by Stuart Woods
“That’s one hundred, hundred-dollar bills, Mr. Harvey; comes to ten thousand dollars. Do you think that might augment your fund-raising campaign to the extent that you could accelerate the clearance process?”
Harvey stared at the money and said nothing for a moment, then he licked his lips.
When Eddie saw that, he knew he had the man.
“Well, Mr. Harris, that’s certainly a very generous donation…”
“It’s not a donation yet, Mr. Harvey; it’s just ten thousand dollars sitting on a coffee table. I’d like Mr. Brooks cleared today, and I’d like a news release to that effect hand-delivered to the United Press and Associated Press before five o’clock this afternoon.”
“Well, I’d have to speak to my superiors…”
“There’s the phone, Mr. Harvey. You might point out to your superiors that the money is in cash and that I don’t care who gets it or what is done with it; I’m not going to deduct it from my taxes. I’m going to go brush my teeth and put on a necktie, and if you’re not here when I get back, I will assume that we are of one mind.”
Eddie got up and walked out of the room, leaving Harvey staring at the stack of bills. He brushed his teeth and put on a jacket and tie, taking his time about it. When he returned to the sitting room of his suite, Mr. Harvey and his briefcase were gone, and so was the ten thousand dollars.
57
Rick was sitting on his bed, tying his shoes, when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Eddie. Glad I caught you before you left for the studio.”
“How’s New York?”
“Just great, kiddo. I bear good tidings of great joy.”
“Let me have it.”
“I spent yesterday afternoon with the network, and they loved your idea. We’ve got nine to eleven on Saturday nights, starting in September.”
“That’s wonderful, Eddie!”
“There’s more: have you read the papers yet?”
“No.”
“Well it’s in the New York Times; I assume the L.A. papers will pick up the wire reports, too.”
“Reports of what?”
“Congress voted yesterday to void the contempt citation of Sid Brooks.”
“Great news!”
“Amazing what a campaign contribution or two will accomplish, huh? But there’s more.”
“What else?”
“I met with a guy from Red Targets yesterday and, after another contribution, maybe to their fund-raising drive but more likely to a pocket or two, they’ve cleared Sid. That should be in the L.A. papers, too.”
“That’s wonderful, Eddie. The best news I’ve had since we got Radio City for Bitter Creek.”
“Call Hy Greenbaum and make him an offer. Sid may not be back from Washington, yet, but try and have a deal waiting for him.”
“That would be my pleasure.”
“I also looked at apartments yesterday, and I found one I like.”
“Why? You’re not thinking of moving to New York, are you?”
“Nah, I just think we spend too much money on hotels here. I’m going to buy us an apartment in the Carlyle Hotel, so we’ll have a pied-à-terre. Tell Sid he can stay there until he finds a place in New York.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.”
“The network has a big production space on the West Side where we can film our show, and they’ll provide office space for Sid and his staff. You might ask him how much help he thinks he’ll need.”
“Did you say film? I thought we were going to do it live.”
“We are, but we’re going to film it simultaneously. If we don’t, any reruns would have to be Kinescopes, which is basically a film of a TV set, and the quality is terrible. If we spend the money up front to film it, we’ll stretch the reruns out for years. Also, we can shoot film in color; in a few years, we’ll have color TV.”
“That’s a great idea, if we can manage it technically.”
“I want you to go to work on that today. Find a way to shoot some tests, and make sure the scripts allow us to reload the film cameras while we’re shooting live.”
“I think that may be a tall order, but I’ll get on it.”
“That’s all the news I have right now. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Congratulations on a successful trip, Eddie. I’ll look forward to seeing you back here.” Rick hung up and went to tell Glenna the news.
Glenna listened to all of it before she spoke. “Well, I’m happy for Centurion and I’m happy for Sid, but the simultaneous shooting of TV and film is not going to work.”
“Well, I know there’ll be some kinks to work out, but…”
“It’s not going to work. The reason is TV cameras have to work with very high lighting; it’s very, very bright in a TV studio, and that’s not going to work for film, especially in color. The only way you could do it is either before or after the live performance, light the sets for film and shoot the whole thing. You could still shoot it almost exactly like the live performance. Hardly anybody would notice the difference.”
“I see your point, and I think you’re right. I’m not sure that the economics would allow us to shoot the whole show on film on a different day. We’d have to pay the actors for that performance, and we wouldn’t have any income from it until the reruns started at least a year later.”
“You might be able to work out something with the Screen Actors Guild for deferred payment, but I doubt it. I think it’s just one of those glorious ideas that isn’t feasible.”
“Well, I’m going to have to prove that to Eddie; he’s very excited about it.”
“Yes, I know what Eddie is like when he’s excited.”
“Maybe we could fix the simultaneous shooting problem with special film stock that’s graded for high light.”
“Now that’s a thought, but Kodak would probably have to invent it.”
