The Dream Merchants

by Harold Robbins

  So the industry began to keep a backlog of pictures on hand. Magnum was no exception. There were sixteen pictures in the cans, completed and awaiting release. There were five pictures in work at the studio.

  Johnny’s lips tightened as he thought about them. Ordinarily it was a situation that every picture-maker wished he were in: to have enough pictures to guarantee releases over the next six months. There was only one thing the matter with them. They were all silent pictures.

  He picked up a pencil and scratched some figures on a piece of paper. Four pictures at about one million dollars apiece. Six pictures at an average of five hundred thousand apiece. Eleven pictures at an average of about eighty thousand apiece. He stared down at the paper. The total came to seven million eight hundred and eighty thousand dollars, not counting anything else, such as shorts, Westerns, and serials. All tied up in silent pictures, which, according to the public’s opinion, were not worth paying admissions to see.

  Eight million dollars’ worth of junk, he thought. If they switched over to sound pictures, that was what they would become. Every one of these pictures would have to be remade.

  He picked up the phone. “Get me Fred Collins,” he told Jane. Idly his pencil scratched on the paper while he waited. Collins was the company treasurer and controller.

  “Hello, Johnny,” Collins’s voice came on.

  Johnny held the phone away from his ear. Collins was a big man with a big voice and in ordinary conversation you could hear him a half mile away without trying. Except when he was talking to Peter. Then in some strange way his voice became soft and meek. “Fred, what’s yesterday’s bank balance?” Johnny asked.

  Collins’s voice boomed in Johnny’s ear. “Nine hundred thousand one forty-two dollars and thirty-six cents,” he answered promptly.

  “That’s a bit low, isn’t it?” Johnny queried.

  “Yes,” Collins answered, his voice making Johnny wince. “But we’re getting that million and a half from the Bank of Independence today.”

  “That brings our loans to six million dollars, doesn’t it?” Johnny asked.

  “Yep,” Collins answered. “That’s the maximum we can borrow under our agreement with the bank. We can’t get any more now until we reduce the borrowings to three million.”

  “Okay, Fred.” Johnny thanked him and hung up the phone. His ears were still ringing with Collins’s voice despite his precaution of holding the phone away from his ear. Why did Peter have to hire a foghorn for a treasurer, Johnny thought. Then he smiled for a moment. Collins was all right, he did a good job. The smile disappeared from his face as his mind went back to the problem.

  He picked up the phone again. “Ed Kelly,” he said into it.

  A few seconds later Kelly’s quiet voice came on the phone. “Yes, Mr. Edge.”

  “How many approved contracts have we got on the twenty-nine/thirty program as of yesterday, Ed?”

  “Just a moment Mr. Edge,” Kelly replied. “I’ll check and see. Can I call back?”

  “I’ll hold on,” Johnny told him. He heard the sound of the phone being put down. Kelly was the head of the contract department. It was his job to record and send out the billings according to the sales contracts. It was the custom of the industry to sell a whole year’s program in advance before many of the pictures were made, even before some of the pictures were decided upon. This was done by listing as many of the pictures on the contract as they knew about at the time the contracts were drawn and covering the balance of the program by classifications. These classifications bore such names as “Specials,” “Double A’s (AA),” “Single A’s (A),” “Exploitation Pictures,” “Idea Pictures,” “Westerns,” “Serials,” and “Shorts.” The rental paid by the exhibitor for each picture he played was very often determined by the manner in which the picture was classified. Statistical summaries based upon these contracts would be prepared under Kelly’s supervision, and they enabled Magnum to know approximately how much revenue would be forthcoming on each year’s program.

  “Hello,” Kelly’s voice came back on the phone.

  “Yes, Ed.”

  “As of last night’s closing, there were eight thousand one hundred and twelve contracts.” Kelly’s voice was dry and matter-of-fact. “I understand Mr. Ragin received some additional cancellations this morning. The figure I gave you is before deducting them.”

