HARRISON MARLOWE INDICTED 9 page

I nodded and looked down at the grave marker. Rina Marlowe. Now it was nothing but a name. "I hope everything was the way she wanted it."

"I’m sure it was."

We fell silent then with the awkwardness of two people at a cemetery whose only link now lay in a grave. I took a deep breath. It was time to go. "Can I give you a lift back to the hotel?"

She shook her head. "I'd like to stay here a little while longer, Mr. Cord."

"Will you be all right?"

I caught a glimpse of her eyes beneath the veil. "I’ll be all right, Mr. Cord," she said. "Nothing more can happen to me."

"I'll see that a car waits for you. Good-by, Miss Gaillard."

"Good-by, Mr. Cord," she answered formally. "And — and thank you."

I turned and walked down the path to the cemetery road. The morbid and curious were still there behind the police lines, on the far side of the street. A faint sound rose up from them as I came out the cemetery gate. I'd done the best I could but somehow there are always crowds of people.

The chauffeur opened the door of the limousine and I got in. He closed it and ran around to the driver's seat. The car began to move. "Where to, Mr. Cord?" he asked cheerfully. "Back to the hotel?"

I turned and looked out the rear window. We were atop a small rise and I could see Ilene inside the cemetery. She sat beside the grave, a pitiful, shrunken figure in black, with her face hidden by her two hands. Then we went around a bend and she was gone from my sight.

"Back to the hotel, Mr. Cord?" the chauffeur repeated.

I straightened up and reached for a cigarette. "No," I said, lighting it. "To the airport."

I drew the smoke deep inside my lungs and let it burn there. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was get away. Boston and death, Rina and dreams. I had too many memories as it was.

The roaring filled my ears and I began to climb up the long black ladder out of the darkness over my head. The higher I climbed, the louder the noise got. I opened my eyes.

Outside the window, the Third Avenue El rattled by. I could see the people pressed together inside and on the narrow open platforms. Then the train had passed and a strange silence came into the room. I let my eyes wander.

It was a small, dark room, its white paper already beginning to turn brown on its walls. Near the window was a small table, on the wall over it a crucifix. I was in an old brass bed. Slowly I swung my feet to the floor and sat up. My head felt as if it were going to fall off.

"So, you're awake now, are you?"

I started to turn my head but the woman came around in front of me. There was something vaguely familiar about her face but I couldn't remember where I’d seen her before. I put my hand up and rubbed my cheek. My beard was as rough as sandpaper.

"How long have I been here?" I asked.

She laughed shortly. "Almost a week," she answered. "I was beginnin' to think there was no end to your thirst."

"I was drinking?"

"That you were," she said.

I followed her eyes to the floor. There were three cartons filled with empty whisky bottles. I rubbed the back of my neck. No wonder my head hurt. "How did I happen to get here?" I asked.

"You don't remember?"

I shook my head.

"You came up to me in front of the store on Sixth Avenue and took me by the arm, sayin' you was ready for the lesson now. You were already loaded then. Then we went into the White Rose Bar for a couple of drinks and it was there you got into a fight with the barkeep. So I brought you home for safekeepin'."

I rubbed my eyes. I was beginning to remember now. I had come from the airport and was walking up Sixth Avenue toward the Norman offices when I felt I needed a drink. After that, it was fuzzy. I remembered vaguely searching in front of a radio store for some whore who had promised to teach me some things I had never learned in school.

"Were you the one?" I asked.

She laughed. "No, I wasn't. But in the condition you were in, I didn't think it would make any difference. It wasn't a woman you were looking for, it was a sorrow you were drownin'."

I got to my feet. I was in my shorts. I looked up at her questioningly. "I took your clothes downstairs to the cleaner when you quit drinkin' yesterday. I’ll go down now and get them while you're cleanin' up."

"The bathroom?"

She pointed to a door. "There isn't a shower but there's enough hot water for a tub. And there's a razor on the shelf over the sink."

The clothes were waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom. "Your money is on the dresser," she said, as I finished buttoning my shirt and put on my jacket. I walked over to the dresser and picked it up.

"You'll find it all there except what I took for the whisky."

