The Inheritors (23 page)

Denise smiled. He kissed her cheek.

“You still can’t say it,” Sam said, walking to the door with him. He stopped there. “Look. If we get any nominations for the Academy, I’ll take a big table. Will you join us?”

“I usually don’t make dates five months in advance,” Steve said. “But in this case, I’ll make an exception. You get the nominations. I’ll be there.”

***

The walls of the grand ballroom in the Beverly Hilton Hotel were stretched with people. Holding on to the hand of his date, he fought his way through to Sam’s table. The first person he saw was Denise. She was sitting between her children, a proud smile on her face.

He stopped next to her and bent to kiss her cheek. “Congratulations, Denise,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

She could hardly hear him over the noise. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she shouted.

“Yes,” he said. He turned to Myriam. “My God, you’re all grown up. You’re not too old to kiss.”

“On the cheek,” she said, turning her face just like her mother.

He kissed her and turned to Junior. “Big night, isn’t it, Samuel?” He held out his hand.

The boy took it shyly. “Yes, Uncle Steve.”

He turned back to Denise. “I’d like you to meet—” He stared at the girl, suddenly realizing he had forgotten her name. The time lag must be worse than he thought. “Green-eyed Girl,” he said. “Mrs. Benjamin.”

“Irene Murdoch,” the girl said. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Benjamin. Congratulations.”

“Where’s Sam?” he asked.

“He’s off with the Barzinis. They’re taking pictures,” Denise said. “Sit down and have a drink.”

He held a chair for the girl and sat down beside her. “I can use one,” he said. “I just got off the plane an hour ago and had to change and pick up—” He looked at the girl in bewilderment. Damn, he had forgotten her name again. “—Green-eyed Girl here and come over.”

He put some ice into two glasses and added Scotch. He handed one glass to the girl.

“At least you remember what I drink.”

He grinned. “I’m not that bad, Green-eyed Girl.” But it had been an accident. He only gave her Scotch because that was what he was drinking.

A crowd of people surged toward the table. He looked up. Sam was in the center of them, his tie askew, in his arms a number of Oscars.

He saw Steve and let out a yell. “You made it!” He dropped the Oscars on the table and hugged him. He kissed him on both cheeks.

Steve grinned at him. “Congratulations.”

“Five of them. How about that?” Sam yelled. “We walked away with everything. Best picture, best actress, best director, best screenplay, best everything!”

“You did it,” Steve said.

Sam sat down abruptly. “I need a drink.” He picked up the bottle of Scotch and held it to his mouth. The liquor ran down over his shirt.

“Sam!” Denise put out her hand. “People are looking!”

“Let ’em,” Sam yelled happily. “That’s what they came here for.”

Jack Savitt came up with his girl and they sat down. Jack leaned across the table to Steve. “It’s a wild night.”

Steve nodded.

Ernie Brachman, tall and distinguished in his dinner jacket, stopped by the table. “Congratulations, Sam.”

“Congratulate yourself, Ernie, you son of a bitch!” Sam shouted at him. “The smartest thing you ever did was to lay off me.”

Ernie smiled again, but this time only with his lips. He bowed to the table and walked away.

“Sam,” Denise reproached him. “You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that.”

“Fuck him!” Sam said. “That prick pisses ice water. The only reason he strung along with me was because it was good business.”

He turned back to the table and began to stand the Oscars upright like toy soldiers in front of him. “Look at that,” he sang. “Five of them.”

His eyes were slightly glazed. “You know what that means? Each and every little one of them is worth a million dollars at the box office. Five million dollars.”

He looked around the table. “Now maybe they won’t think I’m so stupid. Or that they can push me around anymore. I’m just as big as any of them.

“I got the number-one play on Broadway. The number-one book on the best-seller lists. And now I got the number-one picture in the world.

“I’m not Sam Benjamin the fat little
shmuck
exhibitor anymore. I’m Sam Benjamin, number one in the picture business. Nobody pushes me around.

“And you know what I’m goin’ to do tomorrow?”

The table was silent as he looked around at them. “You know what I’m goin’ to do?

“Tomorrow I’m goin’ to open up the TV bidding for the picture. They’ll pay me a million dollars for the right to show it five years from now.”