  “I understand, Ed,” Johnny said. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Edge,” Kelly replied politely.

  Johnny put down the phone and wrote some additional figures on a scratch pad and then sat back in his chair and looked at them. It didn’t look so good.

  They had lost almost a thousand exhibition contracts in the past month. Each contract represented an average of fifty dollars a week business. The loss in business as a result of the cancellations would amount to over two and a half million dollars for next year.

  Johnny turned his chair toward the window and looked out. It was a beautiful fall day, but he didn’t notice it; he was still calculating. If the cancellations kept pouring in at the present rate for another three months, they would have to close up shop. There wouldn’t be enough coming in to carry the overhead, much less continue production of new pictures.

  He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead again. No one could predict what might happen in the next few months but there was one thing he did know. Whether Peter liked it or not they would have to switch to talking pictures. But where would they get the money? They couldn’t get any more from the banks. The pictures they had on the shelf would not bring in the money to make the change-over at this rate. He wondered whether Peter had enough money of his own to do it. No, he decided, Peter couldn’t have. It would cost close to six million dollars to do it and Peter couldn’t possibly have that kind of money of his own.

  That still left the problem where it was. They would have to switch to talking pictures even if they didn’t have the money to do it. He would have to find a way.

  6

  He took his hat and coat from the closet, walked into the outer office, and stopped at Jane’s desk. “I’m going to lunch,” he announced.

  She looked up at him in surprise. He was going out early. He usually left about one o’clock and it was only twelve thirty now. She looked at her calendar pad. “Don’t forget, you have an appointment with Rocco at two.” She smiled.

  He smiled for a moment. “I won’t forget with you around to remind me.”

  She grinned back at him. “Gotta keep the guy busy,” she replied. “After all, he is my husband.”

  For a moment he envied them. There was something about the proud way in which she spoke that betokened a closeness, an understanding, between them. Dulcie and he never felt like that. He supposed it was because they were apart so much. If they could spend more time together, maybe things would be different. He sighed almost unnoticeably. Maybe some day. “What should I get?” he asked her, still smiling slightly. “Just a haircut?”

  She looked up at him mischievously. “You do and I’ll quit.” She laughed. “I won’t settle for nothing less than the works. Don’t forget my boy works on a sixty-forty split.”

  He held up a hand in mock terror. “Okay, okay, the works it is. I haven’t got the time to break in a new girl. But I think it’s blackmail, that’s what it is.”

  She helped him on with his coat. “That’s part of the price you have to pay for my services,” she said, still laughing.

  “I give up.” He laughed. His laughter turned into a spell of coughing. The tears came into his eyes.

  A look of concern crossed her face. “Be careful,” she warned. “Keep your coat buttoned. You haven’t got over that cold yet.”

  He could feel a pain in his chest. Suddenly he was warm and he knew he was sweating. He tried to smile at her. “It’s those damn cigarettes,” he gasped.

  “Be careful anyway, Johnny,” she told him.

  He nodded and left the office. The air was cool with the chill
of fall, but the sun felt warm on his face. He loosened his coat and lit a cigarette. The smoke irritated his lungs and he coughed again. “God-dammit,” he muttered, and began walking to the hotel.

  He picked up a newspaper in the lobby of the hotel and went into the dining room. The head waiter came up to him.

  “Alone, Mr. Edge?” he asked, bowing.

  Johnny nodded. “Give me a nice quiet table,” he told the man. He followed him to a table in the corner of the large dining room and sat down. He ordered lightly as he wasn’t hungry, and looked around the restaurant. There was no one there to disturb him. That was why he had left early. He wanted to be alone, to have time to think quietly. It was too early for the regular crowd to be there.

