“Bob, I want to lay it on the line with you. I simply am not happy under present circumstances. And I dont have such an abundance of years remaining that I can afford to continue on with a pattern of life which seems to fall such a long way short of what I really want.”
Hughes was not talking about his grim seclusion, his bizarre lifestyle, or his wretched condition. He was talking about the terrible frustration of not having things entirely his way in Nevada, a feeling apparently intensified by the impending Landmark party. And he was thinking of leaving.
“I have a number of very important new projects and investments that I want to commence at once,” he continued. “If it is to be in Nevada, fine.
“On the other hand, if a program to sell the hotels is going to be attempted, then naturally I want to commence the new projects at a new location to be selected either in Baja or in the Bahamas.
“Bob, I have been in this frustrated position for a number of months. This has left me in an uncertain, faltering frame of mind which, combined with a tendency to be overcautious anyway, has resulted in sort of throwing me off balance.
“Well, all these months I have been fuming and boiling here in a state of intense frustration,” he concluded, tired of playing Hamlet in his penthouse.
“I want either to go ahead in a big way, or I want out—and now! Please.
“Please reply, Bob, on a most urgent basis.
“I am working on the invitation lists right now.”
Hughes was, indeed, hard at work on the invitation lists even as he searched his soul, still poring over the lists one name at a time, still seeking that elusive consistency.
“I have now returned all the names to the list of business men, except only Scott and Tiberti and the two men from REECo. and EG&G,” he proudly informed Maheu.
“I will think about REECo. and EG&G. I would like you to think carefully and analyze the pros and cons of Scott and Tiberti and report fully to me.”
Yes, that should just about wrap it all up. Except for one nagging problem.
“P.S., I still need to look at sometime tonite the list of any added automobile dealers you may feel should be included.”
Of course. The auto dealers. Now that Ackerman had been returned to the list. One day before the big party, Hughes was still hung up on the auto dealers, as he had been from the beginning, from the first name on the first list.
With one day to go, Hughes had actually approved only forty-four invitations. He was still refusing to allow Maheu to order any food. He was still questioning every detail of the party, still withholding his consent. And while he had finally approved the opening, he had still not approved the closing. Almost forgotten in the frantic planning for the party was the salient fact that Hughes did not yet actually own the Landmark. He simply refused to close the deal.
“It appears that the only two people in Clark County who do not know when we are going to close our purchase of the Landmark are you and I,” complained a frazzled Maheu, suddenly gripped by the realization that the five P.M. deadline was only hours away.
“I have already given you authority to close the Landmark deal at such time as you consider most favorable,” Hughes replied impatiently.
“What I am not willing to accept is the closure today being rushed thru in the next few hours merely to avoid the inconvenience of obtaining a 24 hr. extension.”
In fact, any delay would be more than a small inconvenience. It would require a series of complex renegotiations with at least fifteen separate creditors to the hotel’s bankrupt owners. It could take days. It might never be resolved. Hughes, of course, knew that quite well.
“I simply dont want to see benefits sacrificed,” he blithely continued, “merely to accomodate a rushed closing scheduled to avoid the inconvenience of obtaining a simple extension on the 15 open claims which would become void if the Landmark is closed in the morning instead of tonite.”
No guests, no food, and suddenly no guarantee that Hughes would even own the Landmark in time to celebrate its opening. Early on the morning of June 30—after listening to the billionaire search his soul and re-analyze the guest list, but refuse to buy the hotel—Maheu flipped out all over again.
“Howard,” he raged, “here it is 7:00 AM and I am still left dangling.
“With the present posture of our opening at the Landmark, you might as well be the first to know that if you want to find me during the ‘festivities’ at the Landmark, on the evening of July 1, you might tell your men to start looking for me at the CIRCUS CIRCUS.”
Maheu was looking for trouble. The Circus-Circus was a particularly hated rival, a new casino Hughes had tried desperately to block, fearing that it would lower the tone of Las Vegas, give it a cheap, honky-tonk, carnival atmosphere. Maheu knew that, but, in a reckless mood, he went on.
“You see, Howard, I have not yet had any time to spare to visit the CIRCUS CIRCUS once, but I am beginning to believe that since I’ll have nothing better to do on July 1, perhaps I should take advantage of the occassion.”
The calculated provocation left Hughes seething. He would not, however, give his underling the satisfaction of triggering an uncontrolled outburst. Instead he replied with a restrained fury that hissed more ominously for being kept under control.
“I know that you have said in the past that you are a free spoken person who cannot keep things bottled up, etc., and that, when you have to let off steam, I should just take it in stride,” wrote Hughes.
“I usually can. But this situation wherein you seem to think you have to resort to making threats of dire consequences is just more than my nervous system can handle.
“Suppose you set forth the minimum formalities that will satisfy you for the 36 hours starting now and ending after the hotel is operational.
“Suppose you do this with no further drama than necessary. I will agree to a program that is satisfactory to you, provided you do your best to outline a program which you believe to be as near as possible to what you think I want.
“I will then tell you what I propose for the remainder of our relationship after the Landmark is opened.”
Neither Hughes nor Maheu was in a festive mood. By July 1, the day of the big party, their marriage was so strained they were barely talking and there was more than a hint of separation in the air. What had been planned as a celebration of their partnership was looking like a prelude to their divorce.
Hughes, however, was still busily revising the guest list, too dedicated to be diverted by his unsettled domestic situation. Unfortunately, he was running out of time.
“Please consider very carefully the matter of a delay,” he urged his estranged helpmate first thing that morning. “I have now gone thru the lists and could give you a go-ahead within a matter of hours.
“I personally have always favored a delay,” he continued, “but know this would not rest well with you and others in your organization.
“Anyway, please do not announce anything until further consultation.”
The consultations went on all day. Hughes and Maheu were civil with each other, but no more. Under the circumstances, that was a considerable achievement. It was too late for Hughes to block the party, having foolishly approved the closing the night before, but he kept on kibitzing right up to the end, besieged by last-minute fears.
“There is one thing I have been meaning to take up with you,” he suddenly inquired. “How many people are you permitted to have up in the bubble of the Landmark at any one time?”
A few minutes later came a more elaborate paranoid vision, this one straight out of a disaster movie: