The Predators (34 page)

“Wait until the heat of summer,” I said.

“The windows are electric, too,” Buddy said. “You don’t have to crank them up.”

“It’s too big,” Giselle said. “I would like a small car.”

“You get used to it and you’ll love it,” Buddy said. “Ulla felt the same way when we came here.”

Buddy and I took Giselle home and then we went over the Brooklyn Bridge to the terminal. On the way I told Buddy the deal. He sympathized with me, but he had no answers for me. I drove to the terminal offices and walked into Cioffi’s office.

He was smiling. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I said. “Can you get me a meeting with Al?”

“I’ll call him,” Cioffi said, picking up the phone. “He did say he would be down here sometime this afternoon.”

“If it’s okay with you, then, I’ll wait here for him.” I turned to Buddy. “You take the car and go home,” I told him. “We’ll see you both for dinner.”

*   *   *

I waited in the office until it was almost six o’clock before Anastasia showed up. I looked out the window and saw his Cadillac and two bodyguards waiting for him.

“Hi ya, Jerry.” Anastasia smiled. “You talk to the frogs yet?”

“I spoke to them, Al,” I replied. “They’re not ready to do a big setup yet. They said they haven’t the money to support it.”

He looked at me. “You got a fuckin’ lot of water,” he said. “What are you goin’ to do with it? Stick it up your ass like a giant enema?”

I laughed. “I checked out a few supermarket operators. They said they could use three-gallon and five-gallon bottles of pure French water. Of course, they won’t pay much for it, and they don’t care about the name. They only want it because it’s cheap.”

“What do you think you can get for it?” he asked.

“Two dollars for the three-gallon, and three dollars for the five-gallon bottles,” I said.

“That won’t give us very much,” he said. “It’ll cost us seventy cents a bottle to service it. Well, this changes things. We’ll have to get more than fifty-fifty.”

“It’s your ball game, Al,” I said. “You tell me. Just remember, I get nothing out of this. All the money goes to the French.”

“I don’t care,” Anastasia said. “Fuck the French. You keep what you want and they won’t know the difference.”

“That wasn’t my deal with them,” I said. “They’ll get all their money.”

6

It was six months before I got rid of all the water. That made it late April 1956 before I could send all the money to France. Twenty thousand dollars. That meant that I got nothing for the work I had done. On top of that, I used up almost nine grand of my own money to live on. I really felt stupid. I did my best to promote the goddamn Plescassier and they gave me nothing. They didn’t help me and they didn’t help themselves.

I stared at the account books on the table I had set up in the apartment. I looked across the room at Giselle. “They really fucked me, my French friends,” I said sarcastically.

“Why do you say that?” she asked. “They tried to give you a chance.”

“They gave me a chance,” I snapped. “But they kept a leash around my neck so that I couldn’t go too far.”

“They put up a lot of money to ship the water into the States,” she said.

I looked at her. “Not that much,” I said. “Don’t forget I worked a long time inside Plescassier and I know all their costs. I know how much it cost to barrel and ship the water. The twenty grand I sent back to them pays for all their costs and a little more.”

She didn’t say anything to me.

I slammed the account books on the floor. “Fuck them! I know they have a two-million-dollar advertising program for their water in France. Why in the hell did they think it wouldn’t cost at least that much money here? The Americans weren’t waiting with open arms to embrace Plescassier!”

“Why don’t you talk to J. P. about it again?” she asked. “He’s not stupid.”

“Maybe he’s not,” I answered. “But his father is. Besides, talking to J. P. on the phone won’t do a damn thing. Over the phone, neither of us understands the other’s accent.”

“Then why don’t you go to France and see him?” she asked.

“I couldn’t take another eight days of seasickness,” I said.

“There are already three airlines flying jets between Europe and the States. You will be there in one day.” She smiled.

I looked at her. “Will you fly with me?”

She was still smiling. “Anywhere with you.”

*   *   *

“You’re crazy!” Buddy said. “You go back to France, you’re fucked!”

