He lay quietly and anxiously, waiting for a reconciliation. He didn’t fall asleep until long after he heard her go into the guest room.
TWELVE
Dotty said, “Come in, Steve. Harry’s taking a shower. He’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Steve came into the low-beamed, provincial living room and sat on a davenport near the high-hearth fireplace.
“Drink?” Dotty asked.
“Never in the morning,” he answered. He smiled at her. “Recovered from the party, have you?”
Her answering smile was vacant and superficial. She looked at him anxiously. “Are you and Harry fighting about something?”
“Not yet,” Steve said mildly.
“Money,” she said. “It’s money, I’ll bet. It’s all he fights about. He’s been a horrible bear, lately.” She looked at Steve closely. “It is only money, isn’t it? He’s been so nasty and secretive.”
“Is the honeymoon over, Dotty?”
“Honeymoon …? In a motel, that’s where we spent our honeymoon. He never wanted to get out of bed except to go to the bathroom. Why don’t you answer my questions, Steve? Why are you covering up?”
Steve said firmly, “I’m not covering up anything. Harry thinks we’ve shot enough film in Santa Barbara, and I don’t. So we’re going to discuss it this morning.”
“That isn’t all. You had trouble with Tom Leslie, too. I heard about that. Tom’s a troublemaker, Steve.”
“All the young talents give us occasional trouble, Dotty. I’m not worried about Tom.”
She leaned over to take a cigarette from a box on the coffee table. Under the loose V of her blouse, Steve could see her firm breasts. She was wearing no bra. He looked away as he fumbled for a match.
Again she leaned forward to get the light he held for her. He said softly, “Easy, sister, that’s a loose blouse. And I’m not as old as you think.”
“Old …?” She blew smoke into his face. “You’re a kid, compared to Harry. Does Pat Cullum think you’re old?”
Steve looked at her blankly. “Who’s Pat Cullum?”
“Huh!” she said. “Don’t give me that innocent look. I’ve got ears.”
“All right,” he said, “then you tell me what’s eating Harry.”
She sat on the davenport near him. “I wish I knew. I wish to hell I knew.” She stared at the fireplace. “Do you think it could be connected to Hart Jameson’s death? And that insurance policy?”
“I suppose it could. But how?”
“That’s what I don’t want to think about,” she said quietly. “And then that damned detective pestering him …”
Steve said gently, “Look, Dotty, we know Harry’s no murderer. It’s probably money that’s bothering him.”
“We don’t know anything,” she said. “We don’t really know anything about anybody.”
Steve glanced over quickly, startled by the despair in her voice. She looked lonely and frightened, staring at the high-hearth fireplace.
Then Harry was there in a toweling robe and straw slippers, his hair wet, his face unshaven. “Cuddling on the couch, you two, huh? A guy can’t even take a shower any more.”
Dotty stood up without smiling. Steve’s smile was purely facial. Dotty said, “Steve thinks he’s too old for me.”
Harry looked at her without expression. “Business, honey. Run along.”
She went out without another word. Harry came over to take the seat she’d vacated. “Well, Steve, speak your piece.”
“It’s simple enough. I need two more days up there.”
“I want to show you the film, how we can cut it and fake the rest. You’ll wait until I show you that, won’t you?”
Steve said nothing, thinking.
Harry said, “Jesus, Laura was lousy yesterday.”
“They were all bad, Harry.”
“Not Leslie. Wait until you see the film. Leslie was all right.”
“It’s his scene,” Steve pointed out. “He has to be better than all right in it. Are we running short of money, Harry?”
“We could, if that damned Polack keeps stalling things. Anyway, what’s wrong with saving money on a picture? That’s a sin?”
“At times. I might be able to get some money if we can show the investors the potential of a first-class picture.” He paused, to drop the name with emphasis. “John Abbot phoned me last night.”
Harry was silent, respectfully silent. “Abbot, huh? He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Harry frowned. “Jesus, I don’t know. He’d want a bigger hunk of it than he’s entitled to. He’s all business, that Abbot.”
