear that, sir. I always understood Mr. Gold was a person of intelligence. No one in his right senses would consider making a picture in connection with that subject. If you will excuse me, I will do your room.”
I watched his dignified exit rather thoughtfully. On the face of it, he was right, yet Gold had definitely promised to do the story. I picked up my letters again and opened them, hopefully looking for a letter from the Studio. It was not here and I realized it was perhaps a little early to expect it I went over to my desk and checked my bank balance. I was surprised to find it so low. After a moment’s hesitation, I tossed the bills into the trash basket. They would have to wait for payment Then I called Merle Bensinger, my agent.
“Look, Merle,” I said, as soon as she came on the line, “what’s happening to “Rain Check”? I haven’t had this week’s receipts.
“I was writing to you about that, Clive,” she returned. Merle had a bright metallic voice which I always found a little overpowering on the telephone. “The cast has been given a week off. I think they deserve it, the poor dears. They’ve been at it now for twenty weeks.”
“So while they disport themselves, I’m supposed to starve?” I said crossly. “Isn’t there anything else coming in? How about my books?”
“You know there’s nothing until September, Clive.” She sounded startled. “Sellick’s don’t make up their accounts until September . . .”
“I know — I know,” I said sharply. “Well, if you can’t do anything for me, Merele, at least listen to my news. Gold’s offered me a contract. I ought to have told you before. I outlined a story to him a couple of weeks ago and he’s offering fifty thousand dollars for it.”
“Why, that’s wonderful.” Her voice sounded even brighter and more metallic. “Do you want me to look after the arrangements?”
“I suppose so,” I said, a little doubtfully. Ten per cent meant parting with five thousand dollars, but Merle did know her job and if Gold was going to try a double cross, she would know how to handle him. “Yes, you’d better look after it. I’ll send you the correspondence when I get it.”
“How’s the new book going?”
“Never mind about the new book. I’ve got Gold on my mind right now.”
“But, Clive,” her voice signalled alarm, “Sellick’s are expecting it by the end of the month.”
“Then they’ll have to expect it,” I returned. “I tell you I’m busy.”
There was a pause, then she said, “But haven’t you begun it yet?”
“No, I haven’t. To hell with Sellick’s. I’m after Gold’s fifty thousand.”
“I shall have to tell Mr. Sellick. He’ll be very disappointed. They’ve advertised it, you know, Clive.”
“Tell whom you like. I couldn’t care less. Tell the President if it’ll make you feel any better, but for God’s sake, Merle, don’t bother me with Sellick’s headaches,” I snapped, feeling suddenly irritated with her. “Isn’t Gold a better proposition?”
“The money’s better, of course,” she said slowly, “but, its some time since you wrote a book and you must think of your name.”
“I’ll look after that,” I assured her. “Don’t worry about my name.
She remembered something. “Oh, Clive,” she said, “I’ve an offer from the Digest. They want an article on the “Women of Hollywood”. Three thousand dollars. Fifteen hundred words. Would you like to do it for them?”