Holding the bills in my hand, I looked at her. "Why did you bring me here?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "The Irish make lousy whores," she said. "We get sentimental over drunkards."

I looked down at the roll of bills in my hand. There was about two hundred dollars there. I took a five-dollar bill and stuck it in my pocket; the rest I put back on the bureau.

She took the money silently and followed me to the door.

"She's dead, you know," she said. "And all the whisky in the world won't be bringin' her back to life."

We stared at each other for a moment, then she closed the door and I went down the dark staircase and out into the street. I walked into a drugstore on the corner of Third Avenue and Eighty-second Street and called McAllister.

"Where in hell have you been?" he asked.

"Drunk," I said. "Did you get the copy of Rina's will?"

"Yes, I got it. We've been searching the whole town for you. Do you realize what's happening over at the picture company? They're running around there like chickens with their heads cut off."

"Where is the will?"

"On the foyer table of your apartment, where you told me to leave it. If we don't have a meeting about the picture company pretty soon, you won't have to worry about your investment. There won't be any."

"O.K., set one up," I said, hanging up before he had a chance to answer.

I got out, paid the cabby and began to walk along the sidewalk in front of the houses. Children were playing on the grass and curious eyes followed me. Most of the doors were open, so I couldn't read the house numbers.

"Who you lookin' for, mister?" one of the kids called.

"Winthrop," I said. "Monica Winthrop."

"She's got a little girl?" the kid asked. "About five?"

"I think so," I said.

"Fourth house down."

I thanked the kid and started down the street. At the entrance of the fourth house, I looked at the name plate under the bell. Winthrop. There was no answer. I pressed the bell again.

"She's not home from work yet," a man called over to me from the next house. "She stops at the nursery school to pick up the kid first."

"About when does she get home?"

"Any minute now," he said.

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to seven. The sun was starting to go down and with it went some of the heat of the day. I sat down on the steps and lit a cigarette. My mouth tasted awful and I could feel the beginnings of a headache.

The cigarette was almost finished when Monica turned the corner and started up the walk, a little girl skipping along in front of her.

I got to my feet as the child stopped and looked up at me. Her nose crinkled and her dark eyes squinted. "Mommy," she piped in a high-pitched voice, "there's a man standing on our steps."

I looked at Monica. For a moment, we just stood there staring at one another. She looked the same and yet changed somehow. Maybe it was the way she wore her hair. Or the simple business suit. But most of all, it was her eyes. There was a calm self-assurance in them that hadn't been there before. Her hand reached out and she drew the child to her. "It's all right, Jo-Ann," she said, picking the child up. "He's a friend of Mommy's." The child smiled. "Hello, man."

"Hello," I said. I looked at Monica. "Hello, Monica."

"Hello, Jonas," she said stiffly. "How are you?"

"O.K. I want to see you."

"About what?" she asked. "I thought everything was settled."

"It's not about us," I said quickly. "It's about the kid."

She held the child closely to her in a sudden gesture. Something like fright came into her eyes. "What about Jo-Ann?"

"There's nothing to worry about," I said.

"Maybe we'd better go inside."

I stepped aside while she opened the door, and followed her into a small living room. She put the child down. "Go into your room and play with your dolls, Jo-Ann."

The child laughed happily and ran off. Monica turned back to me. "You look tired," she said. "Were you waiting long?"

I shook my head. "Not long."

"Sit down," she said quietly. "I'll make some coffee."

"Don't bother. I won't keep you long."

"That's all right," she said quickly. "I don't mind. It isn't often we have visitors."

She went into the kitchen and I sank into a chair. I looked around the room. Somehow, I couldn't get used to the idea that this was where she lived. It looked as if it was furnished from Gimbels basement. Not that it wasn't good. It was just that everything was neat and practical and cheap. And Monica used to be more the Grosfeld House type.

She came back into the room, carrying a steaming cup of black coffee, and put it down on the table next to me. "Two sugars, right?"

"Right."

Quickly she put two lumps of sugar into the coffee and stirred it. I sipped it and began to feel better. "That's good coffee," I said.

"It's G. Washington."

"What's that?"

"The working girl's friend," she said. "Instant coffee. It's really not too bad when you get used to it."

"What will they think of next?"