  He opened the paper and turned to the movie page. His glance fell upon Marian Andrews’s column, “Letter from the Stars.” The first paragraph caught his eye:

  The Warren Craigs are getting a divorce. I spoke to Cynthia Craig when I heard about it and asked her if it were true. “Yes,” she told me, “it’s true. Warren and I have come to an amicable parting of the ways. His work keeps him in Hollywood all the time and mine in New York and we decided that it was the best thing for both of us.” I felt very badly about this news for I have known Warren and Cynthia ever since they came to Hollywood several years ago and they are such a charming couple. I do hope they will reconsider their decision, but I’m afraid they won’t. Matters have gone too far and besides I hear that Warren is interested in another young lady, also a famous movie star, whose reputation as a heartbreaker is already the talk of Hollywood. Too bad, too bad.

  He read further down the column, but there was nothing else that interested him. He turned the page, thinking that at least Dulcie and he were not too badly off. At least they had an understanding, and the fact that they were separated so much had not affected their relationship. Maybe they were not as close as Rock and Janey, but that would come in time.

  The next page was filled with photographs of a Hollywood party. A large picture in the center of the page attracted his attention. It was a picture of Dulcie and Warren, seated at a table, holding hands and smiling at each other. The caption beneath it read:

  DULCIE WARREN and WARREN CRAIG, stars of MAGNUM’S latest production, Day of Mourning, caught in a moment of relaxation at the JOHN GILBERT party. Miss WARREN is married to MAGNUM’S affable executive, JOHNNY EDGE, and Mr. CRAIG has just announced his forthcoming divorce from CYNTHIA WRIGHT, prominent stage actress. Miss WARREN and Mr. CRAIG are first cousins.

  Johnny smiled to himself as he looked at the picture. Dulcie had written to him and told him that the publicity department wanted them to be seen together. It was good publicity for their pictures. He nodded to himself. They were right. He had noticed quite a few pictures of them together in the papers lately.

  Johnny folded his paper and turned to the plate of soup the waiter had just placed before him. The soup was hot and flavored just the way Johnny liked it, but he didn’t finish it. His mind kept working on the situation he had left behind him in the office.

  He felt sure that Peter would have no objections to making talking pictures after hearing what he had to tell him. But where would the money come from? There was a chance they could raise the money if they turned to Wall Street, but he knew that Peter would never do that. He put down his knife and fork and called for the check. He couldn’t eat.

  The head waiter hurried up. “Monsieur is not satisfied with the food?” he asked, glancing at Johnny’s almost untouched plate.

  “No,” Johnny replied, “it’s not that. I’m not hungry, that’s all.”

  He paid the check and walked out into the lobby. He looked at his watch. It was half past one. Maybe Rock wasn’t busy and could take him a little early.

  He walked into the barber shop. Rock was there. The porter took his coat and he walked toward Rocco’s chair.

  Rock smiled at him. “You’re early.”

  Johnny nodded. “I took a chance you wouldn’t be busy.” He sat down in the chair. “I’ve only time for a shave.”

  Rock tilted the chair back and began to lather his face. “How’ve you been, Johnny?” he asked.

  “All right,” Johnny answered.

  “Janey said you had a whopper of a cold.”

  “I got over it,” Johnny answered shortly.

  They were silent while Rocco worked. When he had finished, Johnny got out of his chair and began to knot his tie in front of the mirror.

  Rocco watched him silently. “You look tired,” he said.

  “I’ve been pretty busy, Rock,” he answered, turning to face him. “You look good, though.”

  Rock smiled. “Why shouldn’t I? I got everything I want.”

  Johnny looked at him for a moment. “Yeanh,” he said with a slight touch of envy in his voice. “I guess you have.” He turned back to the mirror to finish knotting the tie. “I wish I could say the same.”

  A look of sympathy flashed across Rocco’s face for a moment and then was gone. “Guess who came in here today?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

  Johnny patted the tie. At last he had it right. “Who?” he asked casually.

  Rock smiled at him. “Bill Borden. Boy, was he surprised to see me!”

  Johnny grinned at him. “I’ll bet he was. What did he have to say?”

  “Not much,” Rocco answered, “but he looked good, though. He said they were planning to enlarge their theater chain.”