“What am I goin’ to do here?” I asked. “I’ve never done anything but work in Uncle Harry’s fountain and learn a little about the seltzer business from Rita and Eddie. And I wasn’t very smart about that—the minute I went into the army, my fuckin’ uncle and girlfriend screwed me out of it.”

“But in the army you learned about running an auto repair and service factory. There’s a lot of car dealers looking for a man to run their service department. There’s been a lot of schmucks out there who know nothing about the work they do and they’re doin’ all right.”

I looked at him. “What do you mean they’re doing well, Buddy?” I asked. “They make nine or ten grand a year. That’s shit. You’re booking forty grand a year with what you do. I can’t even keep the cheap apartment that I live in on that kind of money.”

“You gonna do better in France?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Better living there is cheaper than here. I’ll make more money with Plescassier than I would working in a service department at an automobile dealer’s showroom.”

“Giselle talk you into it?” he asked. “I know she wants to go home.”

“This is my decision, not hers,” I said. “Don’t forget Plescassier isn’t the only bottled water in France. Evian and Perrier are way in front of them. And I know that they are planning on going into the States. Maybe I can get a job with one of them.”

“That’s a long shot,” Buddy said.

“I got nothing to lose,” I said. “Everything’s in the shithouse already.”

“I can get you seventeen fifty for your Buick,” he said. “You can’t use it over there.”

I laughed at him. “When I bought it, you told me I could get twenty-five hundred for it.”

“But that was if you kept it for just a few months.” He smiled. “But you got it almost eight months now. The new-year models will be coming out soon.”

“Okay, you son of a bitch.” I laughed at him. “But someday, I’ll get even with you.”

7

The airlines only went to three cities in Europe from the States: Pan American to London, TWA to Rome, and KLM, the Dutch airlines, to Amsterdam. I decided to go to London. At least they spoke English. We had to take a small Air France plane to Paris.

In Paris we had a surprise. Paul met us when we arrived at Orly. He gave us a normal French greeting. First he kissed Giselle on both cheeks, then gave an extra kiss for good luck on her right cheek. Then he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, and we shook hands French style.

He looked at Giselle. “You look more beautiful than ever. Very American.” Then he turned to me. “Don’t you think?”

I smiled. “She looks French to me.”

Paul gestured and took my arm. “When the
porteur
brings your luggage to the car, I will drive you to the nice apartment that I have for you.”

I looked at him. “I haven’t heard from J. P. at the office in the last two days since we took off for here. I thought that he and his father would at least want to have a meeting with me.”

Paul looked at us. “You’ve not heard the news?”

“What news?” I asked.

“
Monsieur Martin est mort
,” he said. “That’s why I met you. He told me to tell you that he would see you as soon as the mourning period is over. The family is very religious French Huguenot so they go the whole period. That means J. P. will not do any business for almost a month.”

Paul had one of the new D.S. 21 Citroëns. It was the largest automobile they built in France. They only made them in black. He told me that now only politicians, the noveaux riches, and the gangsters could afford it. I laughed at him. “And where do you fit into that crowd?”

He smiled. “I’m a Corsican. We are in a class of our own.”

Giselle and I sat in the backseat of the car. “I want to take some time to see my family.”

Paul nodded. “That’s already arranged. Next week you will go to Lyons.”

“Will my sister be there, too?” she asked.

“Of course; she will be coming from Brittany with her new husband,” he answered.

I looked at Giselle. “You didn’t tell me that Therese got married.”

“I didn’t think it was important for you,” she answered. “Besides, I had so much to learn in the States, I forgot all about it.”

Paul looked back at us from the front passenger’s seat. It wasn’t until then that I realized the fat man was still chauffeuring for him. I reached over the seat and extended my hand to him. He smiled and looked at Giselle. “
Bienvenue, mademoiselle.
”

She laughed and leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek.
“Ma cher ami
,” she said.

I sat back and spoke to Paul. “So I’m fucked. I wish I had known about the old man before we took off. Now what the hell am I going to do while I’m waiting here in Paris for a month?”