He stared belligerently at Steve.

Steve didn’t answer him.

It was Jack who finally spoke. “I thought you had a deal with Steve.”

“Friendship is one thing, business is another,” Sam said, still looking at Steve. “The picture is worth a million dollars. Isn’t that right, Steve?”

Everyone turned to Steve.

His gray eyes were calm as he watched Sam; slowly he nodded. “I guess you’re right, Sam.”

“Are you goin’ to pay me a million dollars for it?”

“No.” Steve’s voice was even. “I’m going to pay you exactly what we agreed on. No more. No less.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment. Then he suddenly smiled. “That’s right.” He took a deep breath. “I’d hate to sit in a poker game with you.” He got to his feet. “Take me home, Mama,” he said to Denise. “I’m drunk.”

Jack watched him go, then leaned over to Steve. “I was right about the little bastard. Like someone once said, ‘Impossible when he’s broke, insufferable when he’s solvent.’”

That Day Last Spring

AFTERNOON

 I

She went out of bed like a cat. One moment she was there beside me, warm and purring, the next, like an animal scenting danger, she was at the window. She peered out between the drapes. There was something about the way she stood there, tense and watching, the sun turning her all gold and shining.

I rolled over on my stomach. “Come back to bed, Blonde Girl.”

She didn’t move. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“So have you,” I said.

It was like she didn’t even hear me. “He’s walking around back to the carport. A little guy.”

“Maybe if you’ll stop looking, he’ll go away.”

“He might be somebody important,” she said. “He’s got a silver Rolls.”

I looked at her. The long blonde hair, the blue eyes, the full breasts with tiny nipples, the moist golden fur. And I gave up. “Why don’t you invite him over?”

“That’s an idea.” She pulled back the drapes and stepped outside on the terrace. “Yoo hoo!” she hollered, waving. “Over here!”

This I had to see. I got out of bed and walked over. The moment I saw the car I knew who it was. And that it only meant one thing. Sam Benjamin had not given up. He had sent a persuader. Perhaps the best persuader in the world.

Dave Diamond, a/k/a “The
Shtarker
,” your friendly neighborhood banker. That is, if you were in a million-dollar neighborhood. Otherwise known as president of the California Consolidated Banks.

She called again and he turned. For a moment he seemed frozen to the spot, his mouth agape. Then he dashed back to his car and jumped in. The next moment he was halfway down the driveway.

I leaned over the terrace railing and yelled as he came past us. “What’s the matter, Dave? Didn’t you ever see a naked girl before?”

The Rolls screeched to a stop. He stuck his head out of the window. “What the hell are you doing up there?”

“Sunbathing,” I said.

“You gotta be crazy,” he shouted. “In broad daylight. The cops’ll grab you.”

“It’s the one thing you can’t do at night,” I said. “Come on up and join us.”

“Not unless you get some clothes on,” he said. “My depositors wouldn’t like it if I was dragged downtown for showing myself off in public.”

I looked at her. “What do you say, Blonde Girl?”

“He’s cute.”

I leaned over the railing. “You heard her. Come on up.”

He was pulling the car against the curb as we went inside. I pulled on my Levis as she went into her closet. The bikini she wore when she came out looked like she had even less on than when she was naked. She went to the door and opened it.

He came into the apartment, his eyes darting suspiciously from side to side. “I thought you
had
a girl,” he said.

“He’s got a new one now,” she said brightly.

“Blonde Girl,” I said. “I’d like you to meet the guardian of my money. Dave, this is Blonde Girl.”

“He guards my money too,” she said.

He looked at her with new interest. This was his favorite language. “I haven’t seen you in the bank, have I?”

“No, Mr. Diamond,” she said demurely. “I don’t bank in the main office. I have one of those small accounts at the Sunset Plaza Branch. You know, twenty-five-thousand-dollar minimum balance. But I did get the sweetest letter from you when I opened my account.”

He preened visibly. “Well, if there’s anything you need, just call on me. Do you work around here?”

“No,” she answered. “I work in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” he asked. “And you live here? When do you work?”

“Every other Monday,” she said sweetly. “Can I get you something to drink?”

He stared at her for a moment while he digested that. “Scotch. If you have it.”

“I have it.” She left the room.

