The Dream Merchants

by Harold Robbins

  Peter rubbed the side of his face reflectively. “About how much of an interest are you considering, Mr. Danvere?”

  Mr. Danvere cleared his throat. “Harumph,” he coughed. He looked at Peter appraisingly. “About twenty-five percent, I should say.”

  “And for how much?” Peter asked.

  Mr. Danvere looked around the office. He hesitated for a moment before he answered. “Five hundred thousand pounds,” he replied.

  Peter converted the money into dollars mentally. It came to almost two and a half million dollars. That would solve a lot of problems. He was curious as to how Danvere had arrived at that figure. “Why that particular amount, Mr. Danvere?”

  Danvere’s eyes met his levelly across the desk. “I make it a point never to go into any business venture half blind, Mr. Kessler. Before I purchased the Martin theaters my accountants had thoroughly investigated the entire company. When I decided to purchase them I realized that an association with an American motion-picture company would prove most beneficial to both parties. The record of your company was the most interesting one to me personally. You have a record of independence that commands my respect. You see, sir, my family fortunes, too, were founded on a principle of continually fighting the vested interests in its field. It was only natural that I should think of you in that light.”

  In spite of himself Peter was impressed. The fact that his struggle against odds had been recognized by this man and acknowledged was a very flattering one. Slowly he relaxed in his seat, a broad smile coming to his face. “Very kind of you to tell me this, Mr. Danvere,” he said modestly.

  Mr. Danvere held up a protesting hand. “It’s nothing of the sort, Mr. Kessler. You have my respect sir, no matter what decision you make in this matter.”

  Peter nodded in a pleased manner. “I will give serious thought to your kind offer, Mr. Danvere, but there is one important fact I would like to know beforehand.”

  “What is that, Mr. Kessler?”

  “You may not know of this, but I would like you to know that the last several years have been difficult ones for Magnum. Its losses since ’29 have been in excess of ten million dollars.”

  Danvere nodded thoughtfully. “I was aware of that, Mr. Kessler, but I appreciate your honesty in calling it to my attention. However, I believe some of those losses were inevitable, due to your rather difficult position in relation to the rest of the industry—those vested interests we have mentioned. I believe, however, that I have a plan which would materially aid Magnum in its struggle for finances.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. He had already developed a high regard for this man’s opinions. The entire conversation had convinced him that Danvere was a very solid, conservative businessman. “What is that?” he asked.

  Mr. Danvere crossed his legs comfortably. “My idea is basically a very simple one. I will purchase twenty-five percent of the present company’s stock from you. We will then dissolve the present company and reorganize a new one with the stock issued to the present holders on a pari passu basis; that is, sixty-five percent to you, twenty-five percent to me, and ten percent to Mr. Edge. In order to gain public and industry-wide acceptance and confidence in the new company I would then suggest that you place twenty percent of the stock on the public market. This would leave you with a forty-five-percent interest, which would still ensure you a satisfactory controlling interest in the company.” He paused for a moment to observe the reaction on Peter’s face. It was calm and interested. Mr. Danvere continued: “The public sale of those shares should bring you approximately four hundred thousand pounds. That plus what you receive from me would come to a total of nine hundred thousand pounds, or about four and a half million dollars in your currency. Then the Martin Theaters Circuit would advance to Magnum on account of advance film rentals four hundred thousand pounds, and you concurrently would lend Magnum the same amount. This would provide Magnum with approximately four million dollars of working capital, which would be sufficient to guarantee its production program. It is also possible that, with the announcement of the new association with the Martin Theaters, Magnum’s credit position will be improved materially and additional financing could be acquired if so needed.”

  Peter sat there quietly. If the same type of offer had come from a Wall Street financier he would have rejected it peremptorily. But this man was not a Wall Street financier. He was merely a simple textile merchant by his own admission. His family had made their fortune in much the same manner that he had, by fighting the bigger companies and their financial connections. Besides, he was in London, a long way from Wall Street, and the proposition he had just heard was a very attractive one. It would restore his personal fortune as well as place the business on an even keel.

  He got out of his seat, walked around the desk, and stood in front of the chair in which Mr. Danvere was seated. He looked down at him seriously. “Of course I will have to discuss the matter with my associate, Mr. Edge, before I could give you an answer, but I will admit I am most impressed with your proposition, Mr. Danvere.”

  Danvere looked up at him. He got out of his chair. “Of course, Mr. Kessler.” He held out his hand and Peter took it. His grip was firm and strong. “It’s been a great pleasure talking to you, Mr. Kessler,” he said, towering over Peter.

  “My pleasure,” Peter insisted.

  Mr. Danvere looked down at him and smiled. “Oh, I say, Mr. Kessler, I have a small place in Scotland, and if you have no other plans for the week-end, I should very much like to have you up there for a bit of shooting.”

  Peter looked up at him. “I’d like it very much,” he said, smiling. “I have no other plans.”

  “Good thing,” Mr. Danvere said warmly. “I’ll have my chauffeur pick you up Friday afternoon. Let my office know a convenient time for you.”

  “Thanks a lot, Mr. Danvere,” Peter said.

