The Inheritors (31 page)

Spencer wasn’t that far wrong. There was a call from Sam waiting for him when he got back to his office.

Sam’s voice boomed through the wires. “You prick!” he laughed. “You’re fuckin’ my girl!”

Sam sounded anything but angry.

Steve said, “You have to admit I was a gentleman about it; I waited until you were through with her.”

Sam’s voice went serious. “She’s a nice girl, Steve. You’ll be good for her. She needs someone like you.”

“That’s enough crap, Sam,” Steve said lightly. “Marilu isn’t the reason you called me.”

“A little problem came up on my deal with Trans-World. I’ve completed the first five for them, now I’m ready to start on my own half, but they come up with a case of the shorts. They had a bad first six months and they have to get the new pictures into release.”

“Don’t tell me,” Steve said. “Craddock just pulled a long face and explained how embarrassed he was, but the boys back East…”

“You know the son of a bitch then?”

“I know,” Steve said.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

Sam was silent for a moment, his breath heavy in the telephone. “They’ll come up with seventy-five percent of the negative; they want me to come up with the other twenty-five percent.”

“How much is that?” Steve asked.

“My end, about six and a quarter million for the five pictures. Dave Diamond will give me four. I want the rest from you.”

“When do I get the pictures?” Steve asked.

“Three years after domestic release.”

“You got a deal,” Steve said. “On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You read the small print the next time. Craddock’s pulled that deal before. It’s his favorite escape clause. He never figured you could come up with the money.”

“I’ll fire my lawyer,” Sam said.

***

The first thing he noticed when he entered the apartment was her valises standing in the foyer. He made himself a drink, turned on the television set to the news program.

He didn’t turn when the bedroom door behind him opened.

“I didn’t think you’d be home this early,” she said. “Sam called. Did you speak to him?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“He wasn’t surprised that I was here.”

“Why should he be?” he asked. “Your arrival wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you,” she said.

“You didn’t. He called me on business.”

“I’d better leave now. I’m booked to Rome on a nine o’clock flight.” She made a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a disappointment to you.” Her voice trailed off.

“I wasn’t disappointed,” he said. “I was surprised.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“With all you do know, you know nothing of love. What you’re afraid of is to allow yourself to feel.”

“Maybe.” She held out her hand, European style. “Good-bye, Stephen Gaunt.”

He made no move to take her hand. “Don’t run away.”

“I’m not running away,” she said. “I’m going home.”

“The same thing. You go now and you’ll never find what you’re looking for. You’ll always be afraid.”

She was silent for a moment, watching his face. “You mean you want me to stay, even after last night?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked up. “Because I think we can love each other. And that’s too rare a thing to lose even before it begins.”

She sank to her knees in front of him and rested her head against his legs. “Stephen Gaunt,” she said. “I think I am already in love with you.”

CHAPTER NINE

Lazily Marilu swam to the far end of the heated pool and climbed out. She stood there for a moment, savoring the warm lawn-scented Connecticut air. She reached for a towel and began to dry herself.

Behind her she could hear the faint murmur of their voices. She turned to look back at them. They were occupied with the sheets of paper in front of them on the table and did not look up. She turned back to look out at the blue waters of the Sound.

The pool was on the crest of a small rolling hill that rose from the waters of Long Island Sound beneath them. There was a boat dock there that extended almost eighty feet from the shore. Moored alongside was a large motor yacht, shining whitely in the sun, over one hundred and forty feet at the waterline. On the other side of the dock were two speedboats and a sailboat.

She thought how nice it would have been if they had been out on the sea today in the sailboat. Just the two of them, no one else. They could have dropped the sails and drifted and made love in the open cockpit under the sun. But that was not the way it was.

She turned and started back toward them. All afternoon Steve had spent with the old man explaining the figures on the little white sheets of paper. Steve’s voice began to come clearly to her as she approached.

“The funds and the brokerage houses assure me they will go for a deal. And that means control. They are very unhappy with present management. But they don’t want cash.”