He looked after her appreciatively, then turned to me. “I don’t know how you do it,” he said. “You always come up with the greatest. How did you find her?”

“She found me,” I said. “Just like you did. Tell Sam the answer is still no.”

“Now wait a minute,” he said. “You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

She came back with a bottle of Chivas Regal, ice, and glasses. She put them down on the small table. “You men just help yourselves,” she said, unfastening her brassiere. “I’ll take a shower while you talk.”

Dave couldn’t keep his eyes from her breasts as they sprang free. He watched her until the bathroom door closed behind her, then turned to me. “You put her up to that,” he accused me. “You know I can’t talk when I have a hard on.”

I laughed, filling a glass and giving it to him. I took my own glass. “
L’chaim
,” I said.

“Up yours,” he said.

We drank.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I won’t be used anymore,” I said. “This time Sam can do it by himself.”

“He still owes me twelve million,” Dave said. “But I’m not worried anymore. He’s got it made.”

“Good for you,” I said. “I wish you both luck. Now you go tell him I’m not interested.”

“You sit out here three years lookin’ for action an’ when it finally comes your way, you don’t want it.”

“It’s not the kind of action I want,” I said.

“What is it you want?” He was becoming annoyed. “You want to be head of a studio? Everybody wants to be head of a studio. But there are only so many—”

“Okay, Dave—enough. You know better than that. You know what I want. I want my own company. Where I’m the boss. Like Sinclair. Like Sam.”

“Sam says you’ll be boss if you come in.”

“Sam’s full of shit. How can I be boss if somebody else owns the company?” I refilled my glass. “And what the hell does a plate-glass company know about the picture business, even if they are the biggest plate-glass manufacturers in the world?”

“You gotta stay up to date, Steve.” Dave eyeballed me. “This is no longer a game for the little guys. Look around. Trans America, Gulf and Western, the Avco Corporation. With companies like that you need more than peanuts to play in their league.”

“Exactly what are you saying?”

“No hard feelings, Steve,” he said. “But if you’re still looking to buy a company, forget it. Nobody wants your money anymore. They want paper. Backed with the name of a big company, all fancy with gold lettering that they can take down to the Street and play games with. You ain’t got enough money to beat that game. Nobody has.”

I was silent for a moment. “Then you think this is the best I can do?”

He nodded.

I turned and looked out the window. It was as simple as that. Three years shot to hell. Three years of waiting for the right thing to happen. Now it was over. It would never happen.

“What if I could match the offer?” I asked.

Dave was ironic. “Thirty-two million dollars?”

“But it’s mostly paper.”

“So?”

I took a deep breath. “Then what’s in it for me?”

“More than you ever thought,” Dave said. “If I can tell ’em you’re interested I can arrange a meeting.”

“I already met with Sam.”

“Not with him,” Dave said quickly. “With Johnston of Palomar Plate. He’s the emmiss. He’s the one who really wants you and insists that you’re part of the deal.”

“Why me? We’ve never met.”

“He makes it a big point. Says he has known about you all his business life. He thinks you’re the only one in this industry that makes any sense at all.”

I lit a cigarette and looked at Dave thoughtfully. “You know him?”

“We’ve met,” Dave said noncommittally. That meant he didn’t know him at all. In Dave’s position not being on a first-name basis was a cardinal sin. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Yes.” Everyone had. Last month his picture was on the front cover of
Time
. Along with an article inside on conglomerates. And how he had taken his company from the quiet conservatism of eighty million a year to where it is now, almost eight hundred million a year. All in a short time, merely by exchanging pieces of paper.

I remembered the portrait. It was a typical
Time
cover. Filled with the symbolism of dollar signs and gold stock certificates and the products of the companies he now controlled.

“Don’t say no until you talk to him,” Dave said. “He promises you complete autonomy.”

“He told you that?”

“Personally,” Dave assured me.

“What else did he promise you?”

Dave looked uncomfortable.

“Come on, you can tell me,” I urged. “We’re friends.”

“Five millions of deposits,” he said reluctantly.

I whistled. “All for talking me into it?”

Dave shook his head. “You have nothing to do with it. He likes the way we operate. We’re not an old-fashioned bank. We swing. Besides, we get our twelve million back from Sam.”