He wasn’t. So much for that.
He phoned Bergdahl as soon as he arrived home. He told him, “I’ve read the script now.” He took a careful breath. “Your nephew is going to need help on the screenplay.”
“We’re the boys who can give it to him,” Bergdahl answered. “You — weren’t suggesting another writer, were you, Steve?”
“Not if this one is coöperative. You know him better than I do, Harry.”
“He’s young and willing to learn,” Bergdahl answered. “He’ll make out. I suppose this means you’re ready to talk terms?”
“That’s my agent’s headache,” Steve said. “Is the money committed, Harry?”
“Half of it’s firm and the other half should be firm in a day or two. Look, why don’t you and me and David get together tonight and talk story? Bring Marcia and come over to the house.”
“As soon as she gets home, I’ll find out if she’s free tonight. Shall I phone you then?”
“Not if you’re free. If she is, bring her. If she isn’t, bring yourself. Dotty would love to see her, though.”
Dotty was Harry’s latest, and fifth, wife, a bleached sex bomb who had been cultivating Marcia without success for months.
Steve said, “I’ll be there. And Marcia probably will, too.”
He would have preferred talking with David Louis Sidney alone, but perhaps he could do that later. He picked up the script and went into his study. He was making notes on a few of the script’s more painful pretensions when Marcia came home.
She stood in the doorway to the study and said lightly, “I’ve some gossip for you. I got it from Ellen at lunch.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s about Harry Bergdahl. He’s found a pair of gullible Texans.”
“I know that.”
“But you don’t know the funny part, I’ll bet.”
He said patiently, “Tell me the funny part.”
“These — cowboys had never heard of any of the pictures Harry had produced. But they knew all the ones you had directed. And Harry told them he had you under contract.” She came over to kiss him. “See? Harry needs you more than you need him.”
Steve said, “As much, but not more. Marcia, I’m going to do the picture.”
“On your terms?”
“On the best terms I can get.”
“Why, Steve?”
“Because we have always lived beyond our means and I need the work. And Harry is the only one who has offered me a job out here in nine months.”
She said, “Because you need the work, you are going to go crashing down into oblivion with Harry Bergdahl? That’s where he’s heading.”
“No, he isn’t. If anyone survives, Harry will. Now, kiss me again and go mix us a drink.”
“In a second,” she said. “Is it my fault we’re in bad financial shape, Steve?”
“No, it’s our fault.” He stroked her hair. “I love you, Marcia Bishop Leander.”
“I know it,” she said. “Why don’t we take a swim and then — well, kind of — loll around?”
He smiled at her as desire stirred in him. “I’ve lolled around with you before. But not in the afternoon, not lately. You’re being compassionate.”
“Let’s go,” she said. “Let’s forget the future for a few hours.”
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Copyright © 1960 by Fawcett Publications, Inc.
Renewal Copyright © 1988 by William Campbell Gault
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This is a work of fiction.
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