The Dream Merchants

by Harold Robbins

  He turned to Rocco. “Would you mind taking Janey home?” he asked. “I got a hunch he might listen to reason.”

  Rocco smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

  “I can get home all right,” Janey put in quickly, “Rock can go with you.”

  Johnny knew what she was thinking. He smiled reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry about me, Janey,” he said, tapping his artificial leg, “I can get along all right now.”

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “Sure, I’m sure,” he told her.

  ***

  When they were out in the street, she said to Rocco: “I guess it’s silly of me, but I was worried about his getting along.”

  Rocco looked at her. “You don’t have to worry about him any more. He can get along all right.” He was quiet for a moment as they walked along, then he added: “He don’t need nobody to look after him any more. I’m beginning to wonder what I’m doing hanging around.”

  She looked at him, her face thoughtful. “Why, Rock, you’re doing a job,” she protested. “Johnny couldn’t get along without you.”

  His face was impassive. She couldn’t tell how he felt. His voice was questioning as he answered: “I’m not so sure he can’t.” He looked at her. For the first time she saw a look of pain his eyes.

  Involuntarily she put her hand on his arm as they walked along. She could feel his arm tense underneath his coat. Slowly it relaxed as they walked along. After a while she asked: “What’s on your mind, Rock? You’re not yourself.”

  He looked at her swiftly. Her eyes were on his; they were warm and invited his confidence. “Nothing,” he said quickly, “I guess I just feel low, that’s all.”

  She looked at him. He could see the sudden look of hurt that flashed across her face when he refused her his confidence, and strangely something inside him warmed and glowed. Before he had felt lonely and unwanted, and now suddenly he felt differently. He didn’t understand it. He stopped abruptly and faced her. “You’re really interested?” he asked.

  She lowered her eyes and didn’t look directly at him. Her voice was low. “You know that I am, Rock,” she replied.

  A new and heady feeling of elation began to run through him. He took her hand as they began to walk again. Oddly enough, what was bothering him before did not seem too important now. Her hand felt good in his. He looked at her. “The car is only on the next block,” he said.

  She smiled at him, but didn’t answer.

  He liked the way she smiled at him. She had never smiled at him in just this way before. Maybe the way he felt before was not important now, but it would be good to talk to her about it on the way home.

  ***

  Johnny pushed his way into the crowded dressing room. It was a newer theater and a larger room, but the scene was the same that Johnny remembered.

  Craig sat at a dressing-table removing his make-up and watching the people in the room in his mirror. Here, as on stage, he was the center of attraction.

  Johnny was sure Craig had seen him enter, but as he gave no sign of recognition, he walked toward a seat on the far side of the room and sat down. He lit a cigarette and looked around him.

  People were always the same, they never changed. When at last Craig stood up and turned around, they surged up to him. Several women gave him their programs to autograph. Others smiled and spoke a congratulatory word. For each Craig had a smile and a pleasant reply. Johnny thought he looked happy in his element.

  Bored with the scene in the dressing room, which looked as if it would last for a while, Johnny looked out into the hall. Through the open doorway he could see down the corridor to the other dressing rooms. From one of them a girl was just emerging. She came toward Craig’s room. In the dim light of the corridor there was something strangely fluid about the way she walked, something strangely and deliberately feminine. For a moment Johnny had the impression he could see through the clinging pleated dress she wore, see the flowing muscles of her thighs, the outline of her breasts.

  He stared at her as she came into the room. Startled, in the full light of the room, he realized that the light in the corridor had been playing tricks on him. She was a young girl with honey-colored hair flowing down to her shoulders. She blinked her eyes a little as the light struck them; then, as they cleared, she made her way through the crowd to Craig.

  Involuntarily Johnny’s eyes followed her. There was something about this girl that was almost magnetic. At first Johnny didn’t know what it was, then suddenly he understood it. The styles of the times called for thin figures and boyishly cut hair. This girl catered to neither of these fashions. She was slim, but feminine, and wore her hair in long blond waves.

