The Inheritors (22 page)

“Don’t shit me, Ernie,” Steve said. “You loaned Benjamin that money to make sure that you got the printing on it. No other reason. You couldn’t care less what he did with it.”

“Right. But that was only if everything was all right and there were no problems. But we also take a chattel on the picture to protect ourselves.”

Steve’s voice was still flat, but there was an edge of steel in it now. “Who’s your biggest customer, Ernie?”

“You are.” The answer came without hesitation. It was true and they both knew it. Supercolor did all the printing for Sinclair’s filmed shows.

“And we never ask a penny’s loan or advance, do we?”

“That’s right. But—”

Steve interrupted, his voice deceptively soft. “Next year’s contract will come up soon. As usual, Technicolor, Deluxe, and Pathe will bid on it. As usual, you will come with about the same pricing. I have to present those bids to my board with my recommendations.”

Brachman went down in flames. But gallantly. “Okay, Steve. You want a favor, you got it. I told you all you have to do is ask. I only hope we don’t get hurt by it.”

“You won’t get hurt. It’s a great picture,” Steve said. “Thank you, Ernie. I appreciate that.”

He put down the telephone and turned to Jack. The agent stared at him. “Have you gone out of your mind, Steve? You just put your neck in a noose. That Ernie Brachman’s a bad guy and if he blows the dough on that deal, I wouldn’t put it past him to go to Sinclair and say that you used your position to push him.”

Steve looked at him. “Then it’s up to us to see that the deal doesn’t blow, isn’t it?”

Jack ran out of words. After a moment, he got to his feet. “You got anything stronger than coffee around here this morning? I need a drink.”

Steve gestured to the bar. While Jack poured himself a shot of whiskey, Steve refilled his coffee cup. Jack tossed the drink down and came back to the desk.

“Bad policy to be on the sauce this early in the morning,” Steve said mildly.

“Okay, okay,” Jack said. “I have a hunch that you aren’t finished with this little caper just yet. Let’s have the rest of it.”

Steve smiled and sat down. “Your hunches have a way of being absolutely right. You just got yourself a new client.”

“I have?” Jack asked. “Who?”

“Sam Benjamin,” Steve said. “And you’re going to make a distribution deal for his picture.”

“How the hell am I goin’ to do that when he has his own distribution company?”

“Not domestic. You’re going to sell the foreign distribution rights.”

Jack stared at him. “You mean he hasn’t got a foreign distribution deal on the picture?”

Steve shook his head. “I know he hasn’t. I have the TV deal for it and he has to clear all distribution deals through us.”

“Christ! A picture like that could be worth more money abroad than here. They love that kind of a movie.”

“You’re getting the message,” Steve nodded. “But I want big numbers.”

“How big?”

“A half million or more.”

“That makes it tough. There are only the majors that can go for that kind of dough. And they never paid that much money for foreign distribution rights.”

“Trans-World Pictures will,” Steve said.

It was one o’clock in the morning and Sam sat in the chair, staring owlishly out of the window at the lighted facade of the American embassy across the street. He picked up the glass of champagne from the table next to him. He made a face and turned back to the room. “Drink up,” he said. “There’s still four more bottles left.”

The girls sitting on the couch giggled. He looked over at Charley. “The least you could do is come up with some cunts who speak English,” he grumbled. “Tell ’em what I said.”

Charley began to translate, but he interrupted him. “No, wait a minute, I got a better idea.”

He got up and walked unsteadily over to the couch. He looked down at the girls. “Tell ’em the first girl to give me a hard-on wins a bottle of champagne.”

The girls giggled again. He turned to Charley. “You sure they don’t speak English?”

Charley nodded. He spoke rapidly to the girls. They chattered back at him. He looked at Sam. “They say they’re not whores. They’re actresses and they want to be treated with respect.”

Sam stared at the girls. After a moment he spoke. “Throw ’em out.” He went back to the chair and sat down, his back to him. He picked up his glass of champagne. Again he made a face. “Jesus! Haven’t we got any real whiskey left in the place?”

“No,” Charley answered. “And I can’t get any. They cut off our credit this afternoon.”

