The Dream Merchants

by Harold Robbins

  “I don’t understand what you mean, Doris.” His voice was puzzled.

  “Mamma got a letter from Papa last week and her glasses weren’t handy, so she asked me to read it to her. In it Papa said that he expected things to be a lot easier once Mark delivered the six pictures he was working on.” She stopped for a traffic light and looked at him.

  “That’s right,” he nodded. “But there’s nothing wrong with that. We all expect things to pick up with those six pictures.”

  “But there is something wrong,” she said swiftly. “I went down to the studio the next day to pick up something for Mother from Papa’s office, and his secretary, Miss Hartman, said something to me about everybody being so excited over United We Stand that almost all the other work at the studio was at a standstill.”

  “Did you ask her what she meant?” Johnny questioned.

  “I did,” came her answer, “and she said that this picture was the biggest thing Magnum ever did. She said something about it costing over two million dollars.”

  “Two million dollars!” Johnny ejaculated. “She must be nuts! All six of the pictures on the work report don’t come to that much.”

  “That’s what I thought, even though I didn’t know all the figures,” Doris said. “I knew about the money Papa got from Danvere, but I couldn’t believe that Papa would throw it all into one picture.”

  “Did you ask Mark about it?” Johnny could feel a sudden anxiety run through him.

  “I did at dinner that night and he became angry and told me to mind my own business. He said that Papa left him in charge of the studio, not me, and it was about time somebody showed them how to do things properly.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was sitting very still. “I asked him if Miss Hartman was right when she told me that the picture would cost more than two million dollars.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t answer me at first, just looked at me angrily. Then he said very nastily: ‘What if it does? What are you going to do about it? Run and tell Johnny?’ I told him that I wasn’t prying, but was only curious because of Papa’s letter. ‘Papa must have been thinking of something else,’ he said, trying to make a joke of it. Then he smiled at me very sweetly, and you know how sweet he can be when he wants to, and said: ‘Don’t worry your little head over it, sis. Your brother knows what he’s doing. Besides, Papa okayed everything.’ I let it drop then, but later in the evening, when I thought things over, I thought I ought to call you and see if you’d come out. Naturally I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. But I thought you should come anyway. Mark wouldn’t dare fool around with you.” She looked at him.

  His face had settled into grim lines. If what she said was true, they were in a hell of a mess right now. Under the terms of their agreement with Danvere they had to deliver six pictures to the Martin theaters in the next month and a half. In addition to that, at the first meeting of the newly appointed board of directors, which had been held in New York just two weeks ago, he had glowingly told them of the six pictures now in progress and what it meant to the company to have them ready on time.

  They wouldn’t like that. Had Mark forgotten that, according to the law now, he had to have approval by the board for anything he did? The board had already approved the program of six pictures and that guy Ronsen, who was on it as Danvere’s representative, was no fool either. He already had an extensive experience with the Borden Company. And there was something peculiar about the way he acted, too. Johnny couldn’t put his finger on it, but the man seemed to be waiting for something to go wrong. He reminded Johnny of a hawk circling around and around in the sky waiting for prey.

  He was silent for so long that at last she looked at him anxiously and asked: “What are you thinking about, Johnny?”

  There was a hint of anger in his blue eyes as he turned and looked at her. “I think we ought to pay the kid a visit at the studio and see for ourselves what’s going on,” he said grimly.

  Something in his voice frightened her. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Johnny, if he did that, would we be in trouble?”

  His answering laugh was flat and completely devoid of humor. “Honey, if he did that, we’d be in real trouble, the likes of which we never been in before!”

  ***

  Mark looked at his watch. It was a little after two o’clock. “I got to be getting back to the studio, Dulcie,” he said, looking up. “It’s getting late.”

  She smiled back at him. “And I have the whole afternoon to kill by my lonesome,” she pouted.

  “Got that picture to make, baby,” he said. “You wouldn’t want me to be late for that.”

  A mischievous look came into her eyes. “No, I wouldn’t want that to happen,” she said quickly, “but—”

  “But what?” he asked.

  She eyed him daringly. “I heard so much about it, I would like to see for myself how it’s going.”

  His voice was surprised. “You know you can’t do that,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. Her voice was challenging. “Why not?” she asked. “Are you afraid to take me there?”

  He laughed unconvincingly. “I’m not afraid. I was just thinking that it might be unpleasant for you, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think I’d mind,” she replied. “And I do so want to see how you’re doing,” she added appealingly.

  “No,” he decided. “You’d better not. It would cause too much talk and there’s enough of that already.”

  “You are afraid!” Her voice was accusing.

  “I’m not,” he insisted, standing up. He glanced at his watch again. “I’d better be going.” He turned and started for the door.

  She let him go as far as the door before she called him. A sudden obstinacy swept over her. “Mark!” she called.

  He stopped and looked back at her questioningly.

  “If you don’t take me back with you, you don’t have to call me any more,” she told him quietly.

  She restrained an impulse to smile at his haste to get back to her. He tried to take her in his arms. “Dulcie, you know I can’t.”