  Her voice was deep and full and Johnny could hear what she said from where he was sitting. It was a trained voice and from it Johnny knew she was in show business.

  “Warren,” the girl said, “Cynthia will be a little late.”

  Craig looked at her and nodded. “Tell her I’ll wait, Dulcie,” he replied.

  The girl turned and silently went back out into the hall. Johnny watched her as she walked back to the dressing room from which she had come. Again the dim light of the corridor performed its strange revealing trick. She disappeared into the room.

  Johnny shook his head as he turned back to Craig. He was smiling to himself. “She’d slap my face if she knew what I was thinking,” he thought.

  The crowd was beginning to leave. He lit another cigarette and settled himself for a patient wait. He didn’t have to wait long, for suddenly they had all gone and Craig was walking toward him. He stood up slowly.

  For a moment they looked at each other, then Craig held out his hand. “Hello, Johnny,” he said.

  Johnny took his hand. “Hello, Warren,” he replied.

  Craig looked right into Johnny’s eyes. He smiled slowly, hesitantly. “I never expected to see you here.”

  “I didn’t expect to be here,” Johnny replied candidly. “But I just caught the show and had to come back and tell you how much I liked it.”

  “I’m glad you did, Johnny,” Craig said slowly. “Many is the time I wanted to apologize for making such an ass of myself, but I never seemed to get around to it. I watched your company’s progress and was really glad it worked out all right.”

  There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. Johnny knew instinctively that Craig wasn’t acting. He smiled suddenly. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I came back here for the same reason I did the last time.”

  Craig threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Still the same old Johnny.”

  Johnny nodded his head. “One-track mind. Don’t forget you still owe me a picture.”

  Craig’s face grew serious. “I don’t know whether I can, Johnny. After all, you know my position in regard to pictures.”

  Johnny knew his position. Since he had failed to live up to their agreement to make The Bandit, Craig had publicly announced that motion pictures were not important enough for him to be interested in. He looked at Craig candidly. “I’ve heard about it,” he admitted, “but times change. You can always change your mind. The Barrymores are going into pictures; so can you.” He stopped for a moment, then added as an apparent afterthought: “I know it’s not important to you, but you can make as much money in one month’s work in the movies as you can in one year on the stage.”

  Craig looked interested. This play was almost at the end of its run. It might go until the end of the year, it might not. It had been playing almost a year now, and he had no plans for the future. “Tell you what, Johnny,” he said, “supposing you come to supper with me and we’ll talk it over. You tell me what you’ve got in mind, and though I’m not promising anything, I’ll listen.”

  Johnny nodded his head. “Fair enough,” he replied. “That’s all I ask. If we can do business now, we’ll both forget what happened.”

  Craig grinned ruefully. “Go ahead, rub it in.” But there was no malice in his words.

  Johnny smiled a
t him and watched him get his hat and coat. He came back to Johnny. “We’ll pick up Cynthia in her dressing room on the way out,” he said.

  Johnny protested. “Wait a minute, I don’t want to be breaking anything up.”

  Craig laughed. “Don’t be silly, old man. You’re not breaking anything up. Cynthia and I always eat together after the show.” He snapped his finger suddenly. “Fact is, you’ll be a welcome addition. My cousin, Dulcie, is coming with us. She’s ambitious to become an actress, and even though my wife and I have been trying to discourage her, she’ll be thrilled at meeting a big moving-picture man like you.”

  Johnny was surprised for a moment; then he remembered he had read in the program that during the run of the play Craig and the leading lady had been married. He smiled back at him and held out his hand. “I forgot for a moment that you’re a newlywed. Congratulations.”

  Craig shook his hand. “Thanks,” he said. “Ready to go?”

  Johnny nodded. He turned and picked up his coat from the chair where he had put it. It was an awkward turn and he almost slipped as he made it.

