“Yes?” Eddie’s voice said.
“Hi, it’s Rick. You’re back from Washington and New York?”
“Got home not much more than an hour ago. Have you heard the news?”
“I haven’t heard any news for at least a week.”
“The meeting with the other studio heads was appalling,” Eddie said. “They’ve instituted what amounts to a blacklist, though they avoided using that word. Sam Goldwyn, Harry Cohn, Dore Schary and I fought it, but we lost. There was a public announcement this afternoon saying that no studio would employ anyone who is or was a party member or refused to answer that question before Congress. They’re starting with the ‘Hollywood Ten’ — that’s the ten guys who testified as unfriendly witnesses — and Sid Brooks is one of them.”
Rick was flabbergasted. “You mean we can’t hire Sid again?”
“We’ve got to talk about that when you get back. When will you wrap up there?”
“We wrapped this afternoon; I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
“Call me from the airport, and we’ll decide whether to meet at the office or at home. This is going to be a mess, Rick.”
“I believe you.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there it is.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rick hung up, called the pilot and told him he wanted to take off at eight A.M., then he told the other passengers as they returned from the party. Leo Goldman, Vance Calder and Susie Stafford would be joining him and his family.
Rick went upstairs. “I just talked to Leo.” He told Glenna the substance of the conversation.
“I don’t understand. Is it just these ten who are being made scapegoats?”
“I think it’s going to go a lot farther than that,” Rick said.
“Good God.”
“Let’s don’t get too worried about this yet; I’m meeting with Eddie as soon as we get home tomorrow to talk about how this is going to affect Centurion.”
They landed at Clover Field at midafternoon. Rick called Eddie, then Glenna dropped him at Centurion on her way home.
Eddie was waiting for him when he got to his office. “Come on,” he said, leading the way. “The newsreel department has put together some footage for you, so you can catch up on what’s been happening in your absence.”
They sat down, and the film clips rolled: testimony by Jack Warner, Adolphe Menjou and Robert Taylor, among the friendly witnesses, then John Howard Lawson, Ring Lardner Jr. and others. Sid Brooks’s testimony was the shortest. Finally, they saw film of Eric Johnston of the Motion Picture Producers’ Association, reading the joint statement of the studio heads at the Waldorf.
They went back to Eddie’s office, and he poured Rick a drink.
“That was awful,” Rick said. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I’m not sure how this is going to unfold on a day-to-day basis,” Eddie said, “but something has happened that will give you an idea of the sort of problems we’re going to encounter.”
“What’s that?”
“This morning I got a call from our distributors, asking for a meeting.”
“What did they want?”
“They had good news, at least for us.”
“Go on.”
“Alan James’s picture, Dark Promise, was scheduled to open at the Radio City Music Hall at Christmas, but after the hearings, and given the circumstances of his death, it’s been cancelled. It’s a pity, because the word around town is that Alan is a sure thing for an Oscar nomination and the favorite to win.”
“That’s sad.”
“The upside of this is they asked to see what footage we had of Bitter Creek, and I showed them your rough cut.”
“But, Eddie, it’s not...”
“I know, I know, but it’s fairly complete, and they certainly saw how beautiful it’s going to be and how good the performances are.”
“And?”
“And they want to substitute it for Dark Promise at the Music Hall, for Christmas.”
“Jesus, Eddie. That’s not much more than a couple of months away, and we haven’t even shot the interiors.”
“I went through the script, and if you work through the weekend, you can have them in the can in ten days.”
“And it’s still got to be scored.”
“We’ll get the composer started tomorrow. It’s amazing how well the rough cut works with no music; if we keep it spare, we can do it. It’ll be right down to the wire, but it’s the Music Hall for God’s sake. It’ll be wonderful for the careers of Vance and Susie, wonderful for the director and wonderful for the studio.”
“I don’t question that; I just hope we can do it.”
“This is thrilling news, Rick. Don’t let the cancellation of Alan’s picture bother you; we had nothing to do with that. We were presented with a fait accompli.”
“You’re right, I guess; I should be thrilled.”
“There’s something else, though.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, it’s like that. They want Sid Brooks’s credit taken off the screen.”
“What are you talking about, Eddie? We can’t do that to Sid.”
“We’re not doing it to him, Rick. Other people are.”
“I won’t do it. Tell him they take the film with the credits intact, or they can’t have it. We’ll open next year, the way we planned.”
“I’ve already shaken hands on the deal, Rick; I can’t go back on my word.”
“What about our word to Sid? He has a contract that specifies a single-card credit; he could sue us. I would, if I were in his place.”
“I think I have a solution to that problem.”
“What solution?”
“Get Sid in here and tell him what’s happened; get him to agree to have his credit dropped. We’ll insert a pseudonym.”
“And why would he agree to do that? It’s the best thing he’s ever written; he’s sure to get nominated.”
“Even if he does, he’ll never get the Oscar, not the way things are now. He’ll see how great this will be for Vance and Susie and you; he won’t want to stand in the way of that.”
“I don’t want to do that, Eddie. I can’t do that to Sid.”
“Rick, even if we open it next year, we can’t have Sid’s credit on the screen.”
“Why not? I thought you disagreed with the studio heads on the blacklist.”
“I did, and I do, and I’ll do whatever I can to subvert it, but other forces are at work here.”
“What forces?”
“The American Legion, for one, and other organizations are being formed as we speak. They’re going to picket the theaters where any film is shown that has Communist actors, writers or directors and that stars any of the Hollywood Ten. We’ve got more money tied up in this picture than anything we’ve ever made, and we can’t just flush it down the toilet.”
“I hate this,” Rick said, “and I won’t do this to Sid.”
“There’s something else,” Eddie said.
“What?”
“You can offer Sid another fifty thousand, if he’ll agree.”
“And you think he’d accept that? He’d spit in my eye.”
“No, he won’t.”
Rick looked at Eddie. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
“Alice Brooks walked out on Sid right after he testified. She’s filed for divorce, and she’s tied up everything: real estate, bank accounts, the works. Sid has moved into a little apartment building that he and Alice bought in Santa Monica, and for the moment, at least, he’s flat broke. Fifty grand would save his life right now.”
“He’s not going to take his own life; he told me that himself.”
“Was that before or after he testified and was cited for contempt? Before or after Alice left him? Before or after the blacklist? Sid is in a bad place right now, worse than the place Alan was in. He might do anything. He needs our help, and having his credit on this picture won’t help him. Fifty thousand dollars will.”