The Inheritors (32 page)

“The trades are all calling,” his secretary said.

“Tell them a statement will be issued later today,” he said, knowing that Steve was meeting with the management of Trans-World that moment in New York.

“Mr. Craddock called and would like to see you if you have a few moments to spare.”

The son of a bitch didn’t waste any time, Sam thought. Let him come. We’ll see how he likes getting his balls cut off. Aloud, he said, “Tell him I’m clear now.”

He watched his secretary put down the telephone. “Mr. Craddock’s on his way.”

Craddock came in with a smile. He held out his hand. “Congratulations, Sam,” he said in a sincere voice. “I think it’s the best thing ever to happen to Trans-World.”

Sam looked at him doubtfully. “You do?”

“You bet I do,” Craddock said. “Something had to be done and the management back East was twenty years behind the times.” He lit a cigarette. “Now maybe some pictures will be made. They forgot that’s what this studio is for.”

“You fucking idiot!” Sam almost shouted. “You’re fired! Don’t you know that?”

Craddock smiled. “Of course I know that.”

“And you don’t care?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Of course I care,” Craddock said, drawing on his cigarette with obvious pleasure. “But, man, look at me. I’m smoking. Even inhaling. And that’s the first time in ten years a cigarette isn’t burning its way into my ulcer. By the way, who do they have in mind to replace me?”

“Jack Savitt,” Sam answered without thinking, still in a state of shock.

“Jack Savitt.” Craddock’s voice was approving. “A good choice. Very qualified. He’s already got an ulcer, so the job won’t throw him.”

Sam stared at him. If nothing else the man had the balls of a brass monkey. They couldn’t be cut off. They had to be ground off. There wasn’t another production head in town that had kept his job that long. That and the fact that he fought for every dollar he could get for Trans-World as if it were his own. If Sam had had someone like that operating in production for him, maybe he would never have been in the trouble he stepped into.

“I spoke to my attorneys this morning,” Craddock said. “I told them to get ready to settle my contract. Do you have any idea how long it will be before they’ll contact me?”

Sam shook his head. “That’s Sinclair’s department. It’s their studio. I’m just leasing space here, that’s all.”

“That’s okay,” Craddock said. “I can wait. My contract still has three years to run.”

Sam made up his mind. In a kind of way it was obviously the most logical thing he could do. “Look, Rory, with my taking over the distribution company I’m going to spend most of my time out of the studio. I need someone to take over production from me. And you’re the guy. You know the plans, the product, and the studio. Are you interested?”

“You mean you want me to make pictures?”

Sam nodded. “I want you to do for me exactly what you did for Trans-World.”

“I’m interested,” Craddock said.

“Well then, damn it!” Sam said. “If you’re interested, get off your ass and find me some pictures to put into production. We have a distribution company that needs product.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Craddock smiled and dragged on his cigarette. Suddenly the smile vanished and a look of pain crossed his face. He looked at the cigarette as if it had suddenly betrayed him, then ground it out in the ashtray.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

Craddock stared at him. “The damn cigarette began to burn hell out of my ulcer,” he said angrily. “I should have known the feeling was too good to last.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“What do you mean you don’t want a bar mitzvah?” Sam yelled. “Your grandfather and grandmother are coming from Florida especially for it.”

Junior had a stubborn look on his face. “Aw, c’mon, Dad. It’s a ritual hangover, that’s all it is. Like circumcision, it means nothing in modern society.”

“Nothing?” Sam roared. “I’ll give you nothing across your ass. You’re going to make your bar mitzvah if I have to drag you down to the
shul
myself.”

“Sam,” Denise said quietly. “Don’t get excited. Your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure’s all right. What ain’t all right is this little jerk’s head. He needs somebody to screw it back on straight.”

“Let’s talk about it quietly,” Denise said.

“Okay,” Sam answered. “So we’ll talk.” He turned back to Junior and his voice dropped to an almost calm tone. “You’ll make your bar mitzvah or I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Denise looked at her son. “You can go now. Let me talk to your father.”

