“No,” Rick said, “it doesn’t.”
“I also cut her name off two copies of a mailing list of members I found. There was a notation next to her name, saying to hold all mail. I couldn’t find any other evidence of Louise Brecht in the office.”
“Did you speak to Schmidt?”
“I missed him by a couple of days; a neighbor said he left Milwaukee for sunny California. It might be interesting to know if he turns up in L.A.”
“It might at that. Please look into it.”
“Might take a few days; give him time to get a phone number.”
“No rush. Thank you, Tom. Did you have any additional expenses?”
“No, you’ve already covered it. The pilot and I stayed at a commercial hotel and registered under other names. Nobody will ever know we were in Milwaukee.”
“That was good work, Tom. Thank you again.”
The two men shook hands and Tom left.
Rick read the application carefully, then locked the file in his safe.
32
Rick yelled, “Cut! Print it! Wrap!” and everybody on the set cheered and applauded. Bitter Creek’s interiors were complete, and within twenty-four hours the entire picture would be in the can, ready for final editing, opticals and scoring.
Eddie Harris yelled for quiet and made a graceful little speech, thanking everyone for their extra efforts, then food and drink from the studio commissary were wheeled onto the soundstage, and the wrap party began. It was nearly midnight.
After everyone had had some food and a couple of drinks, Eddie pulled Rick, Vance and Susie aside. “Some more good news,” he said. “We’re going to have simultaneous openings, one at Radio City and the other at the Chinese Theater, here. Vance, you’re going to New York, and Susie, you’re going to headline the L.A. opening.” He saw Vance and Susie exchange a regretful glance. “Don’t worry, kids, the next day the studio will fly Susie to New York, and you’ll do a ton of publicity together there.” The two appeared to relax at that news.
“That’s great, Eddie,” Rick said. “We’ll get lots of radio time and a double shot at the newsreels, too.”
“Now,” Eddie said to Vance and Susie, “don’t you two kids disappear anywhere, because you’re going to be doing wall-to-wall press interviews, some together, some alone, between now and the opening. We open on Saturday, the thirteenth, twelve days before Christmas, and all these interviews are going to release the following day in newspapers and magazines all over the country. This will be the biggest publicity push in the history of Centurion Studios. That means we have to get everything right. The publicity department is going to brief you both on the points to make in the interviews and on how to handle things like your relationship with each other, your living arrangements, etc. You have to do this the way publicity tells you, so that there’s no slipup. One important point: Sidney Brooks is not to be mentioned; you never heard of him. This film was written by a man called Harlan Rawlings, who lives in Wyoming. You met him once; he was a quiet fellow, a typical westerner. Got that?”
Both the actors nodded.
“Okay, go have some fun.” Eddie pushed them toward the party.
“They’ll do well,” Rick said. “They’re charming people, and the press will love them.”
“I had a call from Hyman Greenbaum yesterday; he wants to renegotiate Vance’s contract.”
“Of course, he does,” Rick said. “Are you going to do it?”
“Yes. If this picture does anything like the business I think it will, Vance would be resentful if we held him to the terms of his original contract, even with the bonuses we gave him and the loan for the house. What I want is for us to lock Vance into Centurion for his whole career, and that means binding him to us emotionally as well as financially. If we’re anything but generous with him, that would damage the relationship. There isn’t a smarter agent in town than Hy, and he’s going to want a deal structured so that Vance participates from dollar one.”
“Jesus, Eddie.”
“Don’t worry; everything will depend on grosses, so if any picture tanks, we’ll be protected. What’s new in all of this is that Hy wants stock options for Vance.”
Rick laughed. “Somewhere our beloved founder, Sol Weinman, is spinning in his grave.”
Eddie laughed. “You’re not kidding, pal, but Sol never ran into anything like this. When Gable came along around, what, 1930, they paid him a weekly salary, and although he’s making, what, five grand a week now, it’s still a weekly salary. But not Cary Grant; he went independent, and he’s going to make a lot more money in his career than Gable will in his. That’s what Hy is going for, and it’s exactly what I would be doing if I were Vance’s agent. We’re going to have to be a lot nicer to Susie, too, since we only have her for this picture. I love the Greenwich Village Girl treatment you sent me, and we certainly want her for that. We’ll do a three-picture deal, something like Vance’s original contract. If she turns out to have drawing power on her own, we can always work it out later.”
“Eddie, I could never fault you on the big picture,” Rick said. “By the time we’re ready to ship prints of Bitter Creek, we’ll have a first draft of Greenwich Village Girl.”
“You want to direct it?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
“Listen, kiddo, if you’re thinking that you want to be a full-time director, I can live with that.”
“God knows, I love doing it.”
“Well, if you’re leaning that way, what would you think of grooming Leo Goldman for head of production?”
“Grooming Leo? He’s been grooming himself for that job since he was in the mail room at Metro.”
Eddie laughed. “He reminds me of me.”
“He reminds me of you, too. If I go that way, Eddie, I still want to keep a hand in management, and I will not work for Leo. We’d have to arrange things so that he’s still reporting to me.”
“I can do that,” Eddie said.
“Another thing: I know that you and I are of the same mind about the blacklist, but Leo definitely is not. He’s in bed with Cecil DeMille and Duke Wayne and that crowd, and I don’t want him making decisions for us in that regard.”
“You’ve talked with Leo about this?”
“Yes, while we were in Wyoming.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eddie said. “Leave it to me, kiddo.”
“I always do,” Rick replied.
Late in the day, Rick got a call from Glenna.
“You about done at the office?” she asked.
“Just about. I’ll be through here in half an hour.”
“Then meet me at the beach property.”
“How’s it coming?”
“Meet me there,” she said, then hung up.
An hour later Rick arrived at the property and pulled into the driveway, which, to his astonishment, had been paved with cobblestones. Even more astonishing, a house stood where once there had been only pilings. The place had been shingled in cedar, which was a bright tan that would weather into gray.
Glenna came out the front door. “What do you think?”
“I think it looks fabulous.”
“There’s still a lot of finishing work to be done, but come look around. The workmen are gone for the day, so we won’t bother them.”
She led him from room to unfinished room, and it was better than he had pictured it in his mind.
“We’ll be in in a month,” she said.