Durant was sitting in the car, reading documents. I sat by his side.
Mazzo got in beside the Jap chauffeur.
As Durant put the papers back in his briefcase, he said, ‘There are always pressmen waiting outside the building. When you get out of the car, walk with Mazzo. Your bodyguards will keep the press away. You have papers to sign. Your new secretary is Sonia Malcolm. She hasn’t seen Mr. Ferguson. There will be no problem. You will not meet any of the other staff.’
‘Anything you say, Joe.’
He turned on me.
‘I told you to call me Mr. Durant when we are alone!’ he snarled.
Feeling confident, behind the screen of the mask, I smiled at him.
‘Don’t talk that way to me, Joe. I am the Boss . . . remember?’
Looking as if he were about to have a stroke, he said in a strangled voice, ‘Listen to me, you goddam, two-bit actor . . .’
I cut him short.
‘Shut your big mouth!’ I rasped in Ferguson’s voice. ‘You listen to me! The press are waiting. All I have to do is to take off this mask and you’ll be in the shit! So stop leaning on me or I’ll damn well lean on you!’
He stared at me the way Frankenstein must have stared at the monster he had created. He opened and shut his mouth, but no words came. We did an eyeball to eyeball confrontation, then he heaved himself around and stared out of the car’s window.
Man! Was I pleased with myself!
Remember, Jerry, you could be John.
Well, at least, I was having a try.
* * *
It was quite a morning. I played the role of a billionaire, and loved it.
First, there were four press photographers at the entrance to the Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation, but five tough bodyguards brushed them aside as I walked into the big lobby. Durant, looking like a demon, I and Mazzo entered a plush elevator. We were whisked to the twenty-fourth floor.
John Merrill Ferguson’s office was something out of a movie set: vast, luxurious, picture windows, overlooking the harbor and beach, vast desk and so on.
The elevator took us straight into this room. Durant moved to the desk.
‘Sit there. There are many papers for you to sign.’ He now had control of his temper. ‘You had better have a trial run with the signature. These papers are important.’
I gave Mazzo my hat, then walked to the executive chair and sat down. The desk was big enough to play billiards on.
Durant regarded me the way a film director looks at an actor as he fixes a camera angle.
‘Lower the sun blind,’ he said to Mazzo.
When the room became dim, he nodded and went away.
There was a long pause while I scribbled Ferguson’s signature on a scratch pad. Then satisfied, I threw the torn sheets into the trash basket by my side and helped myself to a cigarette from a gold box.
‘The Boss don’t smoke,’ Mazzo said.
‘The new secretary doesn’t know. Relax with your mouth, Mazzo,’ I said.
There came a tap on the door and a girl came in, carrying a pile of folders.
‘Good morning, Mr. Ferguson,’ she said, coming to the desk. ‘These are for your signature, please.’
I leaned back in the chair and regarded her.
She was quite a woman: tall, well built, auburn hair, piled to the top of her head, attractive features, without being beautiful, big green eyes. She was wearing a pale blue dress with white collar and cuffs.
‘You’ll be Miss Malcolm?’ I said.
‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson.’ She looked directly at me.
‘I hope you’ll be happy here, Miss Malcolm.’
‘Thank you.’
She put the files on the desk.
Durant came in.
‘All right, Miss Malcolm,’ he said curtly. ‘Get that agreement typed right away.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I watched her cross the room. I liked her graceful walk, her slim hips and her straight back. When she had gone, Durant said, ‘Show me the signature.’
I wrote Ferguson’s signature and pushed it across the desk to him. He studied it, then nodded.
‘Sign all these letters and papers,’ he said, indicating the file. Then to Mazzo, he went on, ‘Sit by his side. He is not to read anything he signs. Understand?’
‘Sure, Mr. Durant,’ Mazzo said, and pulled up a chair. He sat down beside me.
‘Be careful how you sign,’ Durant went on to me. ‘Take your time and don’t get careless.’
‘Okay, Joe,’ I said, and reached for the first file.