  She disengaged herself from his grasp. “I don’t know anything,” she replied coolly, “except that you don’t want to take me with you.”

  His hands still reached out for her. “But Dulcie—” His voice was miserable and pleading.

  She turned away from him. Her voice was still cold. “That’s all right, Mark. I understand. You just don’t want to be seen with me.”

  “Dulcie, that’s wrong,” he pleaded. “Didn’t I ask you to marry me?”

  She didn’t answer. She picked up a cigarette from the tray in front of her and lit it slowly.

  He stood there watching her. Her face was calm and impassive. He gave in suddenly. “Oh, all right Dulcie,” he said at last. “Come on.”

  The face she turned toward him was radiant with triumph.

  He could see the surprised look on all faces when he helped her from the car and they walked on the set. He could hear the sudden excited buzz of the voices as they walked past. “Let them talk,” he thought angrily, but all the same he was glad when he could get her off the set and back to his office.

  He shut the door and looked at her. “Now are you satisfied?” he asked, as near to anger with her as he’d ever come.

  There was a satisfied look on her face. Peter had said she would never set foot in his studio again, and look who had brought her in! She walked to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Yes, darling,” she answered contentedly, “I’m satisfied.”

  He looked at her. A strange admiration came into his eyes. One thing you could say for her, she had guts all right. Not many people had the nerve to go where they were not wanted and ignore what went on around them. He smiled slowly. He put his arms around her and kissed her. “There’s something mad about you, baby, but I like it. You’re my kind of woman!”

  He watched her walk toward the door slowly. She walked like a pant
her, slowly and easily, her magnificent body saying more than words.

  “Call me tonight?” her husky voice came back to him over her shoulder.

  He was about to answer her when the door opened suddenly. Doris and Johnny were standing there. They came partly into the room and stopped, looking at them.

  Dulcie looked at Doris and Johnny and then back at Mark. A slow smile came to her lips. She walked past them slowly. Her hand went out and patted Johnny’s cheek gently. “Don’t let me interrupt anything, darling,” she said in a low, husky voice. “I was just leaving anyway.”

  6

  The crickets were chirping in the grass on the side of the hill. The night was dark and the moonlight sparkled iridescently in the rippling waters of the pool beside which they were sitting. They had been quiet for a long time, the silence between them heavy and somber with thought.

  Her eyes were questioning in the darkness. “Johnny, what are you going to do?”

  He shook his head slowly. He didn’t know what he was going to do, he didn’t know what he could do. It had turned out to be much worse than he had thought it could be. Over a million and a half of the two million ticketed for the production of six pictures had gone into United We Stand.

  “You’re not going to tell Papa,” she said. “It would—” She left the unfinished sentence hanging expressively in the air.

  He looked at her. Her face was tense and worried. His voice was low, hesitant. “I don’t want to tell him,” he said slowly, “but I’m afraid not to. We’re pretty low on cash and there’s not enough left to make those pictures with.”

  “But, Johnny,” she cried out impulsively, “it would break his heart. He had such faith in Mark.”

  He smiled bitterly. That was the trouble. If Peter hadn’t gone off half-cocked and let Gordon quit they wouldn’t be in the pickle they were in now. He was suddenly tired of running interference for his mistakes. He leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes wearily. He might be tired of it, but a sense of duty kept tugging at a corner of his mind. He couldn’t let Peter down. Peter had gone all the way down the line for him every time, personally as well as in business. No, he couldn’t stop now. There were too many years behind them.

  His face turned away from her. “I know,” he said quietly. “Why do you think I’m sitting here trying to find a way out?”

  She moved closer to him, her arm slipped through his. “You know I like you,” she whispered.

  He turned his head and looked down at her. Her face was calm and her eyes warm and trusting. He put an arm around her shoulders. “I can’t imagine why,” he said, a faint note of amusement coming into his voice.

  She looked into his eyes seriously. “There’s a strength inside you, Johnny, that people can feel and trust.” Her voice was low and thoughtful. “They feel they can trust you and rely on you and draw some of that strength into themselves. Like Papa has.”

  He turned his face away again and looked down the hill. He didn’t want her to see the sudden doubt that had sprung into his eyes. He wanted to believe she was right, but he couldn’t. He was afraid of too many things himself.

  As when he had first seen Dulcie in Mark’s office that afternoon. He had trembled suddenly. He was afraid to talk to her because he did not know what he might say. And when she had touched his cheek. It had been a hot flame running through his flesh to his brain. A strange recollection of long nights and passionate whispers. Even now he could still feel the touch of her hand on his cheek. Would he ever stop remembering?

  “I wish you were right,” he said bitterly.

  Her hand turned his face back to her. Her eyes were deep pools of understanding. “I know I’m right, Johnny.”

  They were silent again and she was thinking. It was Dulcie that had made him feel as he did. The thought of her sent a sharp pain through Doris’s breast. The pain was for his suffering, his tortuous memories, not for herself. Could she ever make him forget all that had gone before? Maybe she could, maybe she couldn’t. She didn’t know. She only knew that she loved him. She had always loved him. Her hand crept into his palm, it was warm and soft in there. She would try to mend the pain in him. It was like mending a Chinese vase smashed to bits on the floor. It might be difficult at first, but with patience—and time—it could be done.