"Can I get you a couple of aspirins?" she asked. "You look as if you have a headache."

"How do you know?"

She smiled. "We were married for a while once, remember? You get a kind of wrinkle on your forehead when you have a headache."

"Two, then, please," I said. "Thanks."

She sat down opposite me after I'd taken them. Her eyes watched me steadily. "Surprised to see me in a place like this?"

"A little," I said. "I didn't know until just a little while ago that you hadn't kept any of the money I gave you. Why?"

"I didn't want it," she said simply. "And my father did. So I gave it to him. He wanted it for his business."

"What did you want?"

She hesitated a moment before she answered. "What I have now. Jo-Ann. And to be left alone. I kept just enough money to come East and have the baby. Then when she was old enough, I went out and got a job." She smiled. "I know it won't seem like much to you but I'm an executive secretary and I make seventy dollars a week."

I was silent for a moment while I finished the rest of the coffee. "How's Amos?" I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I haven't heard from him in four years. How did you find out where I was living?"

"From Rina," I said.

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jonas." I could see sympathy deep in her eyes. "You may not believe me but I'm truly sorry. I read about it in the papers. It was a terrible thing. To have so much and go like that."

"Rina had no surviving relatives," I said. "That's why I'm here."

A puzzled look came over her face. "I don't understand."

"She left her entire estate in trust for your daughter," I said quickly. "I don't know exactly how much, maybe thirty, forty thousand after taxes and debts. She appointed me executor and made me promise to see that the child got it."

She was suddenly pale and the tears came into her eyes. "Why did she do it? She didn't owe me anything."

"She said she blamed herself for what happened to us."

"What happened to us was your fault and mine," she said vehemently. She stopped suddenly and looked at me. "It's foolish to get excited about it at this late date. It's over and done with."

I looked at her for a moment, then got to my feet. "That's right, Monica," I said. "It's over and done with." I started for the door. "If you'll get in touch with McAllister, he'll have all the papers ready for you."

She looked up into my face. "Why don't you stay and let me fix you supper," she said politely. "You look tired."

There was no point in telling her that what she saw was the beginning of a hangover. "No, thanks," I said, equally polite. "I have to get back. I have some business appointments."

A wry, almost bitter look came over her face. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said. "Your business."

"That's right," I said.

"I suppose I should be thankful you took the time to come out." Before I could answer, she turned and called to the child. "Jo-Ann, come out here and say good-by to the nice man."

The little girl came into the room, clutching a small doll. She smiled up at me. "This is my dolly."

I smiled down at her. "It's a nice dolly."

"Say good-by, Jo-Ann."

Jo-Ann held out her hand to me. "Good-by, man," she said seriously. "Come an' see us again. Sometime. Soon."

I took her hand. "I will, Jo-Ann," I said. "Good-by."

Jo-Ann smiled and pulled her hand back quickly, then ran out of the room again.

I straightened up. "Good-by, Monica," I said. "If there's anything you need, give me a call."

"I'll be all right, Jonas," she said, holding out her hand. I took it. She smiled tentatively. "Thank you, Jonas," she said. "And I’m sure if Jo-Ann could understand, she'd thank you, too."

I smiled back. "She's a nice little girl."

"Good-by, Jonas." She took her hand from mine and stood in the open doorway while I went down the walk.

"Jonas," she called after me.

I turned. "Yes, Monica?"

She hesitated a moment, then laughed. "Nothing, Jonas," she said. "Don't work too hard."

I laughed. "I'll try not to."

She closed the door quickly and I continued on down the sidewalk. Forest Hills, Queens, a hell of a place to live. I had to walk six blocks before I could get a cab.

"But what are we going to do about the company?" Woolf asked.

I looked across the table at him, then picked up the bottle of bourbon and refilled my glass. I went to the window and looked out over New York.

"What about The Sinner?" Dan asked. "We'll have to decide what to do about that. I'm already talking to Metro about getting Jean Harlow."

I turned on him savagely. "I don't want Harlow," I snapped. "That was Rina's picture."

"But my God, Jonas," Dan exclaimed. "You can't junk that script. It'll cost you half a million by the time you get through paying off De Mille."

"I don't care what it costs!" I snarled. "I’m junking it!"