  “Make it Philippe,” Mr. Danvere said genially, holding out his hand again. “There’s no need for formalities between us. We understand each other.”

  “Right you are, Philippe,” Peter said, smiling broadly and shaking his hand.

  “Good-bye, Peter,” Philippe X. Danvere said from the door.

  Peter walked back to his desk and sat down. Rosenberg came back into his office. He stood there looking down at Peter with an excited expression on his face. “Well, Peter,” he asked, “how’d we make out?”

  Peter looked up at him with a puzzled expression on his face. “What is this week-end shooting business?” he asked. “I don’t know one end of a gun from the other.”

  4

  Johnny looked down at the studio work reports on his desk with a puzzled look on his face. What the hell was this new picture, United We Stand, doing on there? He scratched his head trying to remember if Peter had told him about it before he had gone to London. He couldn’t remember having heard about it before.

  He pressed the buzzer on his desk and Jane came into the office. “Yes, Johnny?” she asked.

  He looked up at her. “Did you ever hear Peter mention a picture by the name of United We Stand while he was here?”

  “You mean that picture on last week’s work sheet?”

  “Yeanh,” he said.

  “No,” she answered. “I don’t remember it. I was going to ask you what it was all about.”

  He looked at her in apparent confusion. “Search me,” he said at last. “Damned if I know anything about it.” He looked down at the work sheet again. “Funny too,” he said thoughtfully. “It pops up on the report with a hundred grand sunk into it already and only six days’ shooting on it. No final budget either.” He looked up at her again. “Call Mark at the studio for me, will ya, Janey?”

  She nodded and left the office. A few seconds later his phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Yes, Jane?”

  “There’s a call coming in from Peter in London for you,” her voice said. “Do you still want me to call Mark?”

  He thought for a moment. “No,” he decided. “Hold it. I’ll as
k Peter about the picture.”

  He put the phone down and stared at it thoughtfully. He wondered what Peter wanted. It must be damned important if Peter would spend the dough to call him from London in these difficult times. The phone buzzed again. He picked it up.

  “Peter is on the phone, Johnny.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Put him through.”

  Peter’s voice sounded thin and far away. “Hello, Johnny,” his voice was shouting.

  “Peter, how are yuh?” Johnny answered. “What’s on your mind?”

  Peter’s voice sounded excited. “I think we got our troubles licked,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Johnny asked. The excitement in Peter’s voice was contagious, he began to feel it sweep through him.

  “You know this guy Danvere the trade papers been full about?” Peter asked.

  “You mean the Swiss textile king?” Johnny asked.

  “Yes, that’s the guy,” Peter answered quickly. “I just finished a talk to him and he made me a very interesting proposition.”

  “About what?” Johnny asked cautiously.

  “I sent Charley Rosenberg after him to get the Martin Theaters account and he come back to me with a proposition. He’ll give me preferred time in the theaters in return for a twenty-five-percent piece of the company.”

  “Wait a minute,” Johnny interrupted him. “I thought you didn’t want to sell any part of the company.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Peter said, “but this guy sounds all right to me. He offered me two and a half million bucks for the percentage and he’ll advance the company two million bucks against film rentals.”

  “I don’t get it,” Johnny said. “What’s the guy got in mind?”

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” Peter shouted back. “He’s got a business principle which says a retailer will work harder if he has a connection with the manufacturer, that’s all. It makes sense to me.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think about it, Johnny?”

  Johnny thought for a moment. “I don’t know what to think,” he answered cautiously. “I don’t know enough about it, but the dough sounds awful good to me.”

  “Not only that,” Peter added enthusiastically. “He’s got an idea that will bring in another two million bucks and improve our credit. I’m telling you, Johnny, he’s a smart feller, that one. I think he knows what he’s talking about.”

  “Well, you’re there, Peter,” Johnny said slowly. “You know what’s best for us.”

  “You got no objections if I decide to sell him a piece?” Peter asked.

  Johnny hesitated. He didn’t like the idea, but couldn’t see how he could object to it. After all, Peter owned the company, he had a right to sell part of it if he so desired. Peter must be almost clean now and this was a chance for him to recoup some of his personal fortune.

  “I haven’t any objections,” he replied slowly. “But, Peter—be careful.”

  “Sure,” Peter said, his voice still excited, “I’ll be careful.”

  Johnny remembered the picture on the work sheet. “Do you know anything about a picture called United We Stand?” he asked.

  “No, I never heard of it. Why?”

  “It just showed up on last week’s studio work sheet,” Johnny said.

  Peter laughed. “Then what are you worrying about? It must be a new title Mark put on one of the pictures.”

  “But—” Johnny started to protest.

  Peter’s voice cut in on him. “I left Mark with complete instructions on the program. He just changed a title, that’s all. After all, we got to let him have a little freedom, don’t we?”

  Resentment rose in Johnny’s throat. With difficulty he managed to keep it from spilling over into his voice. Every time he said something about production since that fiasco with sound on disks Peter had shut him up. “The title is a phony,” he said flatly. “We haven’t anything on the schedule it would fit.”

