“Who would convert her?” Gold asked casually.
“A man . . . someone who is stronger than she.”
Gold shook his head. “That’s bad psychology. Carol would tell you that. If your character’s a genuine wanton, then only another woman could convert her.”
“I don’t agree,” I said stubbornly. “A man could do it. If a wanton could be made to love, then I believe the barriers would come down and you could do anything with her.”
He touched off his cigar ash onto a plate. “I don’t think you and I are thinking along the same lines,” he said. “Describe to me your idea of a wanton.”
“I’ll describe the wanton I have in mind. She’s the only one I could be interested in because I know her. She is real and I can study her.”
“Go on.” Smoke curled from his lips and partly obscured his face.
“The woman I’m thinking of lives on men. She is pitilessly selfish and very experienced. She is anti-social, amoral and interested only in herself. Men mean nothing to her except for the money they give her.” I ground my cigarette butt into the ash tray. “That is my wanton.”
“Interesting,” Gold said, “but too difficult. You don’t know what you’re talking about. A woman like that could never love. She would have lost the feeling for love.” He glanced up and looked at me fixedly. “You say you know such a woman?”
“I’ve met her. I can’t say I really know her, but I’m going to.”
“You are experimenting with her?”
I was unwilling to tell him too much. He might talk to Carol.
“Only from the point of view of writing about her,” I said carelessly. “I have to mix with all kinds of people in my game.”
“I see.” His lips closed wetly over his cigar. “You weren’t thinking of persuading this woman to fall in love with you?”
I eyed him. “I’ve something better to do with my time,” I said, a little sharply.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said, fairly waving his hands. “You said this woman was the character you have chosen for your theme. You also said if she could be made to love then you could do anything with her? Isn’t that so?”
I nodded.
“Then how can you be sure that you are psychologically right, unless you actually experiment? I don’t think you are. I think such a woman as you have described is beyond the feeling of love. That is to me sound reasoning, while you are merely theorizing.”
I sat back in my chair. I suddenly saw the trap he had laid for me. I had either to back out or else admit what I was planning to do.
“Now wait,” Gold said, “Don’t say anything. Let me talk first. It is always better to know all the facts before you commit yourself.” He waved to a waiter. “We’ll have a little brandy. I find brandy is very good for this kind of conversation.”
When the brandy had been ordered, he sunk his head into his shoulders and hunched over the table. “I’m interested,” he said. “I like “Angels in Sables”. I like the idea of a satire about men. I haven’t made a psychological picture for a very long time. They are good box office. Women like them. Carol was right when she said women are our public.” He fumbled inside his coat and took out a cigar-case. “Have a cigar, Mr. Thurston?”
I took the long cigar although I really didn’t want it. Something, however, told me that Gold didn’t offer cigars to anyone but those he favoured.
“That cigar cost me five dollars,” he said. “I have them specially made for me. You’ll enjoy it.”
The brandy came and he sniffed at the balloon-shaped glass and sighed. “Excellent,” he murmured and held the glass cupped in both hands.
I was in no hurry. I cut the end of the cigar carefully and lit it. It was smooth, mild and satisfying.
“I am interested,” Gold went on, “in a story based on facts. I like the idea of your modelling your character on someone you know. She sounds right. You will obviously bring her to life because she is already alive. All you have to do is to capture her likeness and put it on paper. I should like you to take a further step. I would like you to put yourself in your hero’s place and, before you write, go through the experiences you have planned for your hero.”
“Now look, Mr. Gold . . .” I began, but he raised his hand.
“Let me go on. Hear what I have to say first. You may find that your ideas won’t work out the way you think they will. But, that won’t matter, the result will be psychologically right. You are a man of the world. I imagine that you have had considerable success with women in the past. This woman you have chosen as the subject for a story would be a worthy opponent, wouldn’t she? Why don’t you make her fall in love with you? It would be a very interesting experiment.”
I didn’t say anything. He was suggesting the very thing I had planned to do. All the same it made me uneasy because I had Carol at the back of my mind.