‘I’ll do that,’ Mazzo said. He produced a sheet of paper from a drawer, then opening a file he took from it a letter. He laid the paper over the contents of the letter. ‘You sign there, Mr. Ferguson.’
Durant watched for a moment, then left.
The signing went on for the next two hours with long pauses to smoke a cigarette and to let my hand remain flexible. I suppose I must have signed over a hundred letters and some fifty legal documents.
When the signing was over, Mazzo pressed a switch on the intercom and said, ‘Collect the files, will you?’
Miss Malcolm came in and picked up the files.
‘Would you like coffee, Mr. Ferguson?’ she asked, pausing to give me a tiny smile.
‘That would be nice,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
When she had gone, Mazzo said in a disapproving voice, ‘The Boss don’t drink coffee.’
‘Oh, button up!’ I said. ‘She’s like me, new here.’
Mazzo shrugged and sat away from the desk, rubbing his shaven head and looking bored.
I examined all the gadgets on the desk and the panel of press buttons. I had no idea what they were all about, but they intrigued me.
Miss Malcolm came in with coffee.
‘Milk or black, Mr. Ferguson?’
‘Black, please and no sugar.’
I watched her pour. The more I saw of this woman, the more I liked her. I tried to guess her age: maybe thirty, maybe thirty-five. I looked for a wedding ring: no wedding ring.
She put the cup before me.
‘Is there anything else, Mr. Ferguson?’
I smiled at her. I would have liked to have invited her to sit down and tell me about herself, but with Mazzo fidgeting, this wasn’t the time.
‘Thank you, no.’
She left.
When I had finished the coffee, Durant appeared.
‘I want you to make a telephone call,’ he said. ‘Here is what you say and nothing else. Do you understand? You will, of course, use Mr. Ferguson’s voice.’
‘Sure, Joe.’
He picked up the telephone receiver and said, ‘Connect me with Mr. Walter Bern.’ He waited, then nodded to me, passing the receiver to me and he picked up another receiver.
Reading from the script he had given me, I said, ‘This is Ferguson. How are you, Wally?’
‘Jesus, John! I’ve been trying to get you for the past days.’ A fat, deep breathless voice, ‘John! My group is getting worked up about our loan. They keep on at me. They say I shouldn’t have advanced so much. Jeez! Thirty million dollars! Look, John, I’m sorry, but they aren’t happy.’
Reading from the script, I said, ‘Talk to Joe. He deals with loans, and Wally, you have nothing to worry about. If your group want to lose fifteen percent on thirty million, I’ll go elsewhere,’ and following the script, I hung up.
Durant nodded.
‘That was good,’ he said. ‘Now, you can return to the residence.’
So with Mazzo at my side and five bodyguards shoving the camera men aside, I got into the Rolls and was driven back to Ferguson’s home.
It had been an interesting morning. I had met Sonia Malcolm. As the Jap chauffeur drove along the boulevard, I thought of this woman. For the first time in my life, I felt an odd kinship. This was a woman I needed to know: not like the many other women I had met.
There was something about her that drew me to her.
&
nbsp; Then I had learned that Ferguson’s Corporation had borrowed thirty million dollars and the lenders were uneasy. Sitting at the big desk, looking around the luxurious office, I had smelt power. I had shown Durant I wasn’t to be pushed around.
Yes, an interesting morning.
I thought of the man, shut up with a nurse, rapidly turning into a vegetable.
Jerry, you could be John.
Yes, I said to myself as the Rolls drew up outside the entrance to the residence, play this right and you could be John Merrill Ferguson.
chapter five
We lay side by side on the big bed. The time by the bedside clock was 03.15. The pilot light above the bed made faint shadows. I could see her nakedness: a body that couldn’t have been more perfectly sculptured.
She had come silently into the room some thirty minutes ago. Our love making had been fierce, but this wasn’t love: this was blatant lust. She was irresistible, but there was this thought at the back of my mind, warning me not to trust her.