  Craig grabbed him with his hand. He grinned at Johnny. “Charley horse or one too many?”

  Johnny smiled ruefully back at him and shook his head. “Neither,” he replied, “I wish it were. I left a leg in France.”

  A look of sympathy rushed across Craig’s face. “Forgive me,” he said quickly, “I seem bound to make a fool of myself, but I didn’t know.”

  “That’s all right,” Johnny said easily as they started to walk out of the room. He tapped his artificial leg. “The nice thing about this is that sometimes you can forget about it yourself.”

  3

  He came into the office whistling. Janey looked up at him in surprise; it had been a long time since she had seen him so carefree. “How did it go last night?” she asked with a smile. “Did he sign up?”

  Johnny stopped in front of her desk and smiled happily at her. “No,” he replied easily. “We went out to supper together, but he wasn’t interested.” Still whistling while she looked at him bewilderedly, he took off his hat and coat and hung it up. He turned back to her. “Anything special this morning?”

  “George Pappas is in your office waiting for you,” she replied. “You had a nine-o’clock appointment with him, remember?”

  He looked at his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. He had completely forgotten about it. He hurried into his office.

  George was waiting there. He got to his feet as Johnny came into the room.

  “George,” Johnny said smiling as he walked over to him, “I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, but I overslept this morning.”

  George smiled back at him. “That’s all right, Johnny. Sometimes is good for to sleep a little later.”

  Johnny sat down behind his desk. “How are things going?”

  George nodded his head. “Good, Johnny, too good. I’m getting nervous about it.”

  “What do you mean?” Johnny asked.

  George sat down in the chair opposite Johnny’s desk and looked at him seriously. “You see in the papers lots theaters being built and sold every day. Prices paid are climbing all the time. Two years ago we pay for twelve-hundred-seat house thirty thousand dollars. Today same house cost almost twice.”

  “What’s so bad about that?” Johnny asked with an indulgent smile. “All I can see that it means is that our properties are worth twice as much as we paid for them.”

  George shook his head in disagreement. “Maybe if same number theaters are standing. But soon there will be so many theaters that price must come down.”

  Johnny sat forward in his chair, suddenly interested. He could see the logic in George’s statement. It was all right while there was still a shortage of theaters, but what would happen if there were more theaters than there were patrons to go to them? “What are you suggesting, George?” he asked.

  George was silent for a moment before he answered. “We got now more than two hundred houses,” he said carefully. “For a few years yet I figure they’re good; after that”—he shrugged his shoulders expressively—“who knows?”

  “So?” asked Johnny.

  “So I’m thinking it good thing if we examine theaters carefully, see what houses look like they will hold up, and sell the others while the price is good.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at Johnny.

  Johnny took a cigarette and lit it. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I don’t know whether Peter would like that. He’s very proud of the chain of theaters that carry the Magnum name.”

  “Peter should be told to understand some time even the gravy gets cold and tasteless and makes the stomach sick.” George’s face was calm.

  “What if he doesn’t want to sell?” Johnny pursued.

  “My brother Nick and me, we talk about that. Maybe in that case he buys our share.”

  Johnny’s face grew thoughtful as he looked at George. “You really believe there’s a bust coming, then?”

  George’s voice was gentle. “Maybe not bust, but things certainly come down.”

  “Do you know what theaters you want to get rid of?”

  George opened up his little briefcase, took out a sheaf of papers, and put them on Johnny’s desk. “Here is analysis of all theaters. Is marked in red, theaters we should sell and reasons for selling.”

  Johnny picked up the papers and leafed through them slowly. When he had finished, he looked up at George. “That’s more than half of them.”

  George nodded his head. “One hundred fifteen.”

  “If we did decide to sell them,” Johnny asked, “who would buy that many theaters at one time?”

  Again George shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe Loew, maybe Proctor. Maybe even Borden. He is expanding his theaters rapidly.”