The boy left without a word. They waited until the door closed behind him. Sam looked at her.

“A fine mess you make of things,” he complained bitterly. “I turn my back for a minute and look what happens. You can’t even handle a simple assignment like getting your own son to make his bar mitzvah.”

Denise was angry. “A simple assignment? The big executive comes home once in six months from the road and talks to his wife like she’s an employee or something. What are you going to do next, Mr. Big Man, fire me?”

“If you were working for me, I would have—” He stopped suddenly and looked at her. A puzzled tone came into his voice. “Mama, why are we talking like this?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t start it. But for the last year you’ve been in another world. We never see you anymore.”

“There was so much to do,” he said. “The whole company had to be reorganized or else we’d wind up losing five million a year like they did. But it will be better now that I’m bringing Charley in from Rome to be my assistant.”

“You’ll find something else to take you away,” she said. “We’ve been through that before. When Craddock took over production, when Roger took over administration, when you hired that man from Twentieth to be sales manager, but you’re involved just the same.”

“I’m the boss,” Sam said. “If I didn’t keep an eye on things, they’d get away from me.”

“So then what do you need all those men for and pay them such fantastic salaries?”

“So that I can be free to concentrate on the big problems, that’s why.”

“I thought you just said everything was straightened out. What big problems are there?”

“I want to review our relationship with Sinclair. Do you know how much money I made for them with our pictures last year? Seven million dollars. That’s more than we kept for ourselves.”

She looked at him without speaking.

“The new Barzini picture alone will make them over four million,” Sam added.

“I thought Steve got her to do that picture. She said she didn’t want to come back to Hollywood, but she did.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” he asked. “Between her and her husband they’re taking another three million home. All we’ll get out of it is a lousy million and a half. I got word the other day that UA would like to take over foreign distribution of our product. And they’re willing to take ten percent less for distribution and five percent less profit share.”

She looked at him steadily. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you. After all, it was Steve who put you into this.”

“He was only doing it for himself,” he said. “If I didn’t take over the domestic company he couldn’t make the deal. Sinclair wouldn’t go for the operating loss and antitrust would probably step in. He didn’t do me any favors. I saved his ass. Besides giving him product for practically nothing.”

“You’ll talk to Steve, I’m sure he’ll work something out.”

“Sometimes he can get very stubborn,” Sam said. “He’s got the typical
goyishe
attitude that a deal’s a deal.”

***

“The old man’s on the warpath,” Junior said, throwing himself on the ground beside the pool in front of his sister.

Myriam looked down at him from the lounge. She put aside the script she was reading. “The bar mitzvah thing again?”

He nodded. “He’s got a bug up his ass. Now it’s because Grandma and Grandpa are coming up from Florida.”

“I guess you’ll have to go through with it then. You know how he is about them.”

“Yeah.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing a thin wiry frame.

“Do you know if Mother’s spoken to him about me yet?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Dad got started on me and I think she cooled it until he’s in a better mood.”

“Damn. I hope she doesn’t wait too long. If I don’t give them a definite answer with a week, I could lose my place. The Actors Studio has more applicants than they can handle.”

He looked at her shrewdly. “You ain’t never goin’ to get there if you let your boyfriends keep using the glove compartment in your car for a storage place.”

She stared at him. “You’ve been sneaking around!”

“I have not,” he said quickly. “Mama wanted to use it and asked me to clean it out a little. You’re just lucky I happened to look in there. If Mama had found the stuff that would have been your finish.”

“What did you do with it?” she asked.

“I’ve got it in a safe place,” he said. “I figure the next time I see Razz, I’ll get him to ransom it.”

“It’s not Razz’s.”

“Then whose is it?” he asked.

“Mine,” she said.

“Yours?” His voice was skeptical. “Okay. I dig the reefers. But the rubbers too?”

She didn’t answer. Her face was slightly flushed.

