"You're joking." Johnny laughed.

Rocco's face was serious. "No, I'm not," he said. "My mind was made up when I got back to New York. There's nothing for me to do around here."

"What do you mean, nothing to do?" Johnny asked. "You got a job here working for me."

"An errand boy could do the work for a lot less than you're payin' me," Rocco said scornfully.

Johnny was silent. He looked at Rocco for a minute. Rock was right, but he hadn't thought of it in just that way. He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered them to Rock silently. Rock took one and put it in his mouth. Johnny struck a match and held it for him, then lighted his own. He was suddenly ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry, Rock, I didn't think it was like that. I should've known better," he admitted. "Name the job you want. Any job. It's yours."

Rock looked down at him. Johnny was right. He hadn't known how it was, he really couldn't know. There really wasn't anything bad about Johnny. He just thought the picture business was the only thing in the world. He began to feel sorry for him. "I got the job I want," he said softly.

"In a barber shop?" Johnny asked unbelievingly.

"In a barber shop," Rocco repeated.

"Wait a minute," Johnny said, getting to his feet and walking around the desk. "You don't mean that."

Rocco smiled at him. The guy just didn't believe that anyone could like barbering better than the picture business. "I do mean it."

Johnny stared at him. He really meant it. "Well then," he said, "why don't you at least open a place of your own?"

"Maybe I will some day," Rocco answered slowly.

Johnny looked at him. He thought he saw a way to repay Rock for all he had done. "I can put up the dough," he suggested. "You can do it now if you want."

Rocco looked at Jane and smiled; then he turned back to Johnny. The guy really meant well. "It isn't the dough, Johnny," he explained. "I got enough to do it if I want. I didn't spend a cent of my own since I been with you, an' I got over fifteen thou in the sock. I just don't want to right now."

There was a look of distress on Johnny's face. "Then isn't there anything I can do?" he asked helplessly.

"No," Rocco answered slowly.

Johnny looked from one to the other. He seemed to slump somehow. Tired lines sprang suddenly into his face. "I'm sorry I loused things up, Rock," he said in a low voice.

Rocco looked at him pityingly. "It wasn't all your fault, Johnny," he said. "I only want there should be no hard feelin's between us over this." He held out his hand.

"I haven't any," Johnny replied in the same low voice. "I only feel I owe you a great deal that I can't repay." He took Rocco's hand. "Thanks for what you've done, Rock."

Rock was embarra.s.sed. "You don't owe me nuthin', Johnny." He tried to joke. "Just get your haircuts by me, that's all I ask."

Johnny tried to smile. "Yeah, Rock, I'll do that."

They looked at each other uncomfortably, neither knowing what to say next. This time it was Rocco who broke the silence. "Is it okay if I take Janey home? We got some things to talk about."

Johnny smiled wanly. "You don't have to ask that," he replied. "You know it's okay."

He leaned against the desk and watched them walk to the door. At the door they turned to him. "Good night, Johnny," they said almost together.

"Good night," he answered, and watched the door close behind them. He stood there in the office thinking. He felt strangely alone. Suddenly he wished Dulcie were there.

He walked around the desk to his phone. He half picked it up, then looked at his watch. It was nine thirty. That made it six thirty at the studio. She would still be working. He knew they were working late that night to make time. She wouldn't be home until eleven. He put the phone down slowly. He would call her from the apartment later. He felt drained and empty. There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he stared down at his desk. He would feel better when he spoke to Dulcie.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. The doorman stepped forward and opened the door.

"Don't be late tomorrow, Dulcie." Von Elster smiled. "Ve got some important scenes to rehea.r.s.e before ve can get down to business."

Dulcie looked at him and smiled. This funny little man had a charm all his own in spite of the way he looked. Maybe it was because he was an artist and really knew his business. She was suddenly curious about him. "It's early, Conrad," she said. "Why don't you come upstairs and have a drink? That way we can go over it tonight and we'll be that much ahead tomorrow."

