The Deer Park (9 page)

Eitel lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, his legs spread before him. “Okay, Collie,” he said slowly, “okay. One loan deserves another. I’ll get drunk with your girl.”

“You’re a jewel, Charley,” Munshin said huskily.

“What if you-know-what happens?” Eitel drawled.

“Are you a sadist?” Munshin said. “I don’t even think of things like that.”

“Then what do you think of?”

“You’ll like Elena and she’ll like you. It’ll make her feel good to know that a fellow with your reputation and your presence admires her.”

“Oh, God,” Eitel said.

The phone was ringing.

Munshin tried to say something more as if he were afraid Eitel might change his mind, but the noise of the telephone
was too distracting. Obeying the irregular rhythm of the switchboard operator, it would stop, it would be silent, and then it would ring again.

“Answer it,” Eitel said irritably.

Munshin pinched the receiver against his jowl. He was preparing to make another drink, but the sounds he heard through the earpiece stopped everything. We listened to a woman who was crying and laughing, and her fright quivered through the room. There was so much terror in the voice and so much pain that I stared at the floor in shock. One cry sounded, so loud in its loneliness I couldn’t bear it.

“Where are you, Elena?” Munshin said sharply into the mouthpiece.

Some climax passed. I could hear the sound of quiet sobbing. “I’ll be right over,” Munshin said. “Now, you stay there. You stay there, do you understand, Elena?” He had no sooner hung up the phone than he was drawing on a pair of trousers, fastening the buttons to a shirt.

Eitel was pale. “Collie,” he said with an effort, “do you want me to come along?”

“She’s in her hotel room,” Munshin said from the door. “I’ll call you later.”

Eitel nodded and sat back. We were silent once Munshin was gone. After a few minutes, Eitel got up and mixed a drink. “What a horrible thing,” he muttered.

“How does a man,” I asked, “stay with a woman who is so … It’s messy.”

Eitel looked up. “A little compassion, Sergius,” he said. “Do you think we choose our mates?” And, moodily, he sipped on his drink. “I wonder if I’ll ever know the answer to that one?” he said almost to himself.

Time passed, and we kept on drinking Carlyle Munshin’s liquor. Slowly, the afternoon went by. It seemed pointless to remain there, just as pointless to move on. Outside, there would only be the desert sun. “I’m depressed,” Eitel said with
a broad grin after half a dozen drinks. I had the feeling his face was numb; slowly, with pleasure, he was patting the bald spot on his head. “Wonder how Collie is making out?” Eitel said after another pause.

As if to answer, there was a knock on the door. I went to open it, and an elderly man shouldered me aside and walked into the living room. “Where’s Carlyle?” he asked of nobody in particular, and left me to follow behind him.

Eitel stood up. “Well, Mr. Teppis,” he said.

Teppis gave him a sour look. He was a tall heavy man with silver hair and a red complexion, but even with his white summer suit and hand-painted tie he was far from attractive. Underneath the sun tan, his features were poor; his eyes were small and pouched, his nose was flat, and his chin ran into the bulge of his neck. He had a close resemblance to a bullfrog. When he spoke, it was in a thin hoarse voice. “All right,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

“Do you know,” Eitel said, “that’s a good question to ask.”

“Collie’s up to something,” Teppis announced. “I don’t know why he saw you. I wouldn’t even want to breathe the air a subversive breathes. Do you know what you cost me on
Clouds Ahoy
?”

“You forget the money I made for you … Herman.”

“Hah,” said Teppis, “now he calls me by my first name. They leave me and they go up in the world. Eitel, I warned Lulu against you. Marry a fine young American actress, a girl who’s too good for you, and you just drag her name through the muck and the dirt and the filth. If anybody saw me talking to you, I’d be ashamed.”

“You should be,” Eitel said. “Lulu was; a fine American girl, and you let me turn her into a common whore.” His voice was cool, but I could sense it was not easy for him to talk to Teppis.

“You have a dirty mouth,” Herman Teppis said, “and nothing else.”

“Don’t speak to me this way. I no longer work for you.”

