The Inheritors

by Harold Robbins

  She came from behind the bar and stood in front of me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing.” I looked up at her. “It’s your problem, not mine.”

  The tears began to well into her eyes. “Don’t turn me off like that, Steve.” She sank to the floor in front of me, clasping me around the knees. The racking sobs shook her entire body. “Help me, Steve. Please help me.”

  She grabbed at my hand and began to cover it with quick tiny kisses. The hot tears burned my skin. “Help me, help me, help me,” she kept murmuring over and over.

  I looked down at her. For a moment I could have cried. After all, it wasn’t that far back that she was a little girl. I stroked her hair.

  She caught my hand and held it to her cheek. “What am I going to do?” she asked, her voice filled with despair.

  I was silent, looking at her.

  “Tell me, Steve,” she said insistently, almost fiercely.

  “There are three things that I can think of that you can do,” I said. “But I don’t think you’ll do any of them.”

  “Tell me,” she said again.

  “One, you can go back to New York and tell your parents. Have them help you.”

  “No,” she said. “It would kill my mother.”

  “Second,” I said, “you can go to England and sign on. At least that way you’ll get the stuff under medical supervision.”

  “No. That would take me away from you. I’ll be over there and you’ll be here. And I couldn’t come back.”

  “The third is the roughest,” I said.

  She didn’t speak.

  “Sign yourself in at Vista Carla.” It was probably the best private narcotics rehabilitation center in America. And the most expensive. But they had every modern technique that was needed. Medical and psychological. “In the morning.”

  I felt the cold shiver run through her. Fear was a very real thing. “Is there anything else?”

  “Sure there is,” I said harshly. “Don’t do anything. Just keep on the way you’re going and slide into the shithouse.”

  She was silent for a long while. I lit a cigarette and gave it to her, then lit another for myself. I watched her. There were lines on her face that had never been there before.

  The cigarette had burned almost to her fingers before she spoke. “If I do that,” she asked, “you won’t leave me?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You’ll come and see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean it?”

  I nodded.

  “I won’t make it without you,” she said. “I know that.”

  “You’ll make it,” I said, drawing her up into my arms. “I’ll help you.”

  ***

  Vista Carla was set in the rolling hills just back of Santa Barbara. We got there about noon. If it weren’t for the ten-foot iron fence around the ground and the uniformed guard at the big gate, it could be mistaken for a rich man’s country mansion.

  I stopped outside the closed gate and gave the guard my name. He went back into the gatehouse and came out with a small book.

  “Is that the patient with you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Miss Darling.”

  He peered into the car at her for a moment. She didn’t look at him, just down at her nervously twisting hands. He nodded and stepped back. “You go on up the driveway,” he said. “Turn left at the top and stop at the main entrance. You’ll find a place to park there. Dr. Davis will be waiting for you.”

  He went back into the gatehouse. Through the window I saw him press a button. The large iron gates began to swing open. He picked up the telephone as we drove in. The gates swung closed as soon as the car had passed.

  An attractive young woman was waiting for us on the steps leading to the entrance. She was wearing a white smock over her short dress. She came down the steps as soon as I had parked the car.

  “Mr. Gaunt?” she asked, her hand outstretched.

  Her grip was firm and businesslike. “I’m Dr. Shirley Davis.”

  “Good to meet you,” I said.

  She turned toward Myriam as she came around the car. “Miss Darling? I’m your doctor, Shirley Davis.”

  Myriam nodded. She looked at me questioningly.

  Dr. Davis laughed. It was a pleasant laugh. “In case you’re wondering about it, I really am a doctor. I’ll show you my diplomas and certificate when we get to my office.”

  Myriam laughed. She held out her hand. “Happy to meet you, Dr. Davis.”

  I looked at Dr. Davis approvingly. Score one for her. For a moment, Myriam almost sounded as if she meant it. We went up the steps. Dr. Davis took a key from her pocket and opened the door. We went inside and the door swung shut automatically behind us.

  “The foyer is furnished in genuine Mexican-Spanish antiques of the nineteenth century,” Dr. Davis explained as she led us through it to her office. “It was donated to Vista Carla by a foundation.”

  We paused in front of a dark oak-paneled door. Again Dr. Davis took a key from her pocket. Again the door locked automatically behind us.

  The room was comfortably furnished. The only sign that it was a doctor’s office was a small wooden cabinet behind the desk, through the windows of which I could see various colored vials of medicine.

  “Why don’t you sit here on the couch, Mr. Gaunt,” Dr. Davis said, “while Miss Darling and I attend to the necessary routines? There are some magazines on the table if you care to read.”

  I sat down as they went to the far end of the room. Dr. Davis took out some forms. She began to read the questions in a low voice.

  I picked up the magazines. They were back issues of medical journals. I imagined they would be very interesting if you were a medical historian. I put them down and looked out the window.

  An occasional patient went by, always accompanied by a nurse. Other than that, the green rolling lawns seemed almost pristine in their virginity.