“Yeah, most of their efforts are directed at getting the stock to work in low light, not high.”
Rick wrestled with the problem all the way to work and decided that, barring some technical breakthrough, they would have to shoot the show three times: twice for live performances in different time zones, followed by once on film.
When he got to his office Tom Terry was waiting for him.
“Hi. Rick. I have some news.”
“Come on in, Tom, and tell me about it.”
Tom followed Rick into his office and took a seat. “Ben Morrison called me yesterday about the fingerprints he lifted from Susan Stafford’s car that turned out not to belong to Hank Harmon.”
“Yeah?”
Tom explained about P. J. O’Toole and the eight P. J. O’Tooles living in the L.A. area. “Problem is none of the eight is our guy; they’re too old or have alibis. Two of the P.J.’s turned out to be women. Apparently, some women list their numbers with initials to avoid getting heavy-breather phone calls.”
“Maybe our O’Toole doesn’t have a phone.”
“Ben’s people are working on the city directories now, but there are at least a dozen of them to go through, and every person they turn up who doesn’t have a phone is going to have to be visited, so it’s going to take time. Ben is short-handed, and he won’t accept our help, says it doesn’t look good.”
“Well, we’ll just have to wait for them to grind it out, I guess. At least the guy won’t know the cops are looking for him, so he won’t run.”
“My fear is that he’s already run,” Tom said. “Some guy living in a boarding house who, when he thought about what he’d done, got out of town.”
“Well, they’ve got a name and a description. He’ll get arrested somewhere for some petty crime, and then Ben will nail him.”
Tom stood up. “I wish I had better news to report.”
“Not your fault, Tom. Just let the police do their work.”
Tom left, and Rick tried calling Sid Brooks but got his answering service. He sketched out a rough deal on a pad, then called Hy Greenbaum.
58
Rick was about to go home for the day when his secretary announced that Vance Calder wanted to see him.
“Send him in,” Rick said and stood up to greet the actor.
Vance came in, looking a little somber, shook Rick’s hand and sat down.
“How are rehearsals going?” Rick asked.
“Very well. In fact, I think we’re ready to start shooting the day after tomorrow.”
“Has Hattie caught up with you on the script?”
“She has it down cold. By the way, Sam Sparrow thinks we should shorten the title to Village Girl.”
“What do you think?”
“I like it better.”
“It’s okay with me, then. Will you tell Sam for me?”
“Sure. Rick, I got a letter from Hank Harmon.”
“Really? What did she have to say?”
“It’s two letters, actually: one to me from Hank and one to Hank from Susie.” He took two sheets of paper from his inside pocket. “I’ll read them to you.”
“All right.”
To Vance Calder:
We’ve never met, and, I suppose, we never will, but there’s something I’d like you to hear directly from me. I did not murder Susan Stafford. I returned to my apartment after she had taken her things and left. She had left me a note, which I enclose. I think when you read it, you will realize that I had no motive to kill Susie. I had nothing but love for her. I am ending my life, but I wanted you to know about our relationship.
Since I didn’t kill Susie, that means that her killer is still on the loose, and I hope you will use any influence that you and your studio might have to see that her killer is brought to justice.
Sincerely, Hank Harmon
Rick nodded. “I believe she left a note to that effect for the police to find, and apparently they are no longer certain that Hank was the killer. They found some fingerprints in Susie’s car belonging to someone named P. J. O’Toole, who had a record of arrests for rape in Arizona but no convictions. They’re looking for him now.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Vance said. “Do you want to hear Susie’s letter to Hank?”
“If you want me to.”
“Yes, I’d like you to, and then I’ll destroy it.” Vance unfolded the letter and began to read.
My dearest Hank,
I’ve packed up all my things and I’m removing them to Vance’s house. I think you knew this was coming, and I don’t want you to feel bad about it.
You know that I have always liked men almost as well as women, and Vance is a beautiful and delightful man in every way. Right now, it’s good protection for my career for me to be with him. It will help to stop any gossip, which, if it became public, could destroy my career. I must tell you that, the way our relationship is going, Vance and I may even be married, maybe even have children. You know I have always wanted children.
But you also know, Hank, that you are the love of my life, my one true love, and I will never leave you. I’ll see you at every opportunity and love you the way we have always loved. I think I’m going to make a lot of money as an actress, and if the relationship with Vance doesn’t work out, then I’ll be able to buy a really nice house for us.
I probably won’t see you or talk to you for several weeks, as I settle in with Vance, and I don’t want you to call me. He knows about my relationship with you or, at least, part of it, and I don’t want him to hear your voice on the phone.
Be patient, my dearest, and we will be together again soon.
With love, Susie
“Do you want to see it?” Vance asked, holding out the letter.
“No, that’s not necessary, but I’m glad you read it to me. I think you’re right to destroy it.”
Vance took a box of matches and an ashtray from Rick’s desk and burned the two sheets. “There,” he said. “Now life can begin again.”