  “How would you know?” Peter asked belligerently. “Mark is running the studio, not you. He would know better.” He was still sensitive over the argument Johnny had given him when he left Mark in charge of the studio.

  Johnny recognized the tone in his voice. It meant that Peter had closed his mind to argument and nothing he could say would change it. He decided not to push it any further at the moment, he did not want to upset Peter while he was in the midst of negotiations with this guy Danvere. Johnny had a hunch that Danvere was a pretty smooth article and that Peter would need all his wits about him. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “When are you coming back?” he asked. Time enough to settle it then, he thought.

  “I don’t know,” Peter replied. “If I set this deal with Danvere, I was thinking of taking a two-month trip through the Continental offices and see how they’re doing. It’s been more than two years since I looked them over.”

  “Good idea,” Johnny said. “Maybe you can hump ’em up a little.”

  “I’ll try,” Peter said.

  “You want me to forward any message to the family?” Johnny asked.

  “No, thanks,” Peter replied. “I’ve got a call in for Esther now and I’ll be talking to her as soon as I get through with you.”

  “Okay, I won’t keep you then,” Johnny said. “So long.”

  “Good-by, Johnny,” Peter answered.

  Johnny put the phone down and looked at it thoughtfully. He hoped Peter knew what he was doing. He looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. That made it five o’clock in the afternoon in London and eight o’clock in the morning in California. Peter’s call should catch the family at breakfast.

  ***

  Doris was seated at the table reading the paper and drinking her orange juice when Mark came into the room. She looked up at him.

  His eyes were puffed and rimmed with lack of sleep. He grinned at her. “Morning, sis,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep.

  “Good morning, Mark,” she said, still looking at him. “What time did you get to bed last night?” she asked curiously.

  He glanced at her quickly. “Why?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I was just curious. I was up until after three o’clock and I didn’t hear you come in.”

  He felt a peculiar irritation at her statement. “I’m not a baby any more,” he growled surlily at her. “You don’t have to wait up for me.”

  “I wasn’t waiting up for you. I was working,” she said, putting down her paper and looking at him. “What’s eating you lately?” she asked. “You’ve been grouchy as a bear the last month.”

  He managed a conciliatory smile. “I’ve been working too hard, I guess,” he said placatingly.

  She picked up her paper again. “You might try getting to bed a little earlier,” she said quietly. “It won’t hurt.”

  He didn’t answer her. He picked up the glass of juice in front of him and drank it. He heard her laugh and looked at her. “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “This item here in Marian Andrews’s column,” she said. She read it aloud. “‘A prominent son of a prominent father in this town is in for a rude awakening when Papa comes home from a business trip. Said son has been running around with an actress his father fired from the lot on a morals-clause threat.’” She laughed again. “I wonder whom she means?”

  He looked down at the table in front of him. He could feel a flush running up into his face and hoped she wouldn’t notice it. God damn that columnist! He didn’t know where she got her dope. They had been very careful not to be seen together after that first time. He was glad when the phone rang, distracting her.

  “Sit there,” she said to him, “I’ll get it.” She got out of her chair and picked up the phone. “Hello,” she said into it.

  A look of excitement came into her face. “Get Mamma quick,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s Papa calling from London!”

  He looked at her stupidly for a minute. What the hell! Had the old boy heard about the picture already?
No, he couldn’t have; he didn’t get any of the work sheets. He ran into the kitchen.

  As usual Esther was at the stove frying the eggs and the cook stood by, watching her. “Mamma,” he said, “come quick. Papa’s on the phone!”

  Esther dropped the frying-pan on the stove and, wiping her hands on her apron, hurried after him into the dining room.

  Doris saw her coming. “All right operator,” she said into the phone. “Put him on. Here she is now.” She handed her mother the phone and stood by, watching her with excited eyes.

  “Hello, Papa?” Esther shouted into the phone. Her hand was shaking so that she could hardly hold it. “How are you feeling? Are you all right?”

  They could hear their father’s voice buzzing and crackling in the receiver.

  Esther was silent a moment, then she spoke again. “I’m all right Papa,” she shouted into the phone again. “Doris and Mark are all right too.” She turned and looked at them with proud shining eyes. “Yes, Papa,” she said, “Mark is working very hard. He gets home from the studio late almost every night. Last night he didn’t come in until almost four o’clock….”

  5

  She saw him as he stepped down from the train. She stood on tiptoes and waved to him. “Johnny!” she called. “Over here!”

  His eyes turned toward her and a broad smile crossed his face. The porter followed him with his valise as he walked toward her. She ran to him. “Oh, Johnny,” she cried, “I’m so glad you could come!”

  He looked down at her still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling good-humoredly. “I’m glad I did come, sweetheart,” he said. “But why all the mystery?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes clouding suddenly. “It’s Mark,” she said quickly. She looked up at him, a sudden fear in her eyes. “Johnny, there’s something the matter with him! I don’t know what it is.”

  His face grew serious as he took her by the arm and walked toward the car. He waited until they were settled in the car before he spoke again. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  She started the motor and rolled out into traffic. “Johnny, there’s something wrong out at the studio. That picture he’s working on, it’s not what it seems.”