  “I guess that about completes the forms,” I heard Dr. Davis say. I turned back into the room from the window.

  The doctor was standing, holding a large manila envelope. “If you’ll place all your valuables in this,” she said, “we’ll keep them in the safe for you. They will be returned when you leave.”

  Silently Myriam took off her rings, a bracelet, and the gold chain she wore around her neck. She dropped them into the envelope.

  “Your wristwatch also,” Dr. Davis said.

  Myriam unclasped her watch and dropped it into the envelope. The doctor sealed it and placed in on the desk. She pressed a button.

  A gray-haired motherly nurse came through the door behind the desk. She stood there waiting.

  “Mrs. Graham will show you to your room,” Dr. Davis said. “You will take off all your clothes and put on a hospital gown. Then we’ll begin our examination and tests.”

  “This way, my dear,” the nurse said in an agreeable voice. She held the door open behind her.

  Myriam got to her feet. She glanced apprehensively at me.

  “Don’t worry,” Dr. Davis said quickly. “Mr. Gaunt will be in to see you in your room just as soon as we get you comfortable.”

  I smiled reassuringly at Myriam. She tried to return the smile, but she didn’t quite make it. She turned and followed the nurse through the door. I walked over to the desk.

  Dr. Davis sat down again and gestured to the seat that Myriam had occupied. I sat down. It was still warm.

  “Do you know when the patient had her last shot?” Dr. Davis asked in a cool, businesslike voice.

  “As far as I know—last night,” I answered.

  “Do you know how long she’s been taking drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know about how often she takes drugs?”

  “No.”

  While she had been asking questions she had been studying the papers in front of her that had the information she had gotten from Myriam. Now she looked up at me. “Did the patient come here voluntarily, or
under coercion?”

  “Voluntarily.”

  “Do you think she has a genuine desire to rehabilitate herself?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a very pretty girl,” she said. “I hope we can help her.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You know, in cases like this, more depends on the patient than ordinarily.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  She took out a form. “Please let me know where you can be reached in case of any special problems.”

  I gave her all the numbers, including the apartment in New York.

  “I hope it won’t be necessary to disturb you,” she said. “But one can never tell. While, as you see, we do observe maximum security precautions, this is a clinic not a prison and sometimes patients do manage to elude us.”

  I nodded. “When do you think I will be able to visit?”

  “With luck, in one week,” she said. “More probably sometime near the end of the second week. The first two weeks are the most difficult for the patient.” She got to her feet. “I will call you just as soon as I feel she is able to have you visit her.”

  I rose. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her room. She should be ready for us.”

  I followed her out through the door that Myriam used. Now I knew we were in a hospital. The corridor was green and sterile. We went up a flight of stairs and down another corridor. She stopped in front of a door and knocked.

  “Come in.” The gray-haired nurse opened the door. She turned to Myriam. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, dear.” She walked out past me and I went into the room. The door snapped shut and locked.

  Myriam looked like a child in the white hospital gown, propped up in the bed with pillows. I glanced around the room. It was pleasant enough, but the only window in it was high on the wall, near the ceiling.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  Her lower lip trembled. “Frightened.”

  I sat down on the bed and took her in my arms. I kissed her. “You’re doing the right thing,” I said. “It will be all right.”

  The door opened and the nurse came back in, wheeling a small table on which various instruments were laid out. “Time for us to begin our work, dear,” she said cheerfully.

  Myriam looked at me. “When will I see you?”

  “The doctor says I can probably come up next week.”

  “That’s a long time,” she said. “Why can’t you come before that?”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  She held her arms out toward me. “Kiss me again, Steve.”

  I kissed her and held her for a moment, then went outside into the corridor. The doctor was waiting there for me.

  We began to walk down the hall. “How does she seem to you?” the doctor asked.

  “Okay,” I said. “A little frightened.”

  “That’s normal enough,” she said. “It’s a big step she’s taking.”

  We went down the stairs and at the bottom she turned to me. She held something in her hand. I looked down at it.

  “By the way, she had these hidden in the lining of her handbag,” she said.

  I nodded. “I kind of expected something like that.” Now I knew where the heroin had gone.

  “Do you think she might have any more on her?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Then don’t worry, Mr. Gaunt,” the doctor smiled. “If she has, Mrs. Graham will turn it up. She’s very good at that sort of thing.”

  I thanked the doctor and went outside to my car. I drove down to Los Angeles International Airport and got aboard the three o’clock plane to New York.

  The worst part of the whole thing was yet to come. Telling Sam and Denise about their daughter.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I was in the office early. Fogarty followed me with the coffee. She waited until I had taken my first sip. “There was a big panic here yesterday,” she said. “They didn’t know whether you’d be in time for the board meeting today and they couldn’t find you.”

  I had some more of the coffee without answering.

  “We were wondering whether to call Sinclair. It wouldn’t make much sense to have a board meeting without either of the executive officers present.”

  Spencer was on vacation in the Caribbean. He had been gone almost a month. I look up at her. “I’m here.”