The two men shook hands, and Vance left.
Rick went home and told Glenna about the two letters.
“The poor girl,” Glenna said. “I hope they get the bastard who killed her.”
“They’ll get him,” Rick said. “It will just take time.”
Sid Brooks got off the airplane and looked for an L.A. paper. He had already read the Washington Post, but he wanted to know that all L.A. would know that he had been cleared. He found only a two-paragraph story on an inside page, but at least it was there.
When he got home he found messages from both Hy Greenbaum and Rick Barron on his service. He called Hy first.
“Hey, Sid. Welcome back and congratulations,” Hy said.
“Thank you, Hy, and thank you for talking me into testifying again. You were right; it was the right thing for me. What else do I have to do?”
“Not a thing, Sid. You’re back in business. Eddie Harris has worked out a deal with a network for a two-hour show on Saturday nights, starting in September. I know Rick told you about this. Do you want to do it?”
“Yes, if you like the deal.”
“I’ve been back and forth several times with Rick on the phone, and we’ve worked out what I think is a very fine deal. It’s being typed now, and I’ll messenger it over to you first thing in the morning. Talk to me after you’ve read it, before you talk to Rick. You have an appointment with him for lunch tomorrow at twelve-thirty at the studio commissary to talk over details.”
“All right.”
“I can tell you that, if the show runs, this will be a rich deal for you. You’ll be paid both as a producer and a writer, and you’ll have a percentage of the profits. If it runs for three years, you’ll be a millionaire, and I think it could run a lot longer than that.”
“Wow, Hy, I hardly know what to say.”
“No need to say anything, Sid. My agency has a publicist on call who is going to see that your clearance gets noticed everywhere.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Call me after you read the contract. If it’s okay, you can sign it when you see Rick.”
“I will, Hy. Good night.” Sid hung up the phone, and, almost immediately, it rang.
“Hello?”
“Sid, it’s Alice.”
He was speechless for a moment. “Hello, Al.”
“I saw the news in the Times; I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
“I’m sorry not to have been able to talk to you before, but my lawyers wouldn’t let me; they were adamant.”
“I understand.”
“I have some news of my own.”
“Oh?”
“I’m getting married again.”
“Well, congratulations. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Alex Bronsky.”
“How about that,” Sid said, since he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Alexander Bronsky had produced all his plays on the Broadway stage. “Alex is a good man. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”
“Thank you, Sid. The wedding’s this weekend at Alex’s place in Connecticut. Nothing big, just a few friends.”
Sid knew the Connecticut house well; he and Alice had visited there a dozen times. “That will be a lovely setting.”
“I know this won’t have occurred to you yet, Sid, but my getting married again means you won’t have to pay any more alimony.”
“You’re right; that didn’t occur to me.”
“My lawyers will send your lawyer a letter confirming that.”
“Thank you. Oh, I have more news, too.”
“Tell me.”
He told her about the television show. “So I’ll be spending a lot of time in New York. I’m sure I’ll bump into you and Alex.”
“That’s wonderful, Sid. I’m so happy for you.”
“Give Alex my best and congratulate him for me.”
“I will. Bye-bye.”
Sid fell asleep that night, feeling somehow whole.
59
Rick and Sid Brooks met in the studio commissary, where they took a
table in the area reserved for executives.
“It’s nice that we can meet in public now,” Sid said.
Rick was embarrassed. “It feels better to me, too.” They had hardly sat down, when people began dropping by the table to say hello to both of them.
“I think people are glad to see you back,” Rick said.
“I’m glad to be back.”
“Did you have a chance to go over the deal with Hy this morning?”
“Yes, we talked a couple of times. I know he spoke to you about revisions.”
“Yes, the contract is being typed now, and they’ll deliver it to us before our lunch is over. Sid, have you thought about what sort of staff you’re going to need in New York?”
“A little. I’ll need a secretary, maybe two; I won’t know until we’re under way. I’ll need a couple of assistants to read scripts and reports and a couple of typists to produce final scripts. We’ll need some equipment, too: mimeograph, furniture, et cetera.”
“I think the office suite the network is providing is furnished, but if you need anything more or better, let us know.”
“I’m going to need a personal assistant on the set, too, especially when I’m directing, but I may be able to use one of the script readers for that.”
“Our New York office is small, but please lean on them for anything you need. They’ll know the good personnel agencies and that sort of thing.”
“Good.”
“Eddie wants us to film simultaneously with the live performances. We’ll get a lot more mileage out of the reruns over the years if we don’t have to settle for Kinescope quality.”
“Do you think that’s technically feasible?”
“There are a lot of problems to solve, but I’ve got some of our people here working on it now. As it stands, it looks like the best way is to do two live performances, one for each coast, followed by a filmed performance. Still, there are SAG and craft union problems to deal with, and the economics of the situation may be harder to solve than the purely technical.”
