The Inheritors

by Harold Robbins

“Nothing,” Steve answered shortly. “He’s within our agreement. He can elect to make his pictures with his own money if he wants to.”

  “You’re not going to say anything to him?” Jack was angry.

  “Not a word.”

  “Okay then, I quit,” Jack said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to find properties for him to screw us out of.”

  “Stop looking then,” Steve said mildly. “You have enough to do on our program. Let him find his own properties.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Absolutely. There’s nothing in our agreement that says we have to turn over to him any property we buy. The only reason for that is because we’re partners.”

  “That’s better,” Jack said. He went behind his desk and sat down. “What if I see something great?”

  “Buy it. We’ll worry about finding a producer later. There’s nothing in the agreement to keep us from doing that.”

  He put down his coffee cup, walked over to the window and looked out. The studio street was crowded. “They look busy enough out there.”

  “We’re movin’,” Jack said in a pleased voice. “Production begins on the first of our two-hour features next month and we’re scheduled for one a month after that.”

  “Good,” Steve said. “I’ll start thinking of time slots then.”

  “We’ll be ready earlier if you like.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Steve said. “The schedule’s holding up. The new medical series, ‘GP,’ is getting good Nielsens. I notice, though, when we’re in the hospital instead of outside, the ratings are slightly better. You might look into that and plan a few more inside stories.”

  “I’ll check it.” Jack made a note on his memo pad.

  “Have you spoken to Sam recently?”

  “He’s not around much. I do all my business with Craddock.”

  “See if you can find out if he’s on the lot. Maybe I can drop in and have a talk with him.” He went back to the chair and sank into it wearily while Jack picked up the telephone. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “Sam’s on a swing around the exchanges,” Jack said.

  Steve opened his eyes. “I’ll catch up to him the next time I’m out.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. I’ve been on a merry-go-round for a month.”

  “You need a vacation.”

  “No time,” Steve answered. “Tomorrow morning I’m due in Montreal to try to lock up the Intercontinental Football League for the next few years. The day after that, Washington for the congressional hearings on broadcasting. Then Chicago for the NAB conventions. After that, London to check on the series we’re doing in association with British TV.”

  Jack shook his head. “I wish I could be of more help to you.”

  “I know that,” Steve smiled, taking a small pillbox from his pocket. “But one of the penalties that goes with my job is that everybody wants to see the president of the company. Could I trouble you for a little water?”

  “No trouble.” Jack filled a glass from the carafe next to his desk. “What’s that you’re taking? Vitamins?”

  “No.” Steve swallowed the pill. “But I take those too. This is a benny. It’ll hold me up for the rest of the day.”

  “That’s rough stuff. You can get hooked on them.”

  “I only use it once in awhile. When I’m very tired,” Steve said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. The plane came in late.”

  “You better try to get a real vacation,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you. Life wouldn’t be worth living around here.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Steve got to his feet. “Now, how about looking at those pilots you say are so great?”

  ***

  “Have there been any kickbacks since you told them we’re going with UA for the three pictures?” Sam asked.

  “None at all,” Rory answered. “I expected Jack to squawk—but nothing. It’s been a month now. I guess they’ve been too occupied with their own problems.”

  “How are their pictures coming along?”

  “Okay, I guess. They began production on one last week.”

  “Is it any good?”

  Rory shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? At any rate it’s not much. What can you get for six hundred thousand dollars these days? A good property costs that much.”

  “Yeah.” Sam felt curiously disappointed. He had been sure he would hear from Steve about their switch in distribution. It would have been a good jumping-off point for renegotiation. “And what about those properties we were after?”

  “No dice,” Rory answered. “They’re gone.”

  “Gone? You mean someone else bought them?”

  Rory nodded.

  “How come?” Sam’s voice began to grow tight. “I thought I said get them.”

  “I know what you said, Sam,” Rory said smoothly. “But when I checked into it I found they were already sold.”

  “Who bought them?”

  “I don’t know,” Rory answered. “The only thing I’ve been able to find out is that the same party got both of them.”

  “The same party?” Sam said thoughtfully. “Levine?”

  “I don’t think so. If it were Joe, you would have read it in the trades. I think it’s a new syndicate and they’re not making any announcements until they set a deal.”

  “Find out who they are,” Sam said. “If they’re looking for a deal maybe we can work something out with them.”

  “I’ll do that,” Rory said. He smiled. “There’s one I’m pretty sure of. I put in a bid of a half million for Blue Jeans and next week it will be the number-one book in the country according to The New York Times.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “When do you think you’ll hear about it?”

  “Any minute now,” Rory answered. “I’ve got a call into the Matson Agency right now. They were opening the bids this morning.” The telephone rang. “That could be them.”

  He picked up the telephone and spoke into it. Gradually his smile faded. A moment later he put down the telephone. He spoke in a disbelieving voice. “That’s gone too. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Sam stared at him. “Who bought it?”

  Rory shook his head. “They wouldn’t say. I gathered that it was the same group that bought the others.”