Teppis rocked forward and back on the balls of his feet as if to build up momentum. “I’m ashamed to have made money from your movies. Five years ago I called you into my office and I warned you. ‘Eitel,’ I said, ‘anybody that tries to throw a foul against this country ends up in the pigpen.’ That’s what I said, but did you listen?” He waved a finger. “You know what they’re talking about at the studio? They say you’re going to make a comeback. Some comeback. You couldn’t do a day’s work without the help of the studio. I let people know that.”

“Come on, Sergius, let’s go,” Eitel said.

“Wait, you!” Teppis said to me. “What’s your name?”

I told him. I gave it with an Irish twist.

“What kind of name is that for a clean-cut youngster like you? You should change it. John Yard. That’s the kind of name you should have.” He looked me over as if he were buying a bolt of cloth. “Who are you?” said Teppis, “what do you do? I hope you’re not a bum.”

If he wanted to irritate me, he was successful. “I used to be in the Air Force,” I said to him.

There was a gleam in his eye. “A flier?”

Standing in the doorway, Eitel decided to have his own fun. “Do you mean you never heard of this boy, H.T.?”

Teppis was cautious. “I can’t keep up with everything,” he said.

“Sergius is a hero,” Eitel said creatively. “He shot down four planes in a day.”

I had no chance to get into this. Teppis smiled as if he had been told something very valuable. “Your mother and father must be extremely proud of you,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know. I was brought up in an orphanage.” My voice was probably unsteady because I could see by Eitel’s change of expression that he knew I was telling the truth. I
was sick at giving myself away so easily. But it is always like that. You hold a secret for years, and then spill it like a cup of coffee. Or maybe Teppis made me spill it.

“An orphan,” he said. “I’m staggered. Do you know you’re a remarkable young man?” He smiled genially and looked at Eitel. “Charley, you come back here,” he said in his hoarse voice. “What are you flying off the handle for? You’ve heard me talk like this before.”

“You’re a rude man, Herman,” Eitel said from the doorway.

“Rude?” Teppis put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “Why, I wouldn’t even be rude to my doorman.” He laughed and then began to cough. “Eitel,” he said, “what’s happened to Carlyle? Where’d he go?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t understand anybody any more. You’re a young man, Johnny,” he said, pointing to me as if I were inanimate, “you tell me, what is everything all about?” But long before I could answer that question, he started talking again. “In my day a man got married, and he could be fortunate in his selection, or he could have bad luck, but he was married. I was a husband for thirty-two years, may my wife rest in peace, I have her picture on my desk. Can
you
say that, Eitel? What do you have on your desk? Pin-up pictures. I don’t know people who feel respect for society any more. I tell Carlyle. What happens? He wallows. That’s the kind of man my daughter wanted to marry. A fool who sneaks around with a chippie dancer.”

“We all have our peculiarities, Herman,” Eitel said.

This made Teppis angry. “Eitel,” he shouted, “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, but I make an effort to get along with everybody,” and then to quiet himself down, he made a point of looking me over very carefully. “What do you do?” he asked again as if he had not heard my answer. “Are you an actor?”

“No.”

“I knew it. None of the good-looking clean-cut ones are actors
any more. Just the ugly ones. Faces like bugs.” He cleared his throat with a barking sound. “Look, Johnny,” he went on, “I like you, I’ll do you a good turn. There’s a little party tomorrow night. I’m giving it for our people out here. You’re invited.”

The moment he gave this invitation, I knew I wanted to go to his party. Everybody in Desert D’Or had been talking about it for the last few days, and this was the first big party at the resort which I had been invited to. But I was angry at myself because I was ready to say yes, and in that second I almost forgot Eitel. So I told myself that I was going to play it through, and if Teppis wanted to invite me, and I didn’t know why, I was going to get him to invite Eitel.

“I don’t know if I want to go alone,” I said to him, and I was satisfied that my voice was even.

“Bring a girl,” Teppis offered. “You got a sweetheart?”

“It’s not easy to find the right girl,” I said. “I lost too much time flying airplanes.”

My instinct about Herman Teppis seemed to be working. He nodded his head wisely. “I see the connection,” he said.

“I was thinking Charley Eitel could help me find a girl,” I added.

For a second I thought I had lost it and Teppis was going to fly into a rage. He glared at both of us. “Who invited Eitel?” he said furiously.

“You didn’t invite him?” I said. “I thought maybe you did.”

