The Inheritors (19 page)

Sam was silent.

“I don’t mean to upset you, honey,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I love you. You know that.”

“I love you,” he said, looking at her. “I want it to be right for you. I’ll try.

He turned off the lamp and bent over her and kissed her. She moved his face down to her breasts and held him tightly there while he nuzzled like a child. A few moments later, he was inside her.

“Is it all right?” he whispered.

“Beautiful,” she answered, all warm and flowing.

He grew stronger inside her and she began to respond to her fierce thrusting. “I’m getting there,” he whispered hoarsely. “Should I begin counting now?”

“Yes. Yes,” she replied, unable to control her own responses.

“One… two… three… four… How long do I have to keep this up?” he gasped.

“As… long as you can,” she cried.

“Five… six… Oh, Jesus… seven… eight.” He was almost shouting now. “I’ll never make it… Nine… Here it comes… oooh… ten. There go the rockets!”

She clung tightly to him, rising and falling with him until the tide within them was completely spent. After, they were silent and a kind of languor came over her. She felt his breath on her cheek and opened her eyes.

He was looking at her. “Was that better?”

She nodded.

“You never felt like that with him?” His voice was almost fierce.

“No, never,” she answered.

He stared at her for a moment, then his face relaxed into a smile. “Is it all right if I sing the next time?” he asked. “I always was lousy at arithmetic.”

***

By the time Samuel Junior was born, late the following year, they had settled into a comfortable kind of life. Between the theater and the distribution company, Sam netted in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars a year and had developed a reputation in the trade for merchandising and handling a specialized kind of film. Exploitation pictures they were sometimes called. The subject matter was almost always something unusual, something that at the first glance did not seem to have promotional qualities, but Sam found the key to them and for the most part they worked. There was only one trouble with the business. None of the pictures was sufficiently broad in its basic audience appeal to break through into the general market.

That was where he had to go for the really big money. Seventeen thousand theaters against the few hundred that he sometimes could play. He kept his own counsel, not even sharing his ambitions with Denise, who in those years was fully occupied with the two children. Quietly he watched and studied the market and then one day in 1955 decided to take his big step.

He sold his lease on the theater and moved the distribution company into small offices in Rockefeller Center. Television had thrown the film industry into a panic. Grosses were off and theaters were threatened with closure all over the country.

His reasoning was simple. What had worked for him on a smaller scale would now work in the larger market. Promotion, publicity, and exploitation even more than the picture itself would attract people to the local box office. But, again, it had to be the right kind of picture. One that would appeal to all kinds of audiences, young and old, if it were to work. And it had to be the kind of picture that would lend itself to the old-fashioned circus publicity he intended to give it. He also knew where he would have to go to find it.

Italy. Italian film-makers had climbed aboard the Ben Hur chariot after MGM finished its famous remake. They had taken advantage of the many sets and props gathered for that film and he had heard of a number that were in production that might fit his plan. All he needed was money.

Denise invited Roger and his new wife to dinner.

CHAPTER NINE

Sam looked up as Roger came into his office. Roger put a sheet of paper in front of him. “Here are Charley Luongo’s latest figures from Rome on the Barzini picture.

“What do you think?” Roger asked.

Sam shrugged. “That’s merely the auditor’s report. I knew those figures two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?” Roger asked. He was annoyed with himself. He should have remembered that the auditors were two weeks behind.

“What was there to say?” Sam asked. “We’re in this far, there’s nothing else to do but keep on going.”

“You still could have told me.” Roger was angry. “I
am
your partner.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Sam said. “I figured with Anne just about to have the baby you had enough on your mind.”

“Enough on my mind?” Roger’s voice rose sharply. “You think I’m a child? That I didn’t know we’re looking bankruptcy in the face? I said we should never have got into this damn film!”

Sam stared up at him without speaking.

“But you’re supposed to be the expert?” Roger continued sarcastically. “This picture is going to win all the awards, you said. The only award it’s going to win will be Chapter Eleven in bankruptcy court.”

