The Inheritors

by Harold Robbins

  I hid behind my whiskey glass.

  “Stephen.”

  “Yes, Aunt Prue?”

  “If you do like her, really like her, don’t hold back.” Her voice was very soft. “Don’t be afraid.”

  ***

  It was almost eleven o’clock when Jack finally left my office. He had not wasted the afternoon. He came in with a format for the rock show that seemed to have great promise.

  “I spent all afternoon on the phone with Angel,” he said. “That boy knows the music scene. I told him to start coordination on the coast. The best American groups are out there, L.A. and San Francisco. I’m sending him to Nashville next week to look over the scene there.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “That’s about it.” He began to fold up his papers. “I’ll try to put on a contact man to stay in touch with the record companies and the music publishers so we can be on top of what’s happening.”

  “You’ll need a very hip producer too,” I said.

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I haven’t come up with a man yet.”

  “I might have one for you. Bob Andrews.”

  Jack was surprised. “He’s not a producer. He’s a disc jockey.”

  “The number-one disc jockey in the country,” I said. “The kids love him. He was the first to play Elvis, the first to play the Beatles. And he has one great added value. He’s under contract exclusively to us.”

  He was even more than that. Because of him we had the number-one radio station in New York. Before he had come to work for us, we had the biggest loser of all time.

  “I like it,” Jack said.

  “I’ll have him call you in the morning.”

  “What if he isn’t interested?” Jack asked. “He’s number one where he is, maybe he wouldn’t want to change.”

  “He’ll be interested,” I said. “For two years he’s been after me to go into the record business or buy a record company. If we’re going to put music in primetime, maybe the whole thing makes sense now.”

  “We should have gone into it years ago,” Jack said. “Do you know how much RCA is making on Elvis, how much Capitol is making on the Beatles?”

  “I know.”

  “That’s about it.” He shoved the papers into his attaché case and got to his feet. “I’m beat. I’m going back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

  The telephone began almost as soon as he had gone. I let it ring a few times, until I realized that Fogarty had already gone home, and picked it up.

  A blast of noise, voices, and music hit my ears.

  “Steve?” Her voice was hushed and quiet.

  “Yes, Darling Girl?”

  “I’m stoned.”

  “So what else is new?” I asked.

  “No. I really mean it. I’m all the way out,” she said. “I’ve been tripping all night.”

  I didn’t answer and for a moment there was silence. I could hear her breathing over the background noise. “Steve,” she said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Steve. Why didn’t you take me to dinner tonight?”

  “I had work to do,” I said.

  “I would have waited for you,” she said.

  “You seem to be doing all right.”

  “I missed you,” she said. “I was lonely. I was sitting home alone. Smoking pot and crying. I had to get out.”

  “Sounds like a great party,” I said.

  “Will you come and get me, Steve? I want to be with you.”

  I hesitated.

  “Please.”

  “Okay,” I said, reaching for a pencil. “Give me the address.”

  ***

  It was an ancient walk-up tenement near Twenty-eighth and First Avenue and I could hear the noise from the street and smell the pot in the ground-floor hallway as I began to climb the stairs. The noise great louder and the fumes stronger by the time I reached the top floor. The last staircase was an obstacle course of couples involved in doing their own thing and paying no attention at all to each other or to me as I stepped over or around them.

  “Man, you’re late,” the long-haired boy in the doorway said as I came up to him. “You have a lot of catching up to do. That will be five dollars, please.”

  I put the five-dollar bill in his outstretched hand. He gave me a twisted stick. “Light up and turn on,” he said.

  If I had thought the noise was loud, it was silence compared with the blast of sound I got when I stepped inside. I stood in the narrow foyer for a moment letting my eyes get used to the semidarkness. The big noise came from the room just beyond. I moved toward it. The sound stopped and the room went abruptly dark as I reached the doorway.

  I could feel the hushed expectancy of the crowd flowing around me. I stood there waiting, trying vainly to see into the darkness.

  The deep baritone voice came from the far corner of the room. “And now Don Rance presents his latest work in living art, Preview of the New Year. Done in Hershey’s chocolate fudge, blueberry and strawberry jam, orange marmalade, peppermint candy, Reddi-whip and, of course, the fantastic bod of Marianne Darling!”

  The blaring music and the lights came on together. I blinked my eyes a moment. Then I saw her.

  She was standing on a table in the center of the room, holding a sign over her head, her back to me. Her body was covered with a wild mélange of colors made by the syrup and jams already beginning to melt. Slowly she began to turn around.

  The crowd went wild. They burst into applause and roars of approval. They began to press closer around the table.

  I heard her voice over the noise. “What’s the matter with you people? Can’t you read?” She was laughing wildly and moving with the music.

  They leaped toward her, their tongues out, licking at her body. The colors began to smear, one into the other. The little table began to wobble as they tried to leap higher and higher.

  Still laughing, she kept her balance and completed her turn. Now she was facing me. I stared at her.