We lay there. The clock ticked on. We lay silently until our breathing returned to normal. I reached for a cigarette.
‘Smoke?’
‘Yes.’
I lit two cigarettes and gave her one. I wondered when she would go. I was sleepy after this violent coupling.
‘You are a marvelous lover, Jerry.’
‘So are you.’
Was there to be much more of this banal talk?
A long pause, then she said, ‘Durant is very pleased with you. He said you handled a telephone conversation marvelously.’
‘That’s what I’m being paid for,’ I said, closing my eyes. Why didn’t she go?
She went on, ‘John is much, much worse. I saw him today. He didn’t recognize me.’
‘A dreadful thing.’
‘Yes.’ Another pause, then ‘You should know about his mother.’ Her cigarette end glowed red.
I became alert.
‘His mother?’
‘You have met her. She arranged your kidnapping. You know she’s a ruthless, dangerous old woman.’
Did I? Well, maybe. I remembered her smooth talk about my talent, how she had drugged me, and how completely I had been fooled.
‘She is quite a character,’ I said.
‘All she thinks about is money. She has no interest in her son except his wealth. She lives in Frisco. She never comes here to see him. Every day, she telephones to inquire about him. She doesn’t want to know if he is improving. She wants to know when he is going to die. When he is dead, she will become the President of the Corporation and she will inherit his private fortune. Money is her god, so she is impatiently waiting for him to die.’
I was now very alert.
‘You are his wife,’ I said. ‘His mother can only get what he leaves her in his will. He can’t leave everything to her. As his wife, you are protected.’
She rolled away from me to stub out her cigarette.
She had a long, beautiful back. It was a sensual maneuver that wasn’t lost on me, and I became even more alert.
As she rolled onto her back, she said, ‘There are two major problems. John has never made a will.’
I thought for a long moment about this. It was hard to believe a man like John Merrill Ferguson shouldn’t have made a will, but there are some arrogant men who won’t believe they will eventually die.
‘As his wife, you are protected,’ I said. ‘It will cause legal trouble, but your lawyers will sort it out. Anyway, is it too late? Can’t you persuade him to make a will?’
‘Hopeless. He doesn’t even recognize me. He just sits and stares into space.’
‘What’s the second problem?’
She put her hands on her breasts and closed her eyes.
‘Can I trust you, Jerry? We are lovers. Lovers should trust each other.’
Where had I heard that corn before? In some disaster I had acted in?
‘If you mean whatever you want to tell me will be confidential, it will be confidential,’ I said carefully.
‘Thank you, Jerry. You are the only one I can tell and the only one I can trust.’
‘So what’s the second problem?’
‘I am not his wife.’
That really gave me a jolt.
‘What are you saying?’ I slid off the bed and put on my shortie dressing gown. I turned on one of the shaded lamps. I stared at her, lying on the bed like a Playboy centerfold. ‘Not his wife?’
‘I am not his wife. Come and sit here, Jerry, and let me tell you.’
This was something I had to know so I sat on the bed by her side and let her take my hand.
‘Are you telling me he isn’t married?’
‘He’s not married.’ She slid her fingers up my arm. Why did I think of spider’s legs? ‘We met two years ago. He was in Las Vegas, doing a deal. He wanted a woman. Mazzo came to me. I was in show business. He hired me. Who wouldn’t want to bed with the richest man in the world? John was never such a good lover as you, Jerry, but I fell for him and he for me. He offered marriage. He meant it, but he was so busy there was no time to arrange the elaborate wedding he wanted. Then his dreadful illness began attacking him. He kept telling me that as soon as his deal was completed, we would marry and go on a world cruise. He brought me here. He told everyone, his mother, Durant, the staff, I was now his wife, and we had married secretly. I was and am, accepted as his wife. I am in name, but not in fact. I kept asking him, even begging him to legalize our union, but the illness was now too far advanced and he just made promises.’ She stared at me. ‘So you see, Jerry, if he dies, my life, as I know it now, comes to an end. His mother hates me. She suspects we aren’t married. She is a greedy, wicked old woman, and when John dies she will easily prove he didn’t marry me.’ She lay back and stared up at the ceiling. ‘All this luxury, all this money will be snatched away. I don’t know what will happen to me.’ She looked towards me. ‘There it is, Jerry. I am now asking you to help me.’