“Hold it a minute!” Sam snapped. “It’s a hell of a picture. I showed Steve Gaunt the first two reels and he flipped over it.”

“So he flipped over it,” Roger said. “I still didn’t see him come up with any money toward it.”

“You know he can’t do that,” Sam said. “Not until it’s finished.”

“You’re being conned, Sam. Why can’t you see it?” Roger was nasty now. “That boy is as cold as ice. I know his reputation by now. He uses everybody. You think I don’t know the type, the friendly
goy
, always with a smile on his face, while behind your back he’s looking how to murder you?”

Sam’s voice was mild. “Okay, Roger. You’re upset so I’ll make allowances. Now go back to your office and calm down. We’ll talk again when you’re able to make sense.”

“I can make sense right now,” Roger said. “Perfectly good sense. Just give me my money back, that’s all. I’m not greedy. You can have it all if you think it’s that good.”

“You don’t mean that.” Sam said.

“You don’t think so?” Roger stared down at him. “Try me.”

Sam shuffled the papers on his desk and picked up a letter with a check attached to it. He handed it to Roger. “There’s a check from Supercolor Laboratories for two hundred grand they’re lending me on account of the agreement I made to give them all our film processing and printing. I was going to send it to Italy for the production account. Now it’s up to you.

“If you still feel that way, keep it. But if you think everybody in this business is crazy the way you think I am and that they don’t know what they’re doing, someday you’ll regret it. But make up your own mind. You can put it in the production account or keep it. But either way, after this, I don’t want to hear no complaints from you.”

Roger looked down at him. “If I keep it, what do you do?”

Sam met his gaze. “I managed this far, I’ll manage the rest of the way.”

They both knew that all it would take for Roger to put the check back on the desk was for Sam to ask. But it had gone too far. Sam’s back was up. He would never ask. That would be too much like begging. And he had his own kind of pride.

He knew from the expression on Denise’s face when he got home that evening that she already knew. He didn’t say anything, went straight to the bedroom and began to change his clothes. He got into a shirt and slacks, kicked his feet into a pair of slippers, and went into the living room. The ice and the Scotch were already on the coffee table. He fixed himself a drink, turned on the television for the seven o’clock news, and sat down on the couch. He took a long sip of his drink.

The children came into the room as was their custom after they had finished their dinner. They climbed upon the edge of the couch and kissed him. “Hi, Daddy.”

He smiled at them. “Hi. Have a good dinner?”

Myriam nodded, Junior didn’t even bother to answer. He was watching the television set.

“What are you watching, Daddy?” Myriam asked.

“The news,” he said.

“‘Sea Hunt’ is on,” Junior said. “Channel Two.”

“You can watch it after the news,” Sam said.

“It’ll be half over by then,” Junior said.

Sam grinned and rumpled the boy’s hair. “Okay. You can go and watch on your set if you want.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Junior was gone before the words were out of his mouth.

Sam looked at his daughter. “How about you? Don’t you want to watch it too?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” she said.

Sam looked at her. This was not usual. Ordinarily she and her brother took off as soon as he gave the word. She climbed down from the edge of the chair into his lap. They sat silently for a few minutes; when a commercial came on, she pulled at his arm.

“Daddy, are we rich?”

Sam grinned. “I don’t think so.”

“Poor?”

“We’re not poor.”

“Then if we’re not poor, we’re rich,” she said, finality in her voice.

“I never thought of it like that,” he said. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Are we as rich as Uncle Roger?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“Aunt Anne just left before you came home. She and Mummy were talking. She said Uncle Roger had more money than we do.”

“That’s right. But there’s nothing wrong in that.”

“She also said Uncle Roger was tired of supporting us.” There was a puzzled look on her face. “I thought you supported us.”

“I do,” he said. “That’s why I go to work every day.”

“Then why was Mummy crying?”

“She was?”

The child’s attention was caught by the television screen. Sam turned her face back to him. “When was Mummy crying?”