“That ain’t all they’ll be cutting off,” Sam said dourly. “Tomorrow they’ll be cutting off my balls.” He took another sip of champagne. “Pure shit! A man can’t even get a respectable drunk on this
pishachs
. If I ever get the money, I make a resolution never to drink anything but Scotch whiskey for the rest of my life. No ice, no water, nothin’. Just pure whiskey, that’s all. At least that way when I want to get
shikker
I can depend on it.”

He got out of the chair and went back to the girls. “I heard about you kids using Seven-Up and Coca-Cola for a douche, but did you ever try Dom Perignon ’55? It’s got to be the best.”

The girls laughed. One of them spoke rapidly to Charley. Charley laughed.

“What did the cunts say?” Sam asked. “Tell me.”

“They said we’re wasting time out here, why don’t we all go to bed?”

“It’s okay with me,” Sam said. “But if they think they’re wasting time out here, wait until we get into the bedroom. Then they’ll find out how to really waste time. I couldn’t get it up if you pumped it full of starch.”

Charley said something to the girls and they got up and went into the bedroom.

“You can get started,” Sam called after them. “Don’t wait for me.”

The door closed behind them and he turned to Charley. “I never promised you a steady job, did I?”

Charley shook his head. “Take it easy, boss,” he said soothingly. “Something will turn up.”

“Sure,” Sam said sarcastically. “And I know exactly what. My toes.” He looked around the room. “Tell me, how do you go about sneaking out of a suite like this without paying up?”

Charley didn’t answer.

“Come on.” Sam picked up a bottle of champagne and started for the bedroom. At the door, he turned to look back at Charley. “Well?”

Slowly Charley walked over. Sam opened the door and stood there. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he said. “I thought you said they didn’t understand English. They did get started without me.”

Charley looked into the room over Sam’s shoulder. The two girls were naked in the bed and wrapped around each other in a wild tangle of arms and legs.

Sam turned to look at him. “I think they’re in love,” he said solemnly.

Charley nodded. “Looks like it.”

“I don’t think we should disturb them,” Sam said, gently closing the door. The telephone began to ring as they walked back into the room. “Now who the hell is that?”

Charley picked up the telephone. “
Pronto
.” A voice rattled in the receiver. He looked at Sam. “A Jack Savitt calling from Los Angeles for you.”

“To hell with him,” Sam said. “Tell him I’m out. He’s probably found out the paychecks I gave a couple of his clients bounced.”

Charley started to speak again, but a voice cut him off. He was silent, listening, then turned to Sam again. “He says it’s not about the rubber. He says he’s got a deal for you on the picture.”

“Give me the phone. What are you waiting for?” Sam practically tore it from his hands. “Hello, Jack,” he said into it. “What’s on your mind?”

He listened and the sweat began to break out on his forehead. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at it. After a moment, he spoke. “Yes, yes… Good-bye.”

He put down the telephone and turned to Charley. Suddenly he grabbed him around the waist and hugged him, lifting him off his feet. “You were right, you guinea bastard, you were right!”

“Put me down,” Charley yelled. “You crazy or somethin’? You want to get a rupture?”

The yelling brought the naked girls to the door of the bedroom. They stood there staring at them. Sam picked up two bottles of champagne and gave one to each girl. “Back in the box for you lovers,” he said, pushing them into the bedroom and closing the door behind them.

He turned to Charley. “Come on, let’s get out of here to find a bar with real whiskey and celebrate!”

“Celebrate?” Charley asked. “What are we celebratin’?”

“We’ve been saved by the bell,” Sam said. A look of wonder suddenly came over his face. “Really. Jack Savitt’s coming over here the day after tomorrow with the president and the international sales manager of Trans-World Pictures. They want to make a deal for the foreign rights to our movie!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“
Brust flanken!
” Sam looked at the table in disgust. He looked up at Denise. “The least you could do when I bring somebody home to dinner is to lay on a steak. This is for relatives.”

Denise smiled. “Steve asked for it.”

Sam turned to him. “You got to be out of your mind. It’s instant heartburn!”

Steve grinned. “I like it. I can get a steak anywhere in the United States, but
brust flanken
like this, I can only get here.”