  Sam got to his feet. “I don’t get it. Did you hear of any other properties that they acquired?”

  Rory shook his head. “No. Only those three.”

  “I smell something rotten.” Sam asked, “Don’t you?”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s almost as if somebody’s trying to shaft us.” He walked around the desk and looked down at Rory. “Who else knows we were interested in the properties besides you and me?”

  Rory thought for a moment. “No one except our secretaries.”

  “And how did we hear about them?”

  “The usual channels. The studio story department sent them up to us with the galleys and a report.”

  Sam took a deep breath, his face flushing with suppressed anger. “The usual channels?”

  Rory nodded.

  “And you still think you haven’t had any kickbacks from Sinclair?”

  Rory’s ulcer twinged. He reached for his Gelusil.

  “Then you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Sam said. “Or maybe it’s that I know Steve Gaunt better than you do. This is his way of letting us know he doesn’t like what we’re doing.” Sam sat down heavily. “He’s going to use those properties as a club to get us back into the fold.”

  “What are you going to do?” Rory sucked on the tablet.

  “Two can play that game. Steve’ll find out that I’m not just another shmuck like he’s used to dealing with. I’ll bust him.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Simple.” Sam smiled conspiratorially. “You just let them know everything we bid on. And you bid on
everything even if we don’t want it. They’ll top our bids and the next think you know they’ll be so loaded with crap, they’ll come yelling to us for mercy. Then we’ll really shove it to them.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Steve got to the reception just as Sam stood up to make his speech. He slipped into an empty seat at a table toward the back of the room and looked around.

  Behind the main table, a giant banner was strung across the wall.

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAMUEL BENJAMIN, JR.

  OUR BAR MITZVAH BOY!

  Sam banged a spoon against a plate to gain attention. Slowly the room began to quiet down. Sam stood there, weaving slightly, smiling. After a moment, he held up his hands.

  “Friends, Goyim and Landsleit, welcome to my son’s bar mitzvah.” He paused while everyone applauded. “In case you didn’t notice when you came in, there are fifty white Rolls Royces waiting outside. When we leave here, they’re taking us to the airport where there will be fifty white DC Eights which will fly us direct nonstop to Kenya, Africa. At the airport there will be waiting fifty white hunters with fifty white elephants. We will board those fifty white elephants and go on a safari into the jungle. Each of you will be given a white rifle to shoot your own rarest of creatures, a white tiger. As we approach the jungle, single file on the narrow path, the chief white hunter will hold up his hand and we will stop. And we will wait.

  “And do you know what we’ll be waiting for?”

  The shouts of laughter came up from the room. “No, Sam. Tell us.”

  He looked around smiling. “For Joe Levine’s bar mitzvah safari to clear out of the jungle ahead of us.”

  The roar of laughter grew even louder and applause broke out through the room. Sam smiled and held up his hands again for quiet.

  “Thank you,” he said. He looked around the room. “I’ve opened some of my pictures with smaller crowds than this. In case you’re not doing anything next Tuesday—”

  Again they began to laugh. This time Sam waited until they subsided by themselves.

  “But, seriously, friends, some of you might be asking yourselves, why is Sam Benjamin doing this? Why is he going to all this trouble? After all, it’s nothing but a bar mitzvah and boys make them every day.

  “But it’s more than that to me. How else can a poor boy from the Bronx who got lucky say to his son”—he turned to Junior and spoke directly to him—“I love you. And I’m proud of you.”

  In the silence, Sam bent down and kissed his son. Then he straightened up and looked into the room. “Thank you,” he said simply and sat down.

  Steve made his way up to the front table as the party began to break up. Sam was busy talking to some people and Denise was the first to see him.

  “Steve,” she said in a pleased voice.

  He kissed her cheek. “Congratulations. It’s a lovely party.”

  “I’m glad you came. It seems like it’s the only time we see each other. I still owe you a brust flanken dinner.”

  “Someday when things are a little more quiet.”

  “Even if you keep the meat in a freezer, four years is a long time to wait,” she said.

  “Has it been that long?”

  “Yes,” she said. “the last time you saw the children was at the Academy Awards.”

  “It won’t be that long this time, I promise.” He turned to Junior with a smile. “Remember me?”

  “Yes, Uncle Steve.”

  Steve grinned, taking an envelope out of his pocket. “My friends tell me this is the custom. Congratulations.”

  Junior took the envelope and peeked into it. A wide grin broke over his face. “A five-hundred-dollar bill,” he said in an awed voice. “And I thought I was through collecting the loot!”

  “Junior!” Denise’s voice was shocked.

  Junior grinned again, shoving his hand out to Steve. “Gee, thanks Uncle Steve,” he said enthusiastically, pumping his hand up and down.

  “You’re quite welcome,” Steve smiled. He turned back to Denise. “Where’s Myriam? Since I’m here I’d like to say hello.”

  “She was here a moment ago,” Denise answered, looking around.

  “She’s gone home,” Junior said. “She said she still has some packing to do.”

  “That’s right,” Denise said. “She’s going to school back East and she’s leaving tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m sorry I missed her,” Steve said. “Give her my best.”