Von Elster looked at her in surprise. He wondered what she meant by her invitation. He knew what such invitations usually meant, but in this case he was doubtful. After all, she was a newlywed, and her husband was young, attractive, and rich, but he was willing to explore the possibilities. If he was wrong-mentally he shrugged his shoulders-at least they would gain some time for tomorrow, as she pointed out. "A good idea," he said.

He raised his eyebrow when he followed her into the suite. A table was set with places for two. Next to the table was a small wagon with a ca.s.serole tray on it. There was a flame under the ca.s.serole.

"There's liquor in the cabinet over there," she said, pointing to the wall. "Help yourself to a drink. I must get out of these clothes and take a shower. I'm simply dying, it's been so hot under those lights all day."

He bowed politely after her as she left the room; then he turned to the liquor cabinet. He opened the door. A row of bottles looked out at him. He took one down and opened it. He sniffed at the neck of the bottle. This was real schnapps, like in the old country. The liquor they got here with this silly prohibition business was awful. He would have to find out who their bootlegger was. He poured a drink into a small gla.s.s and tasted it. Ach, goot! He swallowed it and poured himself another. The sound of water running came to him through the closed doors. It was oddly exciting. Quickly he downed his second drink and refilled his gla.s.s.

She came back into the room less than fifteen minutes later. "I wasn't too long, was I?" she asked, smiling.

He struggled to his feet from the comfortable chair he had been sitting in. His face was flushed with the five drinks resting comfortably in his stomach. He bowed to her. "No, Dulcie, not long at all."

He straightened up and suddenly he was staring. Gott in Himmel! She had nothing on under that negligee she was wearing! Her body seemed to be glowing underneath the diaphanous peach-colored silk. She was beautiful, positively beautiful.

She seemed unaware that he was staring at her. "Stay where you are," she said. "I'll bring something to eat over to you." She filled two plates with some food from the ca.s.serole and took two napkins from the table and carried them over to him.

She gave him one plate and pulled up a ha.s.sock in front of his chair and sat down on it, looking innocently up at him. "Now we can talk," she said prettily. She looked almost like a little girl with her long, blond hair tied behind her head with a thin blue ribbon.

He looked at her. Maybe she wasn't aware that the neck of her negligee had parted slightly when she sat down and he could see into it. He leaned forward and looked down at her. "You know, you're a very beautiful woman, Dulcie," he said, "ant a dangerous one, too."

Her laughter tinkled in the room. "Am I, Conrad?"

"Yes." He nodded solemnly. "Maybe the most dangerous woman I haff ever met." He put his plate down carefully on the floor and placed his hands on her shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed her chastely on the forehead. "You make fires to start burning inside men."

He looked down at her to see the effect of his words. He was surprised to see that the touch of his hands had caused the negligee to slip from her shoulders, revealing her body naked to the waist. He was even more surprised by her answer.

"Is that all the fire I start in you, Conrad?" she asked demurely, a look of daring on her face.

Johnny looked at the clock. It was time for the call to go through, she would be home now. The phone rang. He picked it up. "h.e.l.lo."

"This is the long-distance operator," a voice answered. "I have your California call for you. Go ahead, please."

"h.e.l.lo, Johnny!" It was Dulcie's voice now. She sounded pleased and excitedly breathless.

"Dulcie," he said, "how are you, darling?"

"Oh, Johnny, honey," she said, "I'm so glad you called. I miss you."

"I miss you too, darling. Everything going all right?"

"Just fine," she answered. "But I wish you were here."

He laughed happily. "That's the picture business, darling. You never know what's going to happen next. How's the picture coming along?"

"All right, I guess. But I wish I hadn't started it. I'm working so hard and I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open when I get home." He could hear her yawn over the phone.

A wave of sympathy for her ran through him. Poor kid, she hadn't known what she was asking for. Picture-making was hectic and exhausting work at its best. "Look, honey, I won't keep you up, then. You got to get your rest so you can look pretty for the camera in the morning. I just wanted to hear your voice, I felt so lonely."