“You can’t even pronounce it properly and you like it?
Broost flahnkin
, not
bruhst flanking
.”

“You say tomatoes, I say tomahtoes. Let’s eat,” Steve smiled, holding out his plate.

Despite his complaint, Sam put away twice as much food as anyone at the table. When dinner was finished, he got to his feet. “Not bad,” he said to Denise.

Steve grinned at her.

She smiled back at him. “Why don’t you both go into the living room and talk,” she suggested. “I’ll help Mamie straighten up.”

Sam made two drinks and gave one to Steve. “Did you see those reviews?” he said proudly.

Steve nodded. “They were great. Crowther said it was the best film in the last ten years.”

“When that boy flips, it’s really got to be somethin’,” Sam chortled. “The lines are around the block from the time the theater opens until it closes. And L.A. is the same. Raves and SRO.”

“When are you going into general release?” Steve asked.

“I’m in no hurry. I want to wait for the Academy nominations. Meanwhile I’ll let the picture build. Nobody can say that I don’t know how to get the most out of a film. If we pick up the New York Critics Award and then the Academy, I’ll need a steam shovel to handle the money.”

Steve held up his drink. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Sam said. He drank. “Not bad for my first picture. And they said I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“What are you planning next?” Steve asked.

“Right now I’m concentrating on this one,” Sam said. “I got an advertising campaign aimed right at the Academy. But I got Marilu and Pierangeli signed for a follow-up picture.”

“Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Steve looked at him. “Not if you want to build a real company like you say. You can’t do it on foreign pictures alone. No matter how good they are.”

“How do I get domestic pictures? The majors get all the cream. All I can pick up is the
shlock
.”

“You can start by acquiring a few properties and making them,” Steve said.

“I’m not crazy altogether,” Sam said. “I know I’m no producer.”

“You got this one made,” Steve said. “You’re a producer.”

“This was different. Marilu was a star. She came to me with it. Everything was blocked out for me. All I had to do was come up with the loot.”

“Isn’t that what most of the majors are doing right now?” Steve asked.

“But they have the money. I can’t compete with them.”

“You don’t have to right now,” Steve said. “Trans-World will go partners with you on anything you like after this picture. They need product.”

“You really think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” Steve said confidently. “Why don’t you try them?”

Sam thought for a moment. “No. It won’t work. I haven’t got any properties. And I wouldn’t know one if I fell over it. Show me a picture and I can tell you in a second whether it’s got anything. But a property? That’s something else.”

“It’s not that difficult if you keep your eyes open,” Steve said. “For example, there are two that I can suggest right now.”

Sam looked at him shrewdly. “Two?”

Steve nodded. “One is a play that’s going into rehearsal next week. It’s a comedy by a new playwright, about young marrieds in Greenwich Village. For seventy-five thousand dollars you can grab the screen rights as well as a piece of the play. It’s called
Washington Arch
.”

“Lousy title,” Sam said.

“Maybe, but the play’ll be a big hit.”

“You said there was another.”

“This one’s a book. I read the manuscript. The author’s tongue is hanging out for money. Fifty thousand and you’ve got it. It’s out in January and it can’t miss being number one on the best-seller list. This one’s got a great title.
The Steel Rooster.
”

“That
is
a good title,” Sam said. “I like it. What makes you so sure it will be number one?”

“It’s all about fucking,” Steve said. “And I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like to read about that. But besides, it’s a hell of a story.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sam said.

“Do that,” Steve said. “I’ll send a copy of each over to you. The price might go up if you show an interest in the properties.”

“They’ll find out anyway if I want to buy them,” Sam said.

“Not if you work through Jack Savitt,” Steve said. “He can act for you without revealing your name until you’re ready. His reputation is good enough for them to accept his statement that he has a legitimate interest in the property.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “I’ll look at them as soon as I get them.”

Denise came into the room. “Everything all right?”

“Just fine,” Steve said. He got to his feet. “I’ll have to go. I’m catching a morning plane to the coast.”

Sam looked at him. “You ride that plane like an ordinary guy rides the subway.”

Steve laughed. “That’s a good way to put it. Subway in the Sky.” He turned to Denise. “Thank you for the
brust flanken
. It was delicious.”