“What will they take?”

She stopped at her chair and picked up a package of cigarettes. She lit one while Steve answered.

“Debentures equal to thirty dollars per share and a bonus of class B non-voting common stock equal to five dollars a share. They feel it serves their tax picture that way.”

“It sure does,” Sinclair said. “They don’t pay any. At least not until the debentures and stock are sold or retired. But it still adds up to fifteen million dollars more than you thought.”

“There are compensating factors,” Steve said. “Firstly, we can expense the interest and cost of debentures; second, we don’t have to lay out the cash; third, by the time we have to pay them off we will have had the use of one hundred and fifty million dollars worth of their film library. In effect we’ll be paying them with their own monies.”

“Do they understand that you are spinning off the distribution end of the company?”

“Yes,” Steve answered. “They couldn’t care less. They feel it’s the losing end of the business. But I do have a problem there.”

“Yes?” Sinclair asked.

“They’re not interested in financing Samarkand.”

“You mean Sam Benjamin?”

“Same thing,” Steve said.

“Did they have a reason?” the old man asked.

“They had lots of reasons. But none of them the truth. What it comes down to is they won’t do business with what they call a ‘Jew promoter.’”

“If we have to take the distribution company, the deal’s no good for us,” Sinclair said definitely. “I’m not going to have that five-million-dollar annual operating deficit eat into our profits.”

“I have a way around it,” Steve said. “I think.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“You never know until you try,” Steve said. “The way I see it, we can supply fifty percent of his production capital. What I had to do is to find the rest of the financing for him.”

“Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that until I had clearance from you.”

“You’ve got it,” Sinclair said. “But I hope your friend doesn’t disappoint you. If he opens his mouth about this deal before we’re ready, he can blow the whole thing.”

“I know that,” Steve answered. “I’m going to have everything set before I go out there to see him. We make the tender the minute he agrees.”

“Do you really think it will work?”

“Why shouldn’t it? We’ll start with seventy-one percent of the stock in our pockets. It only takes nine percent more and we can consolidate the companies. And we should pick that up the first day.”

“Okay. Just don’t lead with your right,” the old man said, getting to his feet. “I wouldn’t like to see you catch one on the chin.”

Suddenly Steve grinned. “I feel better now.”

“Why?” Sinclair was puzzled.

“I was afraid you were getting soft,” Steve said. “But your message comes through loud and clear.”

Sinclair laughed and walked over to where Marilu was lying, “
Signorina
Barzini, I apologize for being so poor a host,” he said in flawless Italian.

She answered him in the same language. “In my profession I have grown accustomed to it. Men are always talking business.”

“It is your friend’s fault,” he gestured at Steve. “I think he is crazy to be talking business when he could be with you.”

Still in Italian, she replied. “He is many things. To many people. But crazy he is not.”

“That is very deep. And very Italian. Would you care to explain to an old man who does not quite understand?”

She hesitated.

“I do not mean to pry,” he said quickly. “You do not have to answer.”

“It is not that,” she said. “I was just thinking how to answer.”

He was silent.

“To me, he is the lover I thought I would never know. To Sam Benjamin, he is the friend that he never thought he would deserve. To you—” She stopped.

“Go on,” he said. “To me—?”

“To you—I think—he is the son you never had.”

“And what is he to himself?” the old man asked. “What do you think?”

A dark sadness seemed to appear in her large green eyes. “To himself—he is not good enough. He is pursuing a dream that will never be real.”

***

“Who will head up production for you?” Sam asked. “He’s the guy I have to live with.”

“Jack Savitt,” Steve answered. “He’s selling his agency to Artists and Writers Inc.”

“Good,” Sam said. “I like him.”

“Let me get it clear in my mind,” Roger said. “Trans-World—Sinclair takes over the studio and the foreign distribution companies. Samarkand—Trans-World, the domestic and Canadian companies. We finance production fifty-fifty; we share profits fifty-fifty. We each make pictures outside the financing deal but you can make them only for TV.”