  “What do you think we can get for them?”

  “Should get four million dollars if sold together, maybe more if sold one at a time.”

  Johnny leaned back in his chair. Half of what they would get for the theaters would be Magnum’s share. He calculated what they had paid for them and realized the profit on the sales would be close to a million dollars for Magnum alone. He looked at George respectfully. His share would be as much. No wonder he wanted to get rid of them. It wasn’t every day you could pick up a million bucks.

  “I’ll tell you what, George,” he said finally, “I’m going out to the studio in a few weeks and I’ll talk to Peter out there. When I get back I’ll let you know what he thinks. All right?”

  George stood up. “Sure,” he said. “Is no hurry. Maybe got time yet for one year, maybe two. Just being careful.”

  Johnny stood up and smiled at him. “I understand.” He walked around the desk and took George’s hand. “You’re being fair to us, old friend.”

  George smiled at him fondly. “And what is old friends for?” he asked. “You help me, is only natural I help you.”

  He watched George leave the office and went back to his desk and sat down. It would have been easy enough for George to sell his share on the open market without talking to them first. He knew in a case like that he would be giving someone a chance to cut in on the Magnum Theaters Company the way that Farber had wanted to do. An expression of distaste flitted across Johnny’s face as he thought about Farber.

  It was a good thing he had got rid of him when he did. He hadn’t realized just how deeply entrenched in the organization Farber had made himself. Most of the theater personnel had been hired by him and he had made many connections in the picture company too. It wasn’t until after Farber had gone that Johnny found out just how thorough and far-reaching his activities had been.

  He picked up his phone. Jane answered it. “Is Rocco in yet?” he asked. Rocco had gone to park the car.

  “He just came in,” Jane answered.

  “Tell him I want to see him.” Johnny hung up the phone.

  Rocco came into the office. “What do you want, boss?” he asked with a smile.

  J
ohnny looked up at him. “Go over to a good florist’s and pick out a dozen of their best American Beauty roses. No”—he hesitated for a moment—“you better make it two dozen, and send them to Miss Dulcie Warren at the Plaza with my card.”

  Rocco looked at him in surprise for a moment. He recovered quickly. “Sure, boss,” he said, starting out the door.

  Johnny stopped him. “You got the name right?” he asked.

  Rocco smiled. “Sure, Johnny. Dulcie Warren at the Plaza. Two dozen American Beauty roses with your card.”

  Johnny nodded. He was pleased. “That’s right,” he said.

  Rocco closed the door behind him and swore softly to himself. He walked over to Jane’s desk and looked down at her. “What happened to him last night?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. He came in whistling and I asked him if Craig signed and he said no as if he didn’t care. Then he went in to see Pappas, who was waiting for him. Why?”

  Rocco scratched his head, puzzled. “Do you know what he wants me to do?”

  “No. What?”

  “He wants me to send some flowers to a dame at the Plaza. Two dozen American Beauty roses, no less, to Miss Dulcie Warren at the Plaza. Who is she, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” Jane answered, “I never heard of her.”

  Rocco looked down at her challengingly. “So I was wrong last night when I told you all he needs me for is an errand boy? It’s ‘Rock, bring the car around,’ ‘Rock, get my briefcase over there, will yuh?’ Who’s crazy, me? Now he wants me to buy him some flowers for a dame. I tell yuh, Janey, I’m nuthin’ but a flunky around here and I don’t like it!”

  “Shh—” Janey tried to quiet him. “He might hear you!”

  “What if he does?” Rocco asked savagely.

  She didn’t answer—just looked up at him appealingly. There was nothing she could say. Last night in the car he had told her how he felt, told her why he had hesitated about taking the job with him because he was afraid he would turn into a servant for Johnny. “I’d be better off if I went back to my old job in a barber shop,” he had said. “At least there I would be doing a job and not have to be any man’s flunky.”