He sat there, nodding and smiling and shaking his head on cue. It wasn’t until I had several jolts of coffee inside of me that I came out of my talking jag. Maybe I was foolish in letting him pump me without knowing what he really wanted.
I lit a cigarette and pushed my cup away.
“Seems to me as though I’m doing a lot of talking.”
His bald head wobbled. “Go ahead. I like to listen to you. You have a wonderful voice.”
“Tell that to the radio and TV executives. They won’t listen to me.”
“Executives!” I caught the familiar wave of the hand, the glittering arc of the diamond swirling through space. “Your voice is too fine an instrument to be wasted on selling gasoline and laxatives.”
“Then what interests you?” I asked.
“I’ve already told you. It’s your voice. I’ve spent weeks now, listening to voices. Auditioning records and transcriptions with talent agents. I heard your voice by accident the other day in an advertising office. Mr. Rickert must have sent them a record.
“Right then I knew I had found what I was looking for. Because you do have a very fine voice, Mr. Haines. I’m not speaking of diction or phrasing. I’m talking about pitch and timbre. You have a persuasive voice. You sound sincere and convincing. Women like your voice, don’t they, Mr. Haines?”
What was the matter with this guy? I stared at him—a fat, ugly, bald-headed little stranger who tossed around hundred-dollar bills and talked about voices.
He smiled. “You don’t understand, of course. But you will. I’m sure of that. I like your inquisitive attitude. I like your self-confidence. The way you tried to stare me down in the office this afternoon. I often amuse myself by observing the reactions of strangers. And I’ve made up my mind that with proper training you will go far. You have the voice, the appearance, the youth and the background. It was no accident that brought us together. It was Destiny.”
Professor Hermann wasn’t smiling now. He hunched forward over the table and his eyes were glittering to match that big diamond.
“Cut the violin music,” I said. “What’s your proposition?”
He glanced at the restaurant clock and stood up, quickly. “We haven’t time to discuss that now,” he said. “It’s getting late. We’re due at the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“Come and see. It’s important that you arrive before the testimony starts.”
“Wait a minute. I want to know what I’m getting into here. After all, I can’t afford to waste my time—”
He grinned. “You don’t trust me? Then I suggest you give me back that hundred-dollar bill and call it quits. I’ll go to the meeting, and you—you run along back home and cut your throat.”
I stared at him for a long second, and then it struck me. I began to laugh. I was still laughing as I followed him out of the restaurant and down the street.
“So you’ve decided to come along?”
“Right,” I said. “But I still wish I knew where I was going.”
“All you need to know,” Professor Hermann told me, “is that tonight we take the first step. The first step in the direction of a million dollars.”
Four
The professor led me down the street for about half a block and halted before my idea of a beautiful animal—a handsome new black Jaguar.
“Climb in,” he said.
“But we didn’t come in a car—”
He gave that grin again as he jangled a set of keys before my eyes. “Correct. I parked here before I went to see you. I had everything arranged.”
I matched his grin with a shrug and opened the door. I was relieved to know I wasn’t getting mixed up with a car thief, but at the same time I didn’t quite like the idea of his being so sure of me in advance. A smart apple, the Professor—a smart little bald-headed apple.
We pulled away, headed down the boulevard, then went northwest toward Beverly Hills. Neither of us said anything for a while and the Jaguar just purred.
The Professor glanced at the dashboard clock. “Right on time,” he said. “We’ll pick her up and then go to the meeting.”
“Her?”
“Oh, I forgot to mention that we’re bringing a guest. You will probably like her—I don’t suppose you’ve ever met a movie star before.”
“Movie star?”
“Well, a featured player. Seven hundred and fifty dollars a week. Lorna Lewis. You know the name?”
Lorna Lewis, the gal with the glamorous gams. The censor’s delight. I’d heard of her, all right. This was going to be interesting, after all.
“The movie colony is particularly impressionable,” remarked Professor Hermann. “I expect great results from them in our future work. For example, consider their interest in astrology. I can name you dozens of stars, producers, executives who won’t make a move unless the signs are right.
“I always think of one top name out here—she’s been in pictures ever since the original Lassie was a pup—who lives according to a carefully plotted horoscope based on her date of birth. The only thing is, as she gets older she keeps moving her birthdate forward. She’s changed her age four times now, and each time she gets a new astrologer and a new horoscope. But she won’t so much as sleep with an assistant producer without consulting the stars.”
The car climbed a hill. Poinsettias pressed myriad bleeding mouths to a garden wall.
“About this Lorna Lewis,” I said. “Is she gone on astrology too?”
Professor Hermann shook his head. “No. Spiritualism.”
I blinked and sat up. “Mean to tell me that’s what you have in mind for us—some kind of spook racket?”
“Far from it. My dear boy, don’t underestimate me. You and I are above such vulgar fakery. Our paths lead to higher things. But we’ll speak of all that at another time. Right now your cue is to observe—and be silent.”
We entered the driveway on a hillside. Past the palm-bordered path rose a rambling neo-Spanish hacienda. I caught a glimpse of a side terrace and a swimming pool in the back. Then we drew up before broad stone steps. The motor whimpered in death.
Professor Hermann led me to the door. The usual buzzer produced the usual chimes. We waited until the door opened.
“Come in,” said a voice. I recognized it immediately. I recognized the black jungle of curls, the almost Negroid lips, the slim sweep of the perfectly proportioned legs. Lorna Lewis, in person.
“Be with you in a minute.” She waved us to a love seat in the hall alcove and then dashed up the stairs, treating us to a profile and rear view of one of the finest pairs of peach-colored slacks I’d ever seen.
“Don’t stare!” hissed the Professor. “And from now on, remember, take your cues from me.” He produced his monocle and bent forward to polish it with a handkerchief as though it were a rare scientific lens.
“Remember, now, not a word. Let me do the talking.”
“But—”
She was running down the stairs again, still wearing the peach-colored slacks and a green blouse. I hadn’t appreciated the blouse before, but it was even better than the slacks.
“Ready? Let’s go, then. Our appointment’s for nine-thirty and we mustn’t be late.” Suddenly she seemed to notice me. She paused and blinked rapidly, just to show me she could do it without knocking any of the mascara off her eyelashes. “Who’s he?” she asked.
“Miss Lewis, this is Judson Roberts.”
This was me, apparently. I rose and started to open my mouth, but the Professor coughed.
“Mr. Roberts cannot answer you. He is committed to silence until midnight.”
This time her blink was genuine. “Oh—a vow or something?”
“Certainly not, my dear child! Mr. Roberts is no fake mystic. He’s a scientist. As such, he is engaged in an experiment of psychological conditioning. He has just arrived from the University of Lima and plans to collaborate with me in my work. I’d like to have him tell you about it some time— I’m sure you would be interested.”