“I don’t think it would be his money.”
Harry stared. “So then what does he want? A big commission for introducing us to the money?”
“Of course not,” Steve said patiently. “He simply wants to help me. He’s a friend.”
Harry’s laugh was short. “I got dozens of friends. Some of ‘em have money. That don’t mean they want to give me some of it. Stevie boy, there’s got to be an angle. John Abbot’s no dummy.”
Steve was silent, realizing the impossibility of explaining to Harry about friends.
Harry said, “Maybe he wants to be like a silent partner? Maybe it would be that you got a bigger hunk of the picture, and you two would be silent partners?”
Steve laughed. “Harry, for heaven’s sake, you’re calling me a crook!”
Harry shook his head. “Nothing like that. No, Steve, I don’t want to tangle with John Abbot.”
Steve’s hands trembled. He sat quietly, not looking at Harry. Finally he said, “Ask any of them what they think about yesterday’s film. Ask Dave.”
“That snot-nose? Since when is a writer consulted? Why should I ask anybody? Am I a greenhorn, am I new to the business?”
Steve said slowly, “Maybe to this kind of picture you’re new, Harry.”
In the silence, Steve thought he could hear his heart pound.
After a few seconds, Bergdahl asked quietly, “Make that clearer. What kind of crack was that?”
Steve forced himself to look at Harry fully. “Don’t you agree that this picture is more — serious than most of those you’ve produced? You were known for your series pictures, Harry.”
“Were known? I’m still known. Would you like to take a look at their grosses?”
“Let’s not quibble, Harry. I’m sure both of us can quote some impressive figures. One question though — why did you want me? I didn’t come to you, remember.”
“You’re a director. I needed a director. You’re a good director and you weren’t working.”
“And as a good director, I’m asking for two more days in Santa Barbara. I’m not asking for the moon, you know.”
“As a director,” Harry said implacably, “you’re entitled to ask. As the producer, I got a right to decide whether I let you. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Technically, yes. But we discussed the possibility of friction before I signed. And you promised me a free hand with this picture.”
Harry started to answer but was interrupted by a voice behind them. The voice was Dave Sidney’s and it was indignant. “That’s right, Uncle Harry. And you promised me, too, that Steve would have a free hand.”
Startled, Harry turned to face his nephew. “Where’d you come from? Who invited you into this?”
Dave said stubbornly, “You promised before I signed. It’s my script you want to ruin. I’ll take it to the Guild.”
Harry looked at Steve and shook his head. “He’ll take it to the Guild. He’s threatening me.” He looked again at Dave. “What will you take?”
“Your promise. I sold you the script with the agreement that Steve was not to be interfered with.”
Harry smiled contemptuously. “I promised? In writing?”
“No,” Dave said evenly, “not in writing. But before a witness.” He looked over at Dotty, standing in the doorway to the dining room.
&
nbsp; Harry glanced coldly between his nephew and his wife. “What is this? What’s going on here?”
Dotty said, “That’s right, Harry, you promised Dave. I was there when you promised.”
Bergdahl’s face was grim and ugly. “Get out of here, both of you. I’m discussing business. Go!”
“Come on, Dave,” Dotty said softly.
But Dave stood rigidly, glaring at his uncle. “I warn you, Uncle Harry, I’ve got a case.”
“One more word out of you,” Bergdahl said harshly, “and you’ll wind up driving a bakery truck. Go, right now!”
Dave turned and walked out toward the dining room. Harry turned around again, breathing heavily. “Crazy,” he said. “They’re both crazy. He must have been in the kitchen all the time.”
Steve rose. “I guess we’ve nothing to discuss, Harry. I don’t know what’s happened to you.”
“Sit down, God damn it!” Bergdahl said hoarsely. “You, too?”
Steve asked quietly, “Has something happened, Harry? Is there something I don’t know about that’s frightening you?”