“I would buy such a story, Mr. Thurston,” Gold went on quietly. “Whichever way it turned out it would be interesting. The experiment would be between you and me and, of course, the woman in question. No one else need know about it.”
We looked at each other and I knew he realized that I was uneasy about Carol.
“I’ll admit the idea had crossed my mind,” I said. “But dealing so intimately with a woman of that reputation is a little tricky.”
A flicker of a smile appeared in Gold’s eyes. I had an uncomfortable feeling that he saw through me. “Then you’ll do it?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, as a business proposition, I’ll do it,” I said. “But I don’t want to waste my time unless I receive some kind of compensation.”
“Tell me the story in a few words.”
I thought for a moment. “This will be the story of a successful wanton who preys on men. I will handle all the background stuff of her relations with men so that Hays won’t kill it. The only thing we need really stress is that she takes money and presents from men who are infatuated with her. Then an entirely different type of man comes into her life, and this is where the drama really begins. At first, like the other men, he falls for her, but as he gets to know her, he realizes what a cheat she is and decides to play her at her own game. He does and he beats her in the end. Then tired of the game, he leaves her and goes off to hunt elsewhere. I see it as a Scarlet O’Hara and Reith Butler set-up.”
“And you really think it will work out that way?” Gold asked, pointedly disbelieving.
“Certainly. It’s a question of the stronger will.”
Gold shook his head. “Providing your woman is as bad as the one you have described, I am sure it will not work out that way.”
“Well, let us experiment and see. As you say, whatever the result, it should make an interesting script.”
Gold brooded. “Yes, I think it will. All right, do it. I will pay you two thousand dollars for the treatment. If it is what I want then I will pay a further fifty thousand for a complete shooting script. You can have all the help you want from the Studios, but, of course, you can please yourself about that.”
I suppressed my excitement with difficulty. “May I have that offer in writing?”
“Certainly. I will tell my people to get in touch with you.”
“Will you wait three months? If I don’t succeed in three months, it won’t be worth wasting any more time.”
He nodded. “Three months then. It will be an interesting experiment in real life. You should have quite an exciting time before you.” He signalled a waiter. “And now I must go to the club. Won’t you join me, Mr. Thurston?”
I shook my head. “I’d rather not, thank you. You’ve given me quite a lot to think about and I have plans to make.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I DID not see Carol for the next two weeks. I telephoned each morning and evening, but I was told that she was either at the Studio or at Mr. Gold’s house. I did not know whether she was avoiding me or whether she was really busy with her script. If it had not been for the way she had walked out on me, I should not have given it another thought. She often disappeared for a week or so when she was working hard, but, now I was worried. I remember the look in her eyes when she had said, “It is rather like that.” For the first time in two years, I knew I had hurt and angered her.
I could, of course, have gone to the Studio, but first, I wanted to talk to her on the telephone where she could not watch me while I talked. As I have already said, she was very difficult to lie to. If I were to convince her that there was nothing between Eve and myself, I would have to handle the situation with care. So I continued to the Studio.
I had settled in my apartment much to Russell’s annoyance. He had hopefully believed that I would stay at Three Point for at least another month. I thought a lot about Eve. On the third night after our meeting I drove over to Laurel Canyon Drive and passed her house. There were no lights showing and I did not stop; but it gave me an odd feeling of satisfaction just to have seen the house again.
On the fourth day, immediately after lunch, I called her.
The maid Marty answered. When I asked for Eve, she wanted to know who was calling.
After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Mr. Clive.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Miss Marlow’s engaged right now. Can I take a message?”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll call later.”
“She won’t be long,” she said. “I’ll tell her you called.”
I thanked her and hung up. I sat holding the telephone for several minutes, then I put it on the table with a little grimace. Why was I feeling bad? I asked myself. I knew what she was, didn’t I? I did not ring her again that day and I did no work. I thought about Gold and I tried to work out a blue print for the script we had discussed. But I was not successful. Until I knew Eve better, I would not hope to make much progress.