  “I will,” Denise smiled proudly. “You wouldn’t recognize her, she’s so pretty.”

  “Especially since she got her nose job,” Junior piped up.

  “Junior!” Denise’s voice was sharp.

  Steve laughed. “It’s all right, Denise. I’ll keep it in the family. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “There’s nothing wrong in it,” Denise said defensively. “Many girls do it nowadays.”

  “Of course,” Steve said in a soothing voice. “You’d be surprised at the number of beautiful actresses who have had it done.”

  “Yes,” Denise agreed. “And especially since she’s—”

  Sam’s bellow interrupted her. “Hey, Steve!”

  They shook hands. “Congratulations.”

  “What do you think of my boy?” Sam looked at his son admiringly. “I think he’s going to be a six-footer.”

  “He’s too much.”

  “Come, let’s get a drink,” Sam said, taking his arm and moving him to the bar. “Two Scotches.”

  “Yes, Mr. Benjamin.” The bartender put the drinks down in front of them.

  “Cheers,” Sam said.

  They drank.

  “How’s it going?” Sam asked.

  “The usual,” Steve said. “Win a few, lose a few.”

  “I’ve been picking up a lot of properties the last few months.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” Steve’s voice was noncommittal.

  Sam glanced at Steve’s face, looking for hidden meanings. But he could read nothing there except polite interest. “I think we ought to have a meeting.”

  “I’ll be in the studio tomorrow,” Steve said.

  “I’ll call you in the morning.” Sam turned and looked out at the room, a smile breaking over his face. “It’s a hell of a party, isn’t it? I bet there never was a bar mitzvah like this.”

  ***

  Myriam snapped the lock on the last valise and stared down at it. She heard the car in the driveway and crossing the room quickly, turned off the light. She had had enough family for the day.

  Slowly she began to undress in the dark. The tightness was still inside her. Nothing had gone right. At least as far as she was concerned. If it hadn’t been for the bar mitzvah she would have been out of here last week. Sometimes relatives could be too much. Especially her kid brother. It was uncanny how aware he was of what she was thinking.

  “Who are you looking at?” he had whispered at the table as their father got up to make his speech.

  She didn’t answer.

  He followed her gaze. “That’s Uncle Steve.”

  She still didn’t answer.

  “You’ve got the hots for him?”

  “Oh, shut up!” she whispered angrily, feeling the heat creep into her face. She forced herself to look away and Daddy had begun his speech, distracting her brother.

  But he had been right. It had always been like that for her. Even at the Academy Awards years ago when he came in with that actress. She could have gladly killed her. And after that, she even felt a twinge every time she read his name in the columns. He was always going with one girl or another. An actress or a model. Maybe that was what gave her the idea for herself.

  When the speech was over and Steve started toward the table she felt a sudden impulse to flee. She turned to her brother. “Tell Mother I’m going home to finish packing.” She left before he had a chance to answer, walking right past Steve on her way out. Strange, the way she felt about him and he didn’t even recognize her.

  She began to grow angry with herself.
She was acting like a child, not a girl who knew the score. She walked over to the dresser and opened her purse. There was one stick left.

  She lit it and dragged the smoke deep into her lungs. She felt calmer almost immediately. Slowly now, she unfastened her brassiere and dropped it to the floor. Naked, she went to the window and opened it.

  She stood there, letting the cool night air flow over her while she blew the smoke out the window. She closed her eyes and leaned against the sill.

  She wondered where he was now. He had come alone but that meant nothing. He probably had a late date and was balling some girl right this moment. She wondered what it would be like making love with him. She began to feel warm and put her hand down and touched herself. She was wet and flowing.

  She dragged on the cigarette and went back to the valise and opened it. From a side pocket she took out the pink battery-powered vibrator. She sat down on the edge of the bed, dragged again on the cigarette and, putting it into an ashtray, lay back.

  She turned the base handle and its small hum filled the room. It was suddenly loud in her ears. She wrapped her legs around a pillow and, covering the vibe, held it against her clitoris. She tripped off to the moon and the suddenness of her orgasm brought his name in a half scream to her lips.

  “Steve!”

  His name hung there in the darkness.

  The tears came to her eyes.

  Then sleep.

  ***

  “He fucked me!” Sam raged, coming into the house. “He sat there smiling like a snake. ‘I’m your friend,’ he said. Then he shoved the umbrella up my ass and opened it!”

  Denise stared at him in bewilderment. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Steve, that’s whom I’m talking about,” he said angrily. “Your goyishe friend. Who just yesterday came to my son’s bar mitzvah and ate our food.”

  “I can’t believe it. Not Steve.”

  “Yeah, Steve,” he replied. “All I wanted was a nice quiet talk. To straighten out the inequities in our deal. That’s all.”

  “What happened?”

  “He sat there righteous as a judge behind his desk. ‘You should have come to me before you made the UA deal,’ he said.

  “I explained to him I had to do it for my own self-protection. The way things were working out, Sinclair was making two dollars for every one of mine.