She got up. “You’d better do more than that, Thurston,” she said. “I’ve told you how to handle it. It’s up to you now. If I were you, I’d drop this film script and get a novel out. Already some of your creditors have been on to me to know whether you’re on a spot with Gold. I’ve stalled them, but that won’t last long.
I was too dumbfounded to do anything but stare at her.
“And another thing,” she said, turning back from the door, “What’s all this about you going around with a tart?”
I felt myself flinch. “I’ve taken enough from you, Merle, for one morning. You keep your snout out of my business,” I snapped, turning away.
She eyed me and then raised her hands in a gesture of hopeless exasperation. “Then it’s true?” she said. “Are you crazy? Aren’t there enough women in this cesspool of glamour without picking on a floozie? They’re talking about you, Thurston. No writer can afford that kind of scandal. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake, or you and me’ll have to part.”
Blood drained from my face. “Hollywood’s not going to dictate to me!” I said furiously. “And that goes for you too, Merle! I’ll damn well please myself who I associate with and if you don’t like it, you know what you can do.”
“What a sucker you are,” she said, her own temper rising. “I thought you and me could make money, but I was wrong. Okay, if that’s how you feel. It means nothing to me because you’re on the slide. You know me, Thurston, I’m frank. If you continue to kick around with this woman your name’s going to stink like a month-old corpse. Get wise. If you can’t do without her, for the love of Mike, don’t flaunt her before the public. Keep her out of sight.”
I was so angry I could have hit her. “So long, Merle,” I said, opening the door. “There’s plenty other vultures who’ll be glad to handle my affairs. As far as I’m concerned, you’re through.”
“So long,” she returned. “Watch your nickels, Thurston, you’ll need ‘em.”
She was gone before I could think of a suitable reply.
I began to pace up and down. What did she mean about my creditors? I did not owe any big amounts. What did she mean? I rang for Russell.
“Have we any outstanding bills, Russell?” I asked when he came.
“There are a few, sir,” he said, his eyebrows crawling to the top of his forehead. “I thought you kept check on them.”
I gave him a hard look and then went over to the desk. I opened one of the drawers and took out an assorted bundle of papers.
“You should have watched this, Russell,” I said angrily. “You can’t expect me to do everything in this damned apartment.”
“But I’ve never seen this lot before, sir,” Russell protested. “If I’d known they were here . . .”
“All right, all right,” I said irritably, knowing that he was right. I had been in the habit of putting all my bills in this drawer, promising myself to have a grand settling up at the end of the month. Somehow, I never got around to going through them.
I sat down at the desk.
“Here, get a pencil and paper and write the amounts down as I call them,” I said.
“Is — is anything wrong, sir?” Russell asked, suddenly anxious.
“Just do as I say and for God’s sake stop talking.”
At the end of a quarter of an hour, I found I owed thirteen thousand dollars to various stores and tailors.
I looked at Russell. “Not so good,” I said with a grimace. “No, it’s certainly not so good.”
“Well, at least, they’ll wait, sir,” he said, stroking his chin uneasily. “It’s just as well Mr. Gold has given you an offer, isn’t it? I mean you can’t go on much longer like this. I thought . . .”
“Never mind what you thought,” I broke in. “You’re not paid to think, Russell. Okay, beat it. I’ve got things to do.”
When he had gone I took out my bank book. I had fifteen thousand dollars in hand. If what Merle had said was true and my creditors were getting anxious, I would be down to nothing in no time. As I put the bank book away I noticed my hand was shaking.
For the first time since I had come to Hollywood I suddenly experienced a feeling of doubt. Up to now, with Rain Check bringing in a steady income, and my books selling well I had been confident of the future. But the play and the books could not go on forever. I simply had to make a success of this story for Gold. There were no two ways about it.
I spent the next three days trying to work out the blue print of my script. I worked hard, but at the end of the third day I found I had produced nothing of value. The main reason why my work was abortive was that, for the first time in my life, I knew that I had to succeed. This feeling created a spark of panic which finally prevented me thinking clearly and as I became more and more worried I found myself filling pages with meaningless words.
I finally pushed the typewriter aside, mixed myself a stiff whisky and soda and began to pace the room.
I looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past seven. Almost without thinking, I reached for the telephone and called Eve.
She answered immediately. “Hello.”
A great weight rolled from my mind when I heard her voice. I knew then that I had been wanting to call her for the past two days. I needed her to share my loneliness and through her, I wanted to regain my lost confidence in myself.
“Hello,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m all right, Clive. And you?”
“Fine. Look Eve, will you have dinner with me? Can I come round right now?”
“No . . . you can’t.”
My mind grew dark and heavy again.
“Now don’t say that. I want to see you.”
“I can’t.”
“But I want to see you tonight,” I persisted, feeling blood mounting to my head.
“I can’t tonight, Clive.”
Couldn’t she at least say she was sorry? I thought, furious with her. “You mean you’ve a dinner date?”
“Yes . . . if you must know.”
“All right . . . all right . . . I still want to see you. Can’t you cancel it?”
“No.”
I nearly slammed down the receiver, but thinking of the long hours I had on my hands, I tried again. “Wouldn’t it be possible to meet you after your dinner date?” I thought if she said no to that God knows what I’m going to do.
“Well I might,” she said reluctantly. “Do you really want to see me?”
What did she think I was crawling on my hands and knees for? “Yes,” I said. “What time shall we say?”
“About nine thirty?”
“Suppose you call me when you’re back? Then I’ll come on over.”
“AH right.”
I gave her my number.
“Then about nine thirty. I’ll wait here for you.”
“All right,” and she hung up.
I put the receiver down. There had been no encouragement in that conversation. It had been flat, depressing and impersonal, but I did not care. I had to see her. It was like grinding down on an aching tooth, but I knew I could not face another night alone.
Russell came in as I was brooding about her. He glanced at me, then at the litter on my desk and his mouth pursed.
“All right, Russell,” I said irritably. “Don’t look like a bishop. Things aren’t so good. In fact, everything’s going to hell.”
His eyebrows began to crawl up his forehead. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” he said. “Is there anything particularly wrong?”
“I’m not getting the breaks,” I went on, after a pause. “Carol’s left me, Miss Bensinger’s quit, I can’t get going with my story and I’m in debt. That’s my hell for today. How do you like it?”
He rubbed his bald head with the palm of his hand. “I don’t know what’s come over you, Mr. Clive,” he said. “At one time you used to be working all hours of the day. Now, you haven’t worked for I don’t know how long. It’s been worrying me. If you don’t mind my saying so ever since you sent the book to that Miss Marlow, there’s been nothing but trouble.”