"Don't hang up, Johnny." She seemed to be pleading. "I want to talk to you."

He laughed. Sometimes you had to be firm with her. "Now look," he said with mock sternness, "we'll have the rest of our lives to talk. Tonight you're gonna get some sleep."

"All right, Johnny." Her voice was filled with surrender to his masculine a.s.sertiveness.

"I love you, Dulcie."

"I love you too, Johnny," she answered.

"Good night, darling," he said tenderly.

"Good night, Johnny."

He hung the receiver back on the hook and stretched out on the bed. He smiled at her picture. It was a few minutes before he realized he hadn't told her about Rocco. That was what he had wanted to talk to her about. Slowly the empty feeling seemed to creep back into him.

Von Elster watched her put down the phone. "Too bad he won't let you stay in pictures. Some day when they will have talking pictures you will be even more wonderful an actress."

She looked at him, a wise and knowing look on her face. "Who said he wouldn't let me stay in pictures?" she asked softly.

He looked at her for a moment, then he raised her hand to his lips. "Forgive me, Dulcie," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "You are a greater actress even than I thought."

She looked over his head. Her eyes grew dark and thoughtful. It was easy to fool Johnny now, he was so in love with her. She felt a twinge of conscience and shook her head. Why should it bother her?

She had never loved him and had married him for only one reason. He was getting what he wanted, she held nothing back from him. It was only fair that she should get what she wanted.

She knew deep inside her that she would never be satisfied with one man. There was a constant driving inside her, challenging her. She would only be happy when every man in the world could see her and want her. She smiled to herself.

Soon every man would. When her picture came out.

AFTERMATH.

1938.

FRIDAY.

It was the kind of day I should've stayed in bed. Nothing went right. And there was nothing I could do about it. Fridays just weren't my days.

It started in the morning when I got to Peter's house. They wouldn't let me in to see him. His temperature had gone up and the doctor had forbidden visitors.

I talked awhile to Doris and Esther and tried to cheer them up a little. I don't know whether I was convincing enough for them, but I do know that the more I talked, the more depressed I grew.

It was an intangible sort of feeling. It started off small, a little foreboding deep inside you. Then it seemed to grow larger like a black cloud moving in from the distance on a rainy day. At first you shrug it off, pay no attention to it. It isn't going to bother you, it isn't even coming your way. And then suddenly it's pouring. That was the way it was with me.

I paid little attention to it when I left their house for the studio, but when I got to my office, I knew I had it. I was caught in the midst of a downpour with no shelter in sight and everything was all bollixed up from there on out.

I had spent more time at Peter's house than I had expected, so I got to the studio after lunch. It was about two o'clock when I looked down at my desk and saw Larry's note.

"Call me when you get in," it read. It was signed by Larry.

I had the strangest impulse to leave the office and go home and put off seeing him until Monday, but I didn't. Instead I pressed down the interoffice communicator and he answered.

"Stan and I would like to see you when you have a few minutes," he said, the intercom giving his voice a queer metallic ring.

I hesitated a moment. "Come on in now," I told him.

"Good," he replied. "We'll be right in."

I sat down in my chair and wondered what he wanted. I didn't have to wait long to find out. The door opened and he ushered Farber into my office.

I lit a cigarette. "Have a chair, boys," I said more cheerfully than I felt. "What's on your mind?"

Ronsen came right to the point. The words came from his lips and Farber's mind. "I've decided to call a special meeting of the board for next Wednesday in New York. I think we ought to clarify Stan's position without delay."

I was still smiling. "Sounds all right to me," I agreed readily. "What do you have in mind to clarify?"

"For one thing," Ronsen said uncomfortably, "I think we ought to do something about creating a definite post for Dave. He's been on the lot for several months now and he's neither fish nor fowl. His responsibilities should be clearly designated. The way it stands now, n.o.body knows just what he's supposed to do."

"I have a good idea what to do with him," I murmured gently. "But I don't suppose it will coincide with yours."