Her eyes were very cold now, but the smile still persisted. “I see,” she said. “All right. Thank you, Clive, for the lunch.”
This was, for me, a crucial moment. I could see she was disappointed and annoyed that I was not going to pay her for her company. I could clearly read that in her eyes. If I were to continue on the lines I had planned, I would have to reach this point sooner or later. In spite of what she had said as we had entered the restaurant, I was determined to go through with it.
I was not going to be like Harvey Barrow and pay for her company. I would give her a good time; I would listen to her talk about Jack and about her troubles, but I was not going to give her any more money.
“You’ll call me then?” she said.
“I will. Good-bye, Eve, and don’t cry any more.”
She turned from me and walked quickly to the house.
I returned to the car, lit a cigarette and started the engine. Then I drove slowly down the street and, as I turned the corner, I saw a man walking towards me. For a moment I did not recognize him, then I noticed the long arms that seemed to reach almost to his knees. I looked quickly at him as I drove past. It was Harvey Barrow.
I pulled to the curb and stopped. What was Harvey Barrow doing in this district? I knew, of course, but I refused to admit that he was going to see Eve.
I slid out of the car and ran back. Turning the corner I could see him walk purposely down Laurel Canyon Drive. He slowed down outside Eve’s house and stood hesitating at the gate.
I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to break into a run, reach him and slam my fist into his ugly, brutal face. But, instead, I just stood there, watching. He pushed open the gate and walked quickly down the short path to the house.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I HAD forgotten Harvey Barrow. He had seemed to me to be such a cheap, insignificant creature that I had dismissed him from my mind after I had driven him from Three Point. It did not occur to me that he would again associate with Eve. She had treated him so ruthlessly and I had so humiliated him before her that it was inconceivable that he could ever again face her. Yet there he was, going to her, sharing her with me, and bringing me down to his own sordid level.
I was still feeling shocked and depressed as I opened my front door. Russell came down the passage to meet me. One look at his worried face told me that more trouble was on the way.
“Miss Bensinger’s waiting to see you, sir,” he announced.
I stared at him. “Waiting to see me?” I repeated. “How long has she been here?”
“She has only this moment arrived. She said it was urgent and she would wait ten minutes.”
I wondered why Merle Bensinger had come all the way from her office to see me. It must obviously be urgent and important as she scarcely ever left her desk.
“All right,” Russell,” I said, handing him my hat. “I’ll see her at once.”
I walked into the sitting room. “Hel-lo, Merle,” I said, going to her. “This is a surprise.”
Merle Bensinger was big, red haired and tough. She carried her forty years well and there was no smarter business woman in Hollywood. She had planted herself before the empty fireplace and she looked at me with stormy eyes.
“If this is a surprise you’d better get yourself some brandy,” she said, ignoring my hand and sitting down on the arm of the settee, “because you’ll certainly need it.”
“Now look, Merle,” I began, “I’m sorry about the Digest article . . .”
“Never mind the Digest article,” she snapped. “You’ve enough grief without bringing that up.” She fumbled in her handbag and produced a battered packet of Camels, “I haven’t much time, so we’ll get right down to business. Just tell me one thing . . . did you punch Frank Imgram?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “Suppose I did? What’s it to you?”
“He asks what’s it to me?” Merle raised her eyes beseechingly to the ceiling. “That’s a laugh. He socks the biggest money making proposition in Hollywood, breaks his bridgework, and asks what’s it to me?” She regarded me, her green eyes almost savage. “Listen, Thurston, you’ve been dumb. You’ve been so goddamn dumb that I can’t imagine what kind of parents produced you. The Digest was pretty bad, but this . . . well, it’s murder!”
“Come on,” I said impatiently, “just how bad is it?”
She threw her cigarette away and walked over to the window. “Couldn’t be worse, Thurston. You’re up against the biggest toughest guy in pictures . . . Gold. He’s out to break you and he’ll do it. Between you and me and my dog’s fleas you might just as well pack your bag and skip. As far as Hollywood’s concerned . . . you’re out!”
I went to the sideboard and mixed myself a strong highball. I felt I needed it.
“Make that out in duplicate,” Merle snapped. “Do you think you’re the only one with nerves?”
I gave her a whisky and sat down. “How about that contract between me and Gold?” I said. “You’re not going to let him get away with that?”
Merle shook her head hopelessly. “The way this guy talks,” she said, addressing a vase filled with carnations. “Contract! He thinks he’s got a contract,” She swept round on me. “I couldn’t hold a blind, half-witted baby of two months to a contract like that. It means absolutely nothing. If Gold doesn’t like the story, it’s out.”
“Maybe he will like it,” I said uneasily. “Don’t tell me Gold’d be dopey enough to turn down a good story just to get even with me.”
She looked at me pityingly. “Don’t you understand your drunken frolic has cost Gold something like a hundred grand? A story’s got to be mighty good to make a guy like Gold forget a hundred grand. If you ask me I don’t believe there’s a writer in Hollywood who could make him forget all that money.”
I finished my drink and lit a cigarette. “Well,” I said, trying not to feel scaled, “What do I do? You’re my agent. Can’t you suggest anything?”
“There’s nothing to suggest. Gold’s blacklisted you and that’s all there is to it. You’ll have to write novels. The stage and movies are out.”
“Oh, no,” I said, suddenly angry. “He can’t do that to me. Why, it’s crazy . . .”
“Maybe it is, but I know what he can do. Gold’s the one guy in Hollywood I can’t handle.” She suddenly snapped her fingers. “But there is someone who could do it.”
I stared at her. “Do what? What are you talking about?”
“Put you right with Gold again.”
“Who?”
“Your girl friend . . . Carol Rae.”
I stood up. “And what the hell do you mean by that?”
She waved me to my chair. “Now don’t get upset,” she said soothingly. “Carol Rae could fix it for you. She and Gold are like that.” She crossed her fingers.
“Since when?” I asked, hardly trusting my voice.
Merle stared at me. “You know Gold wants to marry her, don’t you?”
“I know that, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It doesn’t? What’s the matter with you? Let me tell you something. Gold’s never been married. He’s nearly sixty. Suddenly he falls for a girl and you say it means nothing. It means everything to Gold. A guy his age when he falls, comes down like a ton of pig-iron dropped from the Empire State building. Right now, that girl could do what she liked with Gold. I tell you . . . she could even fix you.”
I drew a deep breath and controlled my temper with an effort that made me sweat. “Well, okay, Merle, thanks for the tip. I’ll think it over.” How I kept my hands off her I don’t know, but I knew I couldn’t afford to make any more enemies. “I’ll watch it.”