I stood up and walked around the big bedroom. I wanted to get away from her caressing fingers. Red lights were now flashing in my mind. I thought of Larry Edwards. Had Loretta told him what she had told me? Had he refused to help her? Had she turned down her thumb, and he had died?
I felt cold sweat on my body. I was a prisoner in this opulent house! I had seen the tough looking bodyguards patrolling the grounds.
‘Help you?’ I tried to steady my voice. ‘How can I help you? Look, I was hired to impersonate your . . . Ferguson. I am doing that. That’s all I’m paid to do.’
She got off the bed and walked to where she had thrown her wrap. Slowly, she put it on.
‘We are lovers, Jerry. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’ she asked, looking directly at me. Her face could have been chiseled out of marble.
I was scared. I thought of Larry Edwards, of Charles Duvine. Play the wrong card, I told myself, and you too can finish up dead.
Because I knew I was helpless to stop them murdering me if I refused to cooperate, I decided to play for time.
‘If I can,’ I said. ‘I will help you.’
As she regarded me, I could see she knew I was scared witless. Her face lit up with a sardonic little grin.
‘I knew you would say that.’ She went over to a lounging chair and sat down. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’ She smiled. ‘You are going to marry me.’
This was so unexpected, I just gaped at her.
‘It’s the only solution.’ Again the sardonic little grin. ‘Oh, sit down! I’ll explain, now I have your promise to help me.’
So, unsteadily, I sat down, facing her.
‘How would you like to own two million dollars, Jerry?’
No words came. I continued to stare at her.
‘Jerry! How would you like to earn two million dollars?’
I pulled myself together.
‘That’s quite a lump of money,’ I said huskily. ‘Yes, who wouldn’t?’
‘You are to marry me in your disguise as John, and in ret
urn, I will give you two million dollars.’
She must be out of her mind! I reached for a cigarette, lit it while she watched me.
‘It wouldn’t work,’ I said finally. ‘This is crazy thinking. If there’s a probe, and there will be, the marriage wouldn’t stand up. The certificate will be dated. His mother will know that John is beyond marriage. You and I would get into real trouble. No, it just wouldn’t work.’
‘It is going to work!’ There was a whiplash snap in her voice that made my heart skip a beat.
‘But how?’
‘You know nothing about the power of big money. With money, anything can be arranged. When Durant told me you could forge John’s signature perfectly, I saw the solution. I made inquiries in Las Vegas. There is an elderly priest who retired two years ago, around the time I met John. He has a marriage register. I flew down there yesterday and talked to him. He needs money. His wife has cancer. His son is on drugs. We did a deal.’ She smiled her sardonic smile. ‘The day after tomorrow Durant goes to Washington. I have arranged for this priest to come here. He will give me a marriage certificate, dated two years back, when I met John. You will sign the register in John’s name, and hey, presto! I am married to John.’
I thought, then said, ‘Have you really fixed it? There should be witnesses.’
Her eyes like granite, she made an impatient gesture.
‘Jerry! It is all arranged. This supposed marriage was secret. Two witnesses were supposed to have been taken off the street. I found two poor blacks who, for a few dollars, signed the register. All that is necessary is for you to sign the register, and John and I are married.’
I could see the danger.
‘Wait a moment. You do realize that you are leaving yourself wide open to blackmail? This priest, these two witnesses, could come back again and again, and bleed you.’
She smiled. I have never seen such a cold, evil smile.
‘No one blackmails a Ferguson, Jerry.’
My mind switched to Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine. I was suddenly horribly sure that this priest and these two poor blacks would have fatal accidents.
‘Then there is another important thing you have to do,’ she said. ‘It is only the signature. The will.’
1980 - You Can Say That Again Page 8