  I knew she was curious about where I had been yesterday, but I volunteered nothing and she didn’t ask. She knew better. She began to run down the list of calls.

  “Mr. Savitt wants to see you before the meeting. He would like to go over the new lineup before he presents it to the board for approval.”

  “Ask him up as soon as we’re finished.”

  “Mr. Regan called from the coast. He asked me to tell you that his board formally approved the sale of Symbolic Records stock to Sinclair. He asked that you call him as soon as our board approves so that the press release can be coordinated on both coasts.”

  I nodded.

  “Mr. Benjamin called. He asked me to express his satisfaction to you on the conclusion of the new deal. You don’t have to call back.”

  “What deal?”

  “Mr. Savitt tried to reach you yesterday and tell you. He bought a package of feature films from him.” She checked her notes. “That’s another thing he wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Any other calls?”

  “All routine. Nothing special.”

  “Okay. Ask Mr. Savitt to come up.”

  “Will do,” she said. She placed a folder on the desk in front of me. “There’s your copy of the agenda for today’s board meeting.”

  I thanked her and looked through it as she left the office. But it was just a blur of words to me. Darling Girl’s face kept intruding between the paper and my eyes. The fear somehow mixed with trust in her young face.

  Jack came into the office. We shook hands while Fogarty placed his coffee in front of him. He waited until she had left the office. “You don’t look well.”

  “I’m all right,” I said. “I’m just tired.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Maybe you can grab a vacation after the board meeting.”

  “When Spencer comes back,” I said. “The bylaws of the company state specifically that one of us must always be around.”

  “When is he coming back?”

  I shrugged. “The end of March, beginning of April. Sometime like that.”

  “That’s two months off.”

  “I’ll make it, all I need is a good night’s rest.” I changed the subject. “Bring me up to date on the Benjamin thing. I thought you were dead set against it.”

  “I was,” he said. “But Sam came in himself last week without Dan Ritchie and offered me a whole new proposal. He gave us our choice of the package for three million dollars. I got him down to two and a half and then skimmed the cream. I picked the twelve best of the lot. That’s a million and a half less than he had asked before.”

  I didn’t say anything. Sam was no fool. With the additional financing he had gotten from me, he didn’t have to be sticky. Between the two, he had managed to put together six and a half million dollars.

  Jack mistook my silence for disapproval. “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s fine.” I said. “What happened to Ritchie?”

  “I don’t really know,” he answered. “I heard they had a fight. Ritchie was supposed to come with the money from the sale of films to television and he struck out. Meanwhile Sam got financing somewhere so he canned him. Ritchie’s pissed off and threatening a suit. But, as far as I know, that’s all scuttlebutt.”

  “New York is a fun city.”

  “Yeah. Something going on all the time,” he answered. “Can you go over the scheduling now?”

  “Yes.”

  He took out the charts and schedules. I looked down at them. The same old shit. The headings across the top of the page were always the same. NBC, CBS, ABC, and
SINCLAIR. I was bored with it.

  ***

  It was after five o’clock by the time the board meeting was over. I went back to my office and put in a call for Sam.

  He came on the phone in high humor. “I’ll make a rich man out of you yet,” he said. “By the time I buy the stock back from you it will be worth double what you loaned me for it.”

  It was the first laugh I had that day. “You can ruin my tax picture for ten years with something like that.”

  “In that case you better be nice to me,” he said. “Or I’ll pay you what I owe you.”

  “I’d like to see you,” I said, turning serious.

  “Why don’t you come up to the house for dinner? Only Denise and Junior will be there.”

  “I thought Junior was away at school?”

  “He just got kicked out,” he said. “They caught him smoking marijuana or masturbating or maybe both in the men’s room. You know how kids are nowadays.”

  “I know,” I said. For a moment I almost canceled out. But it was his daughter and he was entitled to know. Now. “I can’t make dinner because I’m catching the nine o’clock back to the coast. How about a drink?”

  “Where would you like to meet?” he asked.

  “I’ll be at your apartment at six thirty if that’s all right with you.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

  ***

  I got out of the limo in front of the apartment house. “Don’t go away,” I said to the chauffeur. “I don’t know just how long I will be.”

  He nodded and I went into the building. I lit a cigarette going up in the elevator and dragged on it. It wasn’t going to be easy. There were a million other things I’d rather tell them.

  The maid, Mamie, let me in and I followed her to the library. Sam and Denise were already there and the maid brought me a Scotch on the rocks without my having to ask for it.

  “You look so serious,” Sam said as I took it. He laughed. “I don’t know whether I didn’t like you better when you were on martinis.”

  I forced a smile. “Cheers,” I said. Even the whiskey tasted lousy.

  Junior came into the room. “Hi, Uncle Steve.”

  “How are you?”

  “Don’t ask him anything,” Sam said. “He’s a bum.” But there was tolerant humor in his smile. “Imagine a son of mine getting caught doing a stupid thing like that.” He turned to Junior. “What was such a big rush? Why didn’t you wait at least until you got back to your own room?”