Bergdahl glared at him. “Frightening me? What scares me? Nothing scares me.” Saliva flecked his lips.
“You’re a lucky man, then. A number of things scare me. At the moment, you’re one of them.”
“I scare you? That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Maybe you’ll listen to some sense if you get scared enough.”
“I think I’d better go,” Steve said. “We can talk about this later.”
Harry looked up coldly. “Maybe you got a better job, huh? Maybe that’s why John Abbot called you?”
Steve shook his head. “I’ve no new job nor prospects, Harry. But maybe I’d better look for one.”
Harry said balefully, “Sit down. We’re not through talking. You came here to talk. Sit down.”
Steve stood for a moment looking down at Harry doubtfully. Then he smiled and said, “Okay, boss.” He sat down.
“You bastard,” Harry said. “You know the right words, don’t you? You’re good with words.”
“I made a living from words for four years, Harry. And while we’re on the subject, I think you were unnecessarily rude to Dave. You might need him someday. Someday he’s going to be very good with words.”
“He’ll learn respect for his superiors first, or he won’t get the chance to be good.”
Steve took a deep breath. He had come here to reason, hoping that logic would prevail. It hadn’t. He said, “I think we both need a drink, don’t you, Harry?”
Harry nodded. He sighed. His body was slumped in an attitude of resignation, but there was no surrender in his broad face. He mixed a pair of drinks, and Steve lifted his.
“To better understanding,” Steve said. “That I’ll drink to.” Bergdahl downed half of his at a gulp.
Steve said quietly, “One long day could do it up there, Harry. How about settling for one long day?”
“All right, all right! You think I’m chintzy? You think I’m cheap? God damn it, all I wanted to do was save the picture.”
“We’re allies then,” Steve said. “Because that’s all I want to do, too.” He finished his drink. “Thanks a lot, Harry. I knew you’d be reasonable.”
“Don’t soap me,” Bergdahl said. “Fight me but don’t soap me. I’ll see you later.”
Outside, Jean D’Arcy was sitting in Dave’s MG, which was parked on the circular drive near the kitchen. Steve went over.
“Aren’t you permitted in the house?” he asked jestingly.
“Not today. What’s going on in there? I could hear the shouting way out here.”
“Story conference,” Steve said. “When did Dave come?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. Just before the shouting. He told me he’d be right out. Now, why didn’t he invite me in?”
“I’ve no idea. Your friend Morton is a good friend of Pat Cullum’s, I understand.”
She studied him. “Why did you say that? Mitch despises Pat Cullum. I’ll bet that’s what you were waiting to hear. You were being tricky, weren’t you?”
“No, I was being serious. I thought he dated her.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Not Mitch. Tom Leslie now — Pat is exactly the kind of dish Tom is always looking for.”
“Tom and every other red-blooded male. Why do you dislike Pat so much?”
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “Probably because she’ll get further with her bust than the rest of us will with our small talents.”
Then Dave was there. He looked at Steve and asked, “Well …?”
“We go up tomorrow. I wanted two days but settled for one. Dave, don’t fight him. He’s a very tough pro, and you’re still an amateur.”
“I’ll fight for my script,” Dave said. “He doesn’t scare me. I’ll fight anybody for my script.”
Jean D’Arcy smiled at Steve. “Does he scare you, Mr. Leander?”
Steve said lightly, “I have a wife and two children and a number of oppressive financial obligations. Practically everything and everybody scares me these days.”
He left them, faintly annoyed, as usual. Dave would fight for his script, being single and related to a producer. Dave didn’t have a script worth fighting for, he thought, until I practically rewrote it.
Easy now, Leander. Don’t let a bruised ego embitter you. The young can be innocently unkind.
He drove away remembering the fine, firm breasts of Dotty Bergdahl. He had no urge to go home and face the cool reserve of his wife. He searched his wallet for the card Tomkevic had given him. From a drugstore he phoned the investigator.
He was informed that Mr. Tomkevic was out but would be back in an hour. Steve left his number and drove home.