“You’re okay, Sis,” he said, a grudging admiration coming into his voice. “I hope I get lucky enough to find a girl like you when I start makin’ out.”

“You giving it back to me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But I’m keeping five reefers. They’re better than the crap they been pushing around school.”

“You’re not smoking?” her voice was shocked.

“Sure,” he said. “All the kids are. But not much though. Just a few drags at a time. It’s groovy.”

“You better take it easy,” she said. “You’re a little young yet.”

“I can handle it,” he said confidently.

She was silent for a moment. “And what about the rubbers?”

“You can have ’em back,” he said. “They’re a little too big for me.”

***

Denise looked out the window and saw them splashing in the pool. “Come, Sam, and take a look,” she said.

He put down the paper and walked over to her. They stood there for a moment watching them.

“We’re lucky,” she said, marveling. “Did you ever think that time I came into your office we would be so lucky?”

“No,” he said. He watched Junior streaking across the pool in a racing crawl, the water behind him churning into champagne-like bubbles. “That kid swims like a champion.”

“They’re good children too,” she said earnestly. “You should hear the stories I hear. The way kids act nowadays. It’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.” He turned back from the window and picked up the paper again. “But he’s still going to make his bar mitzvah.”

“He’ll make it,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

“He’d better,” Sam said.

He seemed in a better mood now, she thought. Maybe this was the time to talk to him about Myriam. “You know, Sam,” she said. “I’ve been talking to Myriam about her future. About what she wants to do.”

He put down the paper and looked at her. “Yes?”

“She’s a very pretty girl,” Denise said quickly. “And she wants to go back East to school.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “USC isn’t good enough for her?”

“No,” she said. “She says she can’t get the kind of training she wants here.”

“What kind of training?” Sam asked.

“Dramatic training,” she said.

“Dramatic training?” His voice began to rise. “You mean she wants to become an actress?”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “After all, you know how proud you were when she played the lead in those plays at school.”

“That was different,” he said. “That was school. You know how I feel about actresses. They’re all whores. I won’t have my daughter going around to casting offices like a tramp.”

“Myriam’s not like that,” Denise said. “She’s a serious girl. Last month when Lee Strasberg was out here, he gave her an interview and he thinks she has talent. He accepted her for the Actors Studio. And you know he just doesn’t take everybody.”

“Uh-uh,” he said. “I’m not going to let her live in New York alone.”

“She won’t be alone,” Denise said. “Roger said he would keep an eye on her.”

In spite of himself, Sam began to feel a secret pride.

“You got to let her do it, Sam,” Denise said. “You’ll break her heart if you don’t.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Your fat little friend is feeling his oats again,” Jack said as Steve entered his office.

Steve sat down. Jack’s secretary placed a cup of coffee in front of him. “What’s happening now?”

“He just elected to do the best three properties we found for him outside the agreement.”

Steve picked up his coffee. “So?” he asked mildly.

“Come off it, Steve. That’s not fair and you know it,” Jack protested. “How am I going to keep running the studio without a loss if he uses his minimum overhead charge for other company’s benefits?”

“Has he announced a distributor yet?”

“UA,” Jack said. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Steve answered shortly. “He’s within our agreement. He can elect to make his pictures with his own money if he wants to.”

“You’re not going to say anything to him?” Jack was angry.

“Not a word.”

“Okay then, I quit,” Jack said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to find properties for him to screw us out of.”

“Stop looking then,” Steve said mildly. “You have enough to do on our program. Let him find his own properties.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Absolutely. There’s nothing in our agreement that says we have to turn over to him any property we buy. The only reason for that is because we’re partners.”

“That’s better,” Jack said. He went behind his desk and sat down. “What if I see something great?”

“Buy it. We’ll worry about finding a producer later. There’s nothing in the agreement to keep us from doing that.”

He put down his coffee cup, walked over to the window and looked out. The studio street was crowded. “They look busy enough out there.”

“We’re movin’,” Jack said in a pleased voice. “Production begins on the first of our two-hour features next month and we’re scheduled for one a month after that.”