A silence came over the room and I turned back to the window. Over to my left, the lights of Broadway climbed up into the sky; on my right, I could see the East River. On the other side of that river was Forest Hills. I grimaced and swallowed my drink quickly. Monica had been right about one thing. I was working too hard.

I had too many people on my back, too many businesses. Cord Explosives; Cord Plastics; Cord Aircraft; Inter-Continental Airlines. And now I owned a motion-picture company I didn't even want.

"Well, Jonas," McAllister said quietly. "What are you going to do?"

I walked back to the table and refilled my glass. My mind was made up. I knew just what I was going to do from now on. Only what I wanted to. Let them earn their keep and show me how good they really were.

I stared at Dan Pierce. "You're always talking about how you could make better pictures than anyone in the business," I said. "O.K. You're in charge of production."

Before he had a chance to answer, I turned to Woolf. "You're worried about what's going to happen to the company. Now you can really worry about it. You're in charge of everything else ‑ sales, theaters, administration."

I turned and walked back to the window.

"That's fine, Jonas," McAllister said. "But you haven't told us who the officers will be."

"You're chairman of the board, Mac," I said. "Dan, president. David, executive vice-president." I took a swallow from my glass. "Any more questions?"

They looked at each other, then Mac turned back to me. "While you were away, David had a study made. The company needs about three million dollars of revolving credit to get through this year if we're to maintain the current level of production."

"You'll get a million dollars," I said. "You'll have to make do with that."

"But Jonas," Dan protested. "How do you expect me to make the kind of pictures I want to make if you won't let us have the money?"

"If you can't do it," I snarled, "then get the hell out and I'll get someone who can."

I could see Dan's face whiten. He closed his lips grimly and didn't answer. I looked from him to the others. "The same thing goes for all of you. From now on, I’m through playing wet nurse to the world. Any man that doesn't deliver can get out. From now on, nobody bothers me about anything. If I want you, I’ll get in touch with you. If you have anything to report put it in writing and send it to my office. That's all, gentlemen. Good night."

As the door closed behind them, I could feel the hard, angry knot tightening in my gut. I looked out the window. Forest Hills. I wondered what kind of schools they had out there that a kid like Jo-Ann could go to.

I swallowed the rest of my drink. It didn't untie the knot; it only pulled it tighter. Suddenly I wanted a woman.

I picked up the phone and called José, the headwaiter down at the Rio Club. "Yes, Mr. Cord."

"José," I said. "That singer with the rumba band. The one with the big— "

"Eyes," he interrupted, laughing quietly. "Yes, Mr. Cord. I know. She'll be at your place in half an hour."

I put down the telephone and walked back to the table. I took the bottle to the window with me while I filled my glass. I'd learned something tonight.

People would pay any price for what they really wanted. Monica would live in Queens so she could keep her daughter. Dan would swallow my insults so he could make pictures. Woolf would do anything to prove he could run the company better than his uncle Bernie. And Mac kept on paying the price for the security I'd given him.

When you got down to it, people all had their price. The currency might differ. It could be money, power, glory, sex. Anything. All you needed to know was what they wanted.

A knock came on the door. "Come in," I called.

She came into the room, her dark eyes bright, her long black hair falling down her back almost to her hips, the black gown cut way down in front showing white almost to her navel. She smiled at me. "Hello, Mr. Cord," she said, without the accent she used in the café. "How nice of you to ask me up."

"Take off your dress and have a drink," I said.

"I’m not that kind of girl," she snapped, turning and starting for the door.

"I’ve got five hundred dollars that says you are."

She turned back to me, a smile on her lips, her fingers already busy with the zipper at the back of her dress. I turned and looked out the window while she undressed.

There weren't as many lights in Queens as there were in Manhattan. And what few lights there were weren't as bright. Suddenly, I was angry and I yanked the cord releasing the Venetian blind. It came down the window with a crash and shut out the city. I turned back to the girl.

She was staring at me with wide eyes. All she had on was a pair of skin-tight black sheer panties, and her hands were crossed over her bosom, hiding only the nipples of her large breasts. "What did you do that for?" she said. "No one out there can see in here."

"I'm tired of looking at Queens," I said and started across the room toward her.

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 575