“You’ve got it,” Steve said. “We’re interested only in making features for television.”

“Will they be distributed theatrically abroad?”

“Yes,” Steve answered.

“Isn’t that competitive with us?”

“I don’t think so,” Steve said. “The quality is not the same. Without the domestic market we’re automatically limited.”

“I’m satisfied with that,” Sam said. He turned to Dave Diamond. “What do you think?”

“I’m satisfied,” the banker said. “I have everything set for the revolving loan. You begin with a credit of fifteen million dollars.”

“What if I buy foreign pictures for domestic distribution as I have in the past?” Sam asked. “How do you fit into that?”

“The same as before,” Steve said. “You have no restrictions. I would like first crack at them, but if it’s your own money, you can do as you see fit.”

“That’s fair enough,” Sam said. “There’s only one thing I insist on.”

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“I’m the one who tells Craddock.”

Steve laughed. “Be my guest.”

“I’ve been waiting to get that son of a bitch,” Sam said. “When do you think we’ll be ready?”

“As long as it takes your lawyers to read the papers,” Steve answered.

“This is Friday,” Sam said. “We’ll sign on Sunday.”

“The tender will go out Monday,” Steve said.

Sam grinned. “I wish I could see Craddock’s face when he hears about it.” He turned to Roger, a note of triumph in his voice. “Samarkand—Trans-World. How about that? We’re a major.”

CHAPTER TEN

“It’s done,” Steve said, coming into the apartment. “We’ve got ninety-two percent of the stock the first day.”

“Congratulations,” she said.

“This calls for champagne.” He took a bottle from the small refrigerator and filled two glasses. “Start packing,” he said. “We’re leaving for California in the morning.”

“I’m already packed.” She looked down at her glass of champagne, then back at him. “But I’m not going with you. I’m going back to Rome.”

He was surprised. “What for? I thought you didn’t like any of the pictures they offered you.”

“Nickie came up with a proposition I do like,” she said. “Marriage.”

He didn’t speak.

She took the cable from the small desk and gave it to him.

His voice was soft. “So that’s it.”

“That’s it,” she said. She made her voice light. “Unless—”

He looked at her as her voice trailed off. “Unless what?”

She shook her head, her voice suddenly tight in her throat. “Nothing. It would not work anyway. I am an actress and I have my work. We would not fit together.”

“You could give up your work.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I guess so,” he said. “That’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

The tears came to her eyes. “But you never said you loved me. Even when—”

“I love you,” he said.

She came into his arms. “What took you so long?”

“I’m stupid,” he said. “I didn’t know until I suddenly realized I was going to lose you.”

She kissed him quickly and stepped away from him. She held up her glass to him. “Thank you, Stephen Gaunt. But, no.”

He almost dropped his glass.

“Don’t be so surprised,” she said. “But we both know it would not work. I would not give up my career.”

“You would rather be an actress than a woman?” he asked.

“I’m greedy. I’ve always been greedy,” she answered. “I want both. With you I must make a choice.”

“And with Nickie?”

“I have both. I know him. We have been together a long time. He knows me and he does not object.” She sipped her champagne and smiled. “You can relax. You’re safe.”

He began to smile. A moment later they were both laughing. He held out his arms to her and she came into them again. “Italian Girl, tonight we’re going on the town for the biggest night you ever had.”

“No,” she said. “Tonight we’re staying in.”

He kissed her. “I do love you. You believe that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I believe you. Because I remember what you said. That we can love each other. And we do. But I also know something else that you do not.”

He looked his question.

“There are two kinds of love. One is the marrying kind. And ours is the other.”

***

Sam could feel the difference the moment he drove on the lot the next morning. The suddenly hushed greeting of the guard at the gate instead of the usual hearty bellow. The small clusters of employees who suddenly stopped talking to look after his car as it passed them. The pile of telephone messages on his desk.