I must have been a trial to Russell as he was used to my going out and leaving him the apartment to himself. I spent the rest of the day wandering between the large lounge, my bedroom and my small library. I had a date with Clare Jacoby, the singer, in the evening, and although I did not feel like listening to her incessant chatter, I could not very well put her off. I returned to the apartment just after midnight, a little drunk and irritable.
Russell was waiting up for me and after he had brought me a whiskey I sent him to bed. Then I telephoned Eve. I sat listening to the steady burr-burr of the bell, but there was no answer. I slammed down the receiver and went into my bedroom to undress. In pyjamas and dressing gown, I returned to the lounge and called her again. It was now twenty to one.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello yourself.” I found my mouth had gone dry at the sound of her voice.
“You are very late, Clive.”
She said she would recognize my voice, but I didn’t think she would. That was one score for her.
“How are you?” I settled back in my armchair.
“All right,” she said.
I waited, expecting her to say something else, but the line was silent. This was my first experience of the many unsatisfactory telephone calls I was to have with her, so I had no warning that her replies would be non-committal and monosyllabic.
“Hello?” I said, after waiting a moment. “Are you still there?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded remote and flat.
“I thought we were cut off.” I settled back in my chair again. “Did you like the book I sent you?”
There was a long pause, then I heard her say something as if she were speaking to someone with her.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I can’t talk now,” she said. “I’m engaged.”
A wild, unreasonable rage surged through me. “Good God!” I exclaimed. “Do you work all night as well as all day?” But I was talking to a dead telephone. She had hung up.
I sat thinking for almost an hour. It began to dawn on me that Eve was going to be an even harder proposition than I had first thought. In fact, as I brooded about her and Gold’s offer, I experienced a slight feeling of panic. It was four days since I had seen her and I had not even scratched the surface. The fact that she had hung up on me like that showed that she was not yet interested in me. She did not even say that she was sorry. “I can’t talk now, I’m engaged,” and down had gone the receiver. I clenched my fists.
In spite of my anger, her indifference made me all the more anxious to see her. During those two weeks that I saw nothing of Carol, I visited Eve three times. There is no point in recording those three meetings. They ran practically parallel with the previous meeting. We talked uneasily about the merest trifles and at the end of a quarter of an hour I left, being careful always to put two twenty dollar bills on the chest of drawers. Each time I called on her I brought her a book for which she seemed genuinely grateful. Although I tried to break down her reserve she remained wooden and suspicious. I realized that if I was to get anywhere with her I would have to try more forceful tactics. Finally I decided on my line of action.
The following morning I came down to the dining room to find Russell waiting to serve breakfast. It was now ten days since I had seen Carol and I knew that Russell was worried about this. I could tell that by his continuous disapproving looks.
“You might put a call through to Miss Carol,” I said, as I flipped through my letters, “and see what she’s doing. If she’s at home I’ll speak to her.”
While he was making the call, I glanced at the headlines of the newspaper. There was nothing there to interest me and I dropped the paper on the floor.
Russell, after murmuring into the telephone, hung up and shook his head. “She’s out, sir,” he said, his round, fat face sagging with gloom. “Why don’t you slip down to the Studio and see her?
“I’m too busy to slip down to the Studio,” I said shortly, “And what business is it of yours anyway?”
He stood opposite me, moving the toast within my reach. “Miss Carol’s a nice young lady,” he said, “and I don’t like to see her treated badly, Mr. Clive.”
“So you think I’m treating Miss Carol badly, do you?” I said, spreading butter on my toast and avoiding his disapproving glance.
“I do, sir. I think you should see her. She’s a nice young lady and she deserves to receive better treatment than the other young ladies you know.”
“You are poking your nose as usual into something that does not concern you. Miss Carol is extremely busy and has no time at the moment to be sociable. I’m not neglecting her and, if you will remember, I call her twice a day and have been doing so for the past two weeks.”