With what an effort, Teppis smiled benevolently. “Johnny, you’re a very loyal friend. You got spunk.” In practically the same breath he said to Eitel, “Tell me, cross your heart, Charley, are you a Red?”

Eitel didn’t rush to answer. “You know everything, Herman,” he murmured at last. “Why ask questions?”

“I know!” Teppis shouted. “I know all about you. I’ll never understand why you made such a spectacle of yourself.” He threw up his arms. “All right, all right, I know you’re clean deep-down.
Come to my party.” Teppis shook his head. “Only, do me a favor, Charley. Don’t say I invited you. Say it was Mac Barrantine.”

“This is one hell of an invitation,” Eitel answered.

“You think so, well don’t look a gift horse, you know what I mean? One of these days go clear yourself with the American government, and then maybe I’ll work with you. I got no objection to making money with people I don’t like. It’s my motto.” He took my hand and shook it firmly. “Agree with me, Johnny? That’s the ticket. I’ll see both you boys tomorrow night.”

On the drive back to Eitel’s house I was in a good mood. Teppis had been just right for me. I was even overexcited, I kept talking to Eitel about how it had felt the time I took my first solo. Then I began to realize that the more I talked the more depressed I made him feel, and so looking for any kind of question to change the subject I said, “What do you say about our invitation? Maybe there’s going to be just a little look on people’s faces when you turn up.” I started to laugh again.

Eitel shook his head. “They’ll probably say I’ve been having private talks with the Committee, or else why would Teppis have me there?” Then he grinned at the frustration of it. “Man,” he said, mimicking me, “don’t you just have to be good to win?” But there was more than enough to think about in this thought, and neither of us said another word until we turned into his garage. Then Eitel stopped the car with a jerk. “Sergius, I’m not going to that party,” he said.

“Well, if you won’t change your mind …” I wanted to go to the party, I was ready for it, I thought, but it was going to be harder without Eitel. I wouldn’t know anybody there.

“You did well, today,” he said. “You go. You’ll enjoy it. But I can’t go. I’ve been a bus boy to Teppis for too many years.” We went inside, and Eitel dropped into an armchair and pressed his hands to his forehead. The script was on the end table next to him. He picked it up, rustled the pages, and
dropped it to the floor. “Don’t tell anybody, Sergius,” he said, “but this script stinks.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. I can’t get out of myself long enough to look at it.” He sighed. “If I ever bring it off, remind me, will you, of this conversation? You see, I’ve been trying to remember if I was as depressed in the old days when the work would come out well.”

“I’ll remind you,” I said.

A short while later, Munshin phoned Eitel. Elena was all right, he told him. She was sleeping. Tonight, he would take care of her. But for tomorrow he begged Eitel to show her a good time.

Eitel said he would. When the call was finished, his eyes were dancing. “Do you know,” he said, “I can hardly accuse myself of running after Teppis if I take Collie’s girl along.”

“But what about the girl?”

“It could be the best way to get over Mr. Munshin. She’ll see that a stranger will do more for her in a night than he did in three years.”

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m going to take her to the party,” Eitel said.

T
HE
L
AGUNA
R
OOM
at the Yacht Club which Herman Teppis had rented for his party was not a room at all. Painted in the lemon-yellow of the Yacht Club, it was open to the sky, and like the café, an amoebic pool strayed between the tables, rounded a portion of the dance floor, and ended behind the
bar, a play of colored lights changing the water into a lake of tomato aspic, lime jello, pale consommé, and midnight ink. On an island not twenty feet long, in the middle of the pool, the bandstand was set up, and the musicians played their dance numbers free of any passing drunk who might want to take a turn on the drums.

Since the party was given by Herman Teppis, the management of the Yacht Club had added some special old-fashioned effects. A big searchlight threw its column into the air, placed at such an angle as not to burn into the eyes of the guests, and a collection of spotlights and flood lamps was arranged to make it look like a party on a movie set, even to the expense of a tremendous papier-mâché camera on a wooden boom, directed by a bellhop wearing the outfit of a silent-film cameraman with the peak of his cap turned backward and a pair of knickers which reached his knees. All through the evening the camera was rotated on its boom, being lowered almost into the water or raised so high it threw a long shadow across the colors of the Laguna Room.