  For a second Johnny’s mouth hung open and he stared at Rock. Then suddenly he began to smile. What a fool he was to have forgotten! Last year Borden had wanted to buy their theaters, but Peter had refused to sell them. That was the way out. He threw his arms about Rocco’s shoulders and hugged him. “Rock,” he said happily, “you’re the best damn barber in the world and I love you!”

  He ran to the door and took his hat and coat and hurried out without paying his check.

  The manager came over to Rock. “What’s the matter with that guy?” he asked, nodding his head after Johnny. “Is he crazy?”

  Rock grinned at him. “Crazy like a fox,” he said affectionately.

  “He certainly is,” called out the cashier, who had heard Rock’s reply. “He just stuck you for the check!”

  Rocco shook his head as he walked toward her to pay it. Johnny hadn’t changed a bit. You never knew what he would do next.

  ***

  He came into the office, his face flushed and excited. “Get me Bill Borden,” he told Janey, and went into his office without taking off his hat and coat.

  A few seconds later the phone rang and he picked it up. “Hello, Bill?” he asked.

  “Yes, Johnny,” came Borden’s familiar voice. “How are you?”

  “Okay,” said Johnny. “I just called to ask if you’re still interested in our theaters?”

  “Sure,” replied Borden promptly. “Why? Did Peter change his mind?”

  “No,” Johnny answered, “Peter didn’t, but I was thinking he might.”

  “What do you mean?” Borden asked.

  “Well, I’m going out there and I was thinking I could get him to change his mind,” Johnny answered.

  “Do you think you could?” Borden asked curiously. He wanted those theaters, but he knew how stubborn Peter could be.

  “I think I could,” Johnny said. He hesitated a moment. “Especially if I could wave your check under his nose.”

  Borden cleared his throat. “It’s most irregular,” he said. “Giving you a check for six million dollars and not knowing whether it will be accepted or not. If the stockholders heard about it, they wouldn’t like it. I got them to consider too. I just can’t do anything I want to.”

  “Nobody will have to know about it,” Johnny said persuasively. “If Peter says no, I’ll return it and nobody’ll be any the wiser. If he says yes, which I think he might, then you’ll be a hero to them.” He stopped for a moment. “Don’t forget those theaters are worth almost eight million bucks the way thin
gs are today,” he added.

  Borden’s mind was made up. Johnny was right. If Peter accepted his offer, the Borden Theaters Company would be the biggest theater chain in the world. “What time are you leaving?” he asked.

  “Not later than five o’clock,” Johnny answered quickly.

  “I’ll have the check in my office,” Borden told him. “Will you arrange to pick it up?”

  “I’ll pick it up myself,” Johnny replied.

  He hung up the phone and walked out into Jane’s office. He still had his hat and coat on. “Get me through tickets to the coast on any train from five o’clock on,” he told her, “I want to get out today.” He walked back into his office and closed the door.

  She was still looking at the closed door in surprise when her phone rang. She picked it up. “Mr. Edge’s office.”

  It was Rock. “What’s the matter with your boss, baby?” he asked. “He beat it outta here without payin’ my check?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered bewilderedly. “He just came out and told me to get tickets to the coast for him right away.”

  Just then Johnny’s light flashed on. “Hold on a minute,” she said to Rock, “he’s buzzing for me.” She pressed down the switch that disconnected Rock and brought Johnny on. “Yes, Johnny?” she asked.

  “Call Chris at my apartment and tell him to pack a bag for me right away and bring it down here.”

  “All right,” she answered. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” he said, and the hung up the phone. He leaned back in his chair and lighted a cigarette. It was Friday afternoon. If he could get the five o’clock train out of here today, he would be in Chicago about four in the morning. That would put him in Los Angeles about eleven o’clock Sunday night.

  He reached for the phone again, about to call Peter and tell him he was coming, but he stopped before he picked it up. It would be better if he surprised him. The psychological effect would be more impressive.