  Her breasts were painted into giant testes, red and purple, and from between them drawn in sticky chocolate-fudge syrup was an erect phallus pointing down and disappearing into her Reddi-whip-covered pubis from which appeared the hook end of an inch-thick, long, candy-striped peppermint cane. The sign she held above her head had just two words printed on it.

  EAT ME!

  Her eyes found mine and for a brief moment, they cleared. But she was too far out and she had already made her commitment. The clouds came back and she smiled at me. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she yelled.

  Just then a man reached up and pulled the peppermint cane from her and buried his face in her whipped-cream-covered crotch, his tongue licking the cream avidly. The table finally collapsed and she went down in the midst of the screaming crowd and was hidden by the mass of bodies pressing forward.

  I closed my eyes and fought the nausea inside me. Then I turned and ran from the apartment. I didn’t stop running until I had gone down the stairs and out into the street. Then I leaned my head against the cold stone of the gray building on the corner and retched out my guts.

  It was Barbara. All over again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Mr. Benjamin on the line for you,” Fogarty said.

  I pressed down the button. “Hello, Sam.”

  His voice was filled with reproach. “Why do you hate me, Steve?”

  I laughed. “What makes you think that?”

  “You sicced Jack Savitt onto me. You know I never could communicate with him.”

  Sam had come up in the world. “Communicate” was a word I had never heard him use before. “I didn’t sic him onto you,” I said. “That’s his job. He’s network president now.”

  “So what’s a title between friends?” Sam asked. “We always dealt direct. Face to face. Why not now?”

  “It’s not my job anymore, Sam. You wouldn’t want me to go over his head, would you?”

  “Yes,” Sam answered flatly.

/>   “I won’t do it, Sam. That’s not the way I operate.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “Does that mean you won’t come to dinner tonight if I ask you?”

  “Ask me.”

  “How about it? It will be like old times. Junior is down from school for the holidays and Myriam is honoring us with her presence. I’ll even have Denise make brust flanken for you, if you want.”

  “You don’t have to. Just give me the address.”

  “Seven hundred Fifth, eight o’clock.”

  Sam had come up in the world. Fifth Avenue was a long way from the Bronx. I hoped half the things I heard about his problems weren’t true. It would be heartbreaking if he had to go all the way back.

  The intercom clicked. “Mr. Savitt and Mr. Andrews are here to see you.”

  “Ask them to come in.”

  She opened the door and they came into the office. I waved them to seats in front of the desk and a moment later she came back with the coffee. By the time we finished shaking hands all around, the coffee was served and the cups were in front of us. She closed the door behind her.

  “I see you and Jack got together. What do you think of the idea?”

  “I’m flipped out,” he said in his hip, resonant announcer’s voice. “I’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time.”

  “I’m pleased,” I said. “Did Jack also tell you about our plans to go into the music and record business?”

  Andrews nodded. “He mentioned it but said that you would fill me in.”

  “It’s simple,” I said. “We’re starting a separate division and I think you’re the man to head it up. You know the business and have the respect of everybody in it.”

  “I don’t believe it. It’s like getting all the goodies at once.”

  “I was approached a few months ago by Joe Regan about taking over his company. What do you think of Symbolic Records?”

  He thought for a moment. “It’s not a bad company. Musically they’re in all the grooves, they have a good library of standards which they acquired when they took over the old Eagle Record and Music companies. They get their share of hits and have fair distribution.”

  “What’s on the flip side?”

  He grinned at my use of his own language. “They have lousy administration and management. They’re into the Mafia shylocks for their financing and the word is out that the squeeze is on them.”

  “Any idea how much they owe?” I asked.

  “I hear between two and three million dollars,” he answered. “And at thirty percent interest, they have no room to swing.”

  “Are they worth a shot?”

  He nodded. “Worth getting more information on. The label is good in the trade.”

  I like the conservatism of his approach. Strange that you could know a man for so long and never really know him in depth. I would have been the last person in the world to give him credit for business brains. But then I suppose I should have known better. He had negotiated his own contract with us and it was a bitch. The best dee-jay deal in the world.

  I pressed the Fogarty button. “Get Joe Regan at Symbolic Records in Los Angeles.” I turned back to them. “Now about the show, what are your plans?”

  “I thought Bob might go out to the coast after the first of the year and get it started,” Jack said.

  “I have a few dates over the holidays that I can’t get out of,” Andrews said. “I’m doing a New Year’s rock show at the old Brooklyn Fox.”

  “That seems all right with me,” I said.

  The intercom clicked. “Mr. Regan on the line.”

  I picked up the telephone. “How are you, Joe?”

  His voice had an echo. I sensed that he had me on the box so I could be heard by other people in his office. “Couldn’t be better, Steve. And you?”

  “Good,” I said. “Thought I’d check and find out if there was anything new on that matter we spoke about a few months ago.”

  “Nothing much has happened, Steve,” he said. “We’ve had a couple of offers, but they weren’t the kind of association we were interested in. Right now we’re in pretty good shape. We got a couple of records on the charts.”

  “Still interested in talking?”