“We won’t be staying in Paris.” Paul laughed. “We’ll be going to the film festival in Cannes. It’s beginning on May twelfth and I have to be there a few days ahead.”

“What the hell do you have to do with a film festival?” I asked.

“You have not been in touch,” he said. “I am a very important artists’ manager now. Many of my clients are in films that will be shown at Cannes.”

“So you are a busy man,” I said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Take the sun.” He smiled. “See some of the interesting films and look at all the beautiful girls on the beaches.”

Giselle looked over at him. “Jerree is not watching the pretty girls without me being there.”

“Of course,” Paul said. “And not only that. Jack Cochran, J. P.’s friend, has invited both of you to stay at his villa.”

8

Paul owned an apartment building on the George V, across from the famous hotel. His building was almost thirty years old. Paul had bought it when real estate in Paris was at its ebb, just after the war. Before the war ended, the Germans had used the building as officers’ apartment housing. When the Germans had left, the building was completely gutted. The valuable gold-finished faucets and bathroom fixtures were taken; oriental rugs, French tapestries decorating the important entryways and halls, and even copies of French art and sculpture had been stolen. He paid next to nothing for the property, claiming that this was one of the spoils of war. Paul told us that it had taken more than a year to restore the building, but, he said, smiling, he was Corsican and Corsicans knew how to get things done. His building was one of the first ever to be completed.

He was also very clever. He turned the lower three floors into office space and the nine floors above were apartments. Of course, he kept the penthouse apartment for himself. And, at the same time, he managed to get control of several of the important cabaret theaters. Through the artists he had working in the theaters he began to manage their careers. He found them a great deal of work in the French film industry, which was just recovering from the destruction of war. It was only a short time before he became one of the most important artists’ managers in the film industry. He had the most beautiful girls at his beck and call, culled from his cabarets and clubs, and it didn’t hurt that most of them did their best work on their backs. The male dancers, most of them being gay, were all very bright. They had physical beauty, and they could act. It wasn’t long until he realized that the real opportunities were in the film industry. He still kept his clubs, but he turned them over to his Corsican employees, who he knew could give him a straight count. And on the first floor of the building he opened his offices.

PAUL RENARD—ARTISTS’ AGENCY AND REPRESENTATION

The apartment he gave us to stay in was a very comfortably decorated living room, bedroom, and kitchen with the newest appliances found in France. Giselle loved it. She smiled at me. “I could live here forever,” she said.

“It’s kind of tight,” I said.

“An apartment like this would cost much more than the larger apartment we had in New York,” she said. “This would cost us two thousand dollars a month, compared with the five fifty we were paying there.”

I stared at her. “But I thought it would be cheaper for us in France than in the States.”

“Avenue George V is like Fifth Avenue or Park Avenue in New York,” she said. “I’ve checked apartments there and I know. If we had an apartment on one of those streets in New York it would be just as expensive as here.”

“I don’t know how we are going to live here, in that case,” I said.

“Don’t be stupid.” She laughed. “Who says we have to live like this?”

*   *   *

Jack Cochran called me at the apartment the second day that we were there. “Hi, Jerry,” he said. “Everything okay? Is Giselle happy?”

“We’re all good, Jack,” I said. “Thank you for calling.”

“I thought that we could have dinner this evening,” he said.

“Is J. P. in Paris?” I asked.

“No,” Jack answered. “He’s staying in the original family home in Plescassier. He’s going to stay there for a month. It’s a family custom.”

“Then where are you, Jack?” I asked. “I thought you would be in Cannes.”

He laughed. “I’m right across the street from you in the hotel. I thought we all could have a few laughs and some fun after dinner.”

“I have Giselle with me,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “She’s coming with us. I’m also bringing one of my friends with me. He’s an English comedian and he’s also done a few French movies. You’ll both like him.”

“Sounds great to me,” I said. “I just have to check with Paul. I want to make sure he doesn’t have anything planned.”

“I already checked with him,” he answered. “It’s okay.”

“Then it’s okay. Thank you,” I said. “Just one word. What about J. P.? I know that he was close with his father. Is he okay?”