  “Maybe I could raise some money, enough to complete the other pictures, and throw it back in there without your father knowing about it.” His voice was speculative. He was thinking aloud.

  “Where would you get that much money, Johnny?” she asked, her eyes suddenly lighting up. “Oh, Johnny, if you only could!”

  He looked down at her. “I could sell my stock,” he said.

  “Johnny, you wouldn’t do that?” Her voice was shocked. “Why, you’ve worked all your life for it.”

  He tried to smile. “So what?” he asked. “I can buy it back when things get straightened out. It’s the only way I can see that might work.”

  “But what if you can’t get it back?” she asked him. “Then you’ve lost everything.”

  Something inside him knew he would never get it back. Once it was gone, it was finished, that was all there was to it. A slow smile came to his lips. His heart began to hammer inside him and the words came from his lips before he knew he was saying them. “You wouldn’t mind marrying a poor man, would you, sweetheart?”

  She looked up at him in surprise. For a moment she sat very still, then tears began to rush into her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Oh, Johnny!” She was half laughing, half crying. “I’d marry you no matter what! I love you, darling!”

  He held her very close and closed his eyes. This was what a man really lived for, to hear things like these.

  ***

  Mark sat in his room nervously looking at the telephone. He glanced at his watch. Two thirty a.m. A warm breeze came in through the open window, rustling the drapes. He went over to it and shut it quietly. Through the window he could see the dim figures of Johnny and Doris seated near the pool. “Damn them!” he thought angrily.

  He went back into the room and turned off the light. He didn’t want them to know he was still awake. He sat down near the phone and lit another cigarette. Why didn’t that damn call go through? It must be eleven in the morning in Paris. Peter should be in the office there at that time.

  The phone began to ring. He snatched it up quickly, his heart pounding. It had sounded like a fire alarm in the quiet night. He was silent for a moment before he answered it. He hoped that its ring hadn’t been overheard. At last he spoke into it in a quiet voice. “Hello.”

  The operator’s voice was slightly nasal. “Mr. Mark Kessler?”

  “Speaking,” he answered.

  “I have your Paris call for you,” she said tonelessly. “Go ahead, please.”

  “Hello, Papa?” he asked nervously.

  His father’s voice was excited. “Mark, what’s the matter? Is Mamma all right?”

  “Mamma’s all right, there’s nothing the matter with the family,” he said quickly.

  He heard his father’s sudden sigh of relief. “You scared me.”

  He put his cigarette in the tray near the phone, where it smoldered slowly. He hesitated a moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was calm again. “I didn’t mean to, Pa,” he said slowly. “I just wanted to talk to you on business.”

  Peter’s voice was alert. “So go ahead and talk,” he said. “But at almost twenty dollars a minute, be quick about it.”

  His eyes glowed in the dark. There was a trace of cunning in his voice that his father didn’t recognize. “I called about Johnny, Pa,” he said.

  “Johnny?” Peter asked in a puzzled voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “He came out to the studio today and raised hell here. I think there’s something on his mind.”

  “What did he say?” Peter asked.

  “It was nothing in particular, but he complained about everything in general. He didn’t like the way the p
ictures were coming through. He’s insisting that we finish United We Stand before anything else,” Mark told him.

  Peter laughed. “Don’t get upset, Mark. You’ll have to get used to it. New York is always telling us what to do. You just ignore them, that’s all.”

  “But Johnny is insisting on it,” Mark repeated.

  “Did you ask him why?” Peter asked.

  “I did, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I can’t figure it out. He’s been acting very strange lately.”

  Peter was silent for a moment, then his voice came through the phone again. “Maybe he’s got a good reason. Johnny’s a very smart boy.”

  “Then why won’t he tell me?”

  “Johnny’s like that sometimes. He gets stubborn. Don’t worry about it, though. You make the pictures and stop worrying. I’ll talk to him when I get back.” Peter’s voice was reassuring.

  “I don’t know,” Mark persisted doubtfully. “He’s acting awfully funny. I overheard him talking on the phone today to Bob Gordon over at Borden’s. He was laughing at something that Bob must have said. Then he said: ‘You can’t tell what will happen, Bob, maybe we’ll be working together again, sooner than you think.’”

  Peter’s voice was puzzled again. “I don’t understand that.”

  “I don’t either,” Mark said quickly, “but that plus the way he’s been acting made me think I ought to call you.” He hesitated a moment. Might as well go the whole hog, he thought. “Don’t forget what we’re up against, Pa,” he added meaningly. “And when you scratch ’em deep enough, there isn’t a one of them that really likes us. They’re all the same.”

  Peter’s voice was doubtful. “Johnny isn’t like that,” he said.

  Mark smiled to himself as he heard the doubt in his father’s voice. “I’m not saying he is, Pa, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

  Peter’s voice was still unsure. “That’s right, Mark,” he said slowly. “We got to be careful.”

  “That’s why I called you,” Mark said. “I wanted your opinion on it.”