  “Could be,” he said cautiously, then blew the whole thing with his next question. “When would you like to sit down?”

  “I’ll be back in California tomorrow. Why don’t you come over to the studio for lunch?”

  “Twelve thirty okay?”

  “Perfect,” I said and put down the telephone. “You heard the conversation. I’ll meet him tomorrow.” I got to my feet. “I’ll keep you informed.”

  They left the office and Fogarty came on the intercom. “Miss Darling called twice while you were in the meeting. Do you want me to get her for you?”

  “No.” I clicked off, then put the switch back on.

  “Yes, Mr. Gaunt?”

  “If Miss Darling should call again, tell her that I have no interest in talking to her.”

  Fogarty was silent for a moment. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” I said and clicked off.

  ***

  Denise opened the door for me herself. “Stephen,” she smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

  I gave her the roses and kissed her cheek. “Too long,” I said. “But you look younger than ever.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now I know why I like seeing you. You’re good for my ego.”

  I followed her into the living room. Outside the windows the snow covered the park, and the sound of traffic far below rose faintly to our ears.

  “What would you like to drink? Sam is showering, he’ll be out in a minute.”

  A maid gave me the drink. I tasted it. Good. “This is a lovely room.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said, pleased. She gave the flowers to the maid. “You can’t decorate in California the way you do here.”

  I nodded. California living was much less formal. “Happy to be back?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Sam is too. He never really liked California. He’s a New Yorker through and through.”

  Junior came into the room. He was almost as tall as I, slim and slightly awkward, with long, evenly cut hair. He came over to me, his hand out. “Uncle Steve.”

  We shook hands. “Junior,” I said. I grinned at him. “Either I’m growing shorter or you’re growing taller. It has to be at least three years since I’ve seen you.”

  “Yes,” he laughed. “At my bar mitzvah.”

  I nodded. “That was a swinging affair.”

  He laughed again. “It sure was. My father had a ball.”

  Sam came into the room. “How do you like it?” he asked, gesturing to the apartment.

  “It’s great,” I said.

  He turned to Denise. “Where’s Myriam?”

  “She’ll be here,” Denise said.

  “It’s after eight o’clock,” he said. He turned back to me. “That daughter of mine has no concept of time. She’s always late.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got time. I’m not leaving until eleven. I’m making the midnight plane.”

  “Going back to the coast?” Sam asked.

  I nodded.

  The doorbell rang. “That must be Myriam,” he said. “I’ll get it.”

  I turned back to Denise. We could hear his voice from the other room. “What kind of a way is that to dress?” he yelled. “If your skirt was any shorter you’d have to shave!”

  We couldn’t hear her reply.

  Junior grinned. “Pop’s at it again.”

  I turned to the door just as they appeared in it. Sam came right into the room, but she stood there staring at me. I stared back at her.

  Sam stopped and turned around. “Myriam, you remember Uncle Steve, don’t you?”

  She hesitated a moment, then came toward me, her hand outstretched. “Of course I do,” she said.

  I took her hand. Her face was pale
beneath her makeup. There was a strange frightened look in her eyes. “Myriam,” I said.

  Over her shoulder I could see Junior watching us with a peculiarly private form of amusement. I suddenly realized that he had been the only person in the room who had known in advance what would happen.

  “But I think I’m a little too grown up to call you ‘Uncle’ anymore,” Darling Girl said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The maid returned with the roses in a vase. She looked questioningly at Denise.

  “Put them on the piano, Mamie,” Denise said.

  Mamie crossed the room, put down the flowers, and turned to us. “Dinner is ready.”

  I was seated next to Darling Girl. She was busy playing games. “Are you going to be in town for awhile?” she asked.

  “I’m leaving for the coast tonight,” I said. Opposite me, Junior grinned. I saw him glance at his sister.

  “Myriam was thinking of going to the coast,” he said. “She says there’s more work out there.”

  “Over my dead body, she’ll go,” Sam said. “I have enough trouble keeping track of her right here.”

  Mamie placed the soup in front of us. I took a spoonful and almost dropped it in my lap. Beneath the tablecloth, Darling Girl had put her hand on my cock.

  “What do you think, Steve?” she asked in a falsely sweet voice. “Don’t you think there is more work out there?”

  “I’m not all that sure,” I answered. “It would seem to me that if you have real talent one place is as good as the other.”

  “You’ll go out there only if you have a firm job,” Sam said.

  She looked into my eyes, teasing. “Why don’t you give me a job, Uncle Steve?”

  “That’s enough,” Denise said firmly. “Steve came here for dinner, not to be bothered.”

  “I don’t mind, Denise, I’m used to things like that. I have a standard answer.”

  “What’s that?” Darling Girl asked.

  “Send in your picture. I’ll see that it gets to the casting department.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “They put it in the file-and-forget folder.” I almost went out of my seat as she pinched me.

  “I’m sorry I asked,” she said in a cold voice.

  ***

  I looked at my watch. “Time for me to go. Thank you for a lovely dinner, Denise.”