Marcia wasn’t there, and Mrs. Burke didn’t know where she had gone. Steve went into the study, restless at his enforced inactivity. Once he started a picture, delays nettled him. Harry could have arranged to do some shooting at the studio today, and Steve wondered why he hadn’t.
It had been a quick and unexpected decision Harry had made last night. Steve thought of Dotty’s concern. It was possible that something beyond money was bothering Bergdahl. What would be more important than money to Harry?
Jail?
In the papers, there had been no more mention of the unidentified man who had been seen at the top of the bluff. Perhaps it had only been the meaningless remark of a neighbor, and the newspapers had blown it up for its mystery value.
One thing seemed certain. It was time to convince Mitchell Morton he should reveal the name of Jameson’s companion on the fatal night. If the girl was innocent, there was no reason for her to stay unidentified. Unless, of course, she had seen or heard something that put her in danger of reprisal. That kind of fear would be strong motivation to stay silent. Who would she fear?
Mitchell Morton feared Harry Bergdahl. He had admitted that. Did his unnamed friend, too? In all the theories, the paths of suspicion seemed to lead back to Harry.
Harry had said he didn’t know Morton. Yet Tomkevic had claimed he did and wondered why Morton hadn’t gone to him for the job. Jameson had strongly implied that keeping him out of the picture and faking an accident had been Harry’s idea. And Dotty had told him that something serious was bothering her husband.
They didn’t need the insurance money now. They could get money enough to finish the picture through John Abbot. Steve asked himself, Is that why I’ve turned moral? He had gone investigating before John’s call last night, he reminded himself, and felt properly noble.
The phone rang and it was Tomkevic. Steve asked, “Are you sure Mitchell Morton had a date with the Cullum girl last night?”
“I’m sure. Jealous, Leander?”
“Not very. But I heard today that Morton despised the girl.”
“So? She could still have her uses, I imagine.”
“They went out? He didn’t only stay a short while?”
“They went out and got drunk. What’s bothering you about it?”<
br />
“Something I didn’t tell you about Morton.”
“I’m waiting to hear it.”
“Could you come here? Or could I come over to your office?”
“What’s wrong with telling me over the phone?”
“I need some time to think, Mr. Tomkevic. I could give it to the police, but I don’t want any innocent people smeared. I’ll expect some promises from you.”
A silence of a few seconds and then Tomkevic said, “I have to be in that neighborhood anyway, this afternoon. I’ll be at your house in half an hour.”
Steve was eating lunch when Tomkevic came. He said, “Sit down and have some coffee. Or eat, if you haven’t.”
“I’ll have some coffee,” Tomkevic said. “I’ve eaten.” He sat down.
Steve said, “You’d look very big to your boss, I suppose, if you saved the company a quarter of a million dollars.”
“I look big to my boss right now. I’m not out to prove anything that isn’t true, Mr. Leander.”
Steve smiled at him. “But you told me truth comes out of turbulence. You’re out to stir up turbulence, aren’t you?”
Tomkevic returned Steve’s smile and didn’t answer.
“There are some young people involved in this,” Steve went on. “Scandal could stop their careers before they were properly started. I’m expecting a high degree of discretion from you.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t promise that.”
“All right, Mr. Tomkevic, enjoy your coffee. Because that’s all you’ll be getting from me.”
“Perhaps the police could get more.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps not. I’d be sure to tell them how you tried to blackmail me.”
Tomkevic stared. “I — what …? Are you crazy?”
“I’d tell them simply what you told me, that you had planned to tell my wife I had taken Miss Cullum home from a party. I’d tell them it was perfectly innocent but might not look that way to my wife, who was out of town at the time. I’d tell all my friends in the industry about it, too. Your firm gets a lot of studio business, I understand.”
Tomkevic continued to stare, his face rigid.
Steve asked, “Isn’t Donald Allison on your board of directors?”
Death Out of Focus Page 10