“Aunt Anne said that if you didn’t act nice to Uncle Roger, he would not give you any more money. And then we would be poor because you would lose everything.”

“She said that?” Sam’s voice was soft.

“Yes,” Myriam answered. “Then she left and Mummy began to cry.”

Sam sat there silently for a moment. He took another sip of his drink and watched the screen. But it didn’t register. Anne wasn’t that far wrong. If he couldn’t get the money to finish the picture, they could very well be poor. Perhaps not poor in the sense that he remembered his parents had been when he was a child, but poor compared with what they had now.

Myriam stirred on his lap. “I think I’ll go and watch ‘Sea Hunt.’”

“Go ahead,” he said.

“We won’t be poor?” she asked. “Like those little children in India that we take up collections in school for? All starving and with no clothes to wear?”

“Don’t worry. That’ll never happen.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled suddenly. “I don’t think I would like that very much.”

***

“You didn’t eat,” he said as they left the dinner table.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Denise followed him into the living room.

He turned on the TV and lifted the cover from the ice bucket. “It’s all melted,” he said, annoyed.

“I’ll get some more.” She took the bucket from the coffee table and left the room.

He flipped channels until he found something he was interested in watching, then sat back on the couch. He put some Scotch in a glass and held it in his hand until she came back with the ice. He put several cubes in the glass and stirred it with his fingers.

“That’s a sloppy habit,” she said.

“Adds a bit of flavor.”

She turned and looked at the screen. “Another Western? Don’t you ever watch anything else?”

“I like Westerns,” he said defensively.

“I’m going to bed.” She left the room before he had a chance to answer.

He sat there a second, watching the screen, then got to his feet and followed her to the bedroom, the glass still in his hand.

“Okay,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Get it off your chest.”

She turned to him from the closet where she had just hung her dress. “I don’t like the way you’ve been acting. You don’t talk to anybody anymore. You do things without thinking of anyone else. You act as if you’re the only person who knows anything.”

He took a sip of his drink.

“You’ve changed,” she said. “I don’t know what got into you. You never used to be like that.”

“Is that what your brother told you?” he asked.

“I haven’t spoken to Roger,” she snapped.

“No. You spoke to Anne. He told her what to tell you.”

“Anne can see things without anyone having to tell her what to say. So can I.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You can call Roger and explain things to him. He’s hurt. Maybe then he’ll give the check back to you.”

“No,” he said. “There’s nothing to explain. Roger took that check because he wanted to. I didn’t force him. Roger was right. It’s me who was wrong. But not only then. All the time. I should never have a partner. I’m not the type. I have to be my own boss. That was why I went into business myself in the first place.”

“But he was your partner. He had all that money tied up.”

“I paid him back,” he said. “You know that. Every penny he ever put in. That two hundred thousand was his share of the business before we went into this picture.”

“Roger says Stephen Gaunt has turned your head with his promises,” she said.

“Roger is full of shit!” he snapped, angry for the first time. “Stephen’s promised me nothing. He’s only said that he likes the picture so far, that’s all.” He drained the last drop of liquor in his glass. “Roger should have stayed in the real estate business. That’s all he knows.”

“But what about the money?” she asked. “You need it to finish the picture.”

“I’ll find it somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking at her. “But I’ll find it. And on my own terms. From now on, the only partner I’ll ever have is you.”

He put the drink down and walked over to her. She came into his arms and he drew her head down to his chest.

“I’m worried, Sam,” she said.

“So am I,” he confessed. “But talk to Myriam tomorrow morning. She overheard you and Anne talking and thinks we’re going to be poor. There’s no point in having her worry too.”

“She heard us?”

Sam nodded. “She told me you were crying. She thought she might have to go without clothes and be hungry.”

Tears suddenly came to Denise’s eyes. “The poor child.”

She went over to the dresser and picked up a tissue. “I’m all right now,” she said. She blew her nose. “I think I could use a drink.”