She didn't answer. She picked up a cigarette from the tray in front of her and lit it slowly.

He stood there watching her. Her face was calm and impa.s.sive. He gave in suddenly. "Oh, all right Dulcie," he said at last. "Come on."

The face she turned toward him was radiant with triumph.

He could see the surprised look on all faces when he helped her from the car and they walked on the set. He could hear the sudden excited buzz of the voices as they walked past. "Let them talk," he thought angrily, but all the same he was glad when he could get her off the set and back to his office.

He shut the door and looked at her. "Now are you satisfied?" he asked, as near to anger with her as he'd ever come.

There was a satisfied look on her face. Peter had said she would never set foot in his studio again, and look who had brought her in! She walked to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Yes, darling," she answered contentedly, "I'm satisfied."

He looked at her. A strange admiration came into his eyes. One thing you could say for her, she had guts all right. Not many people had the nerve to go where they were not wanted and ignore what went on around them. He smiled slowly. He put his arms around her and kissed her. "There's something mad about you, baby, but I like it. You're my kind of woman!"

He watched her walk toward the door slowly. She walked like a panther, slowly and easily, her magnificent body saying more than words.

"Call me tonight?" her husky voice came back to him over her shoulder.

He was about to answer her when the door opened suddenly. Doris and Johnny were standing there. They came partly into the room and stopped, looking at them.

Dulcie looked at Doris and Johnny and then back at Mark. A slow smile came to her lips. She walked past them slowly. Her hand went out and patted Johnny's cheek gently. "Don't let me interrupt anything, darling," she said in a low, husky voice. "I was just leaving anyway."

6.

The crickets were chirping in the gra.s.s on the side of the hill. The night was dark and the moonlight sparkled iridescently in the rippling waters of the pool beside which they were sitting. They had been quiet for a long time, the silence between them heavy and somber with thought.

Her eyes were questioning in the darkness. "Johnny, what are you going to do?"

He shook his head slowly. He didn't know what he was going to do, he didn't know what he could do. It had turned out to be much worse than he had thought it could be. Over a million and a half of the two million ticketed for the production of six pictures had gone into United We Stand.

"You're not going to tell Papa," she said. "It would-" She left the unfinished sentence hanging expressively in the air.

He looked at her. Her face was tense and worried. His voice was low, hesitant. "I don't want to tell him," he said slowly, "but I'm afraid not to. We're pretty low on cash and there's not enough left to make those pictures with."

"But, Johnny," she cried out impulsively, "it would break his heart. He had such faith in Mark."

He smiled bitterly. That was the trouble. If Peter hadn't gone off half-c.o.c.ked and let Gordon quit they wouldn't be in the pickle they were in now. He was suddenly tired of running interference for his mistakes. He leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes wearily. He might be tired of it, but a sense of duty kept tugging at a corner of his mind. He couldn't let Peter down. Peter had gone all the way down the line for him every time, personally as well as in business. No, he couldn't stop now. There were too many years behind them.

His face turned away from her. "I know," he said quietly. "Why do you think I'm sitting here trying to find a way out?"

She moved closer to him, her arm slipped through his. "You know I like you," she whispered.

He turned his head and looked down at her. Her face was calm and her eyes warm and trusting. He put an arm around her shoulders. "I can't imagine why," he said, a faint note of amus.e.m.e.nt coming into his voice.

She looked into his eyes seriously. "There's a strength inside you, Johnny, that people can feel and trust." Her voice was low and thoughtful. "They feel they can trust you and rely on you and draw some of that strength into themselves. Like Papa has."

He turned his face away again and looked down the hill. He didn't want her to see the sudden doubt that had sprung into his eyes. He wanted to believe she was right, but he couldn't. He was afraid of too many things himself.

As when he had first seen Dulcie in Mark's office that afternoon. He had trembled suddenly. He was afraid to talk to her because he did not know what he might say. And when she had touched his cheek. It had been a hot flame running through his flesh to his brain. A strange recollection of long nights and pa.s.sionate whispers. Even now he could still feel the touch of her hand on his cheek. Would he ever stop remembering?

"I wish you were right," he said bitterly.

Her hand turned his face back to her. Her eyes were deep pools of understanding. "I know I'm right, Johnny."

They were silent again and she was thinking. It was Dulcie that had made him feel as he did. The thought of her sent a sharp pain through Doris's breast. The pain was for his suffering, his tortuous memories, not for herself. Could she ever make him forget all that had gone before? Maybe she could, maybe she couldn't. She didn't know. She only knew that she loved him. She had always loved him. Her hand crept into his palm, it was warm and soft in there. She would try to mend the pain in him. It was like mending a Chinese vase smashed to bits on the floor. It might be difficult at first, but with patience-and time-it could be done.

"Maybe I could raise some money, enough to complete the other pictures, and throw it back in there without your father knowing about it." His voice was speculative. He was thinking aloud.

"Where would you get that much money, Johnny?" she asked, her eyes suddenly lighting up. "Oh, Johnny, if you only could!"

He looked down at her. "I could sell my stock," he said.

"Johnny, you wouldn't do that?" Her voice was shocked. "Why, you've worked all your life for it."

He tried to smile. "So what?" he asked. "I can buy it back when things get straightened out. It's the only way I can see that might work."

"But what if you can't get it back?" she asked him. "Then you've lost everything."

Something inside him knew he would never get it back. Once it was gone, it was finished, that was all there was to it. A slow smile came to his lips. His heart began to hammer inside him and the words came from his lips before he knew he was saying them. "You wouldn't mind marrying a poor man, would you, sweetheart?"

She looked up at him in surprise. For a moment she sat very still, then tears began to rush into her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Oh, Johnny!" She was half laughing, half crying. "I'd marry you no matter what! I love you, darling!"

He held her very close and closed his eyes. This was what a man really lived for, to hear things like these.

Mark sat in his room nervously looking at the telephone. He glanced at his watch. Two thirty a.m. A warm breeze came in through the open window, rustling the drapes. He went over to it and shut it quietly. Through the window he could see the dim figures of Johnny and Doris seated near the pool. "d.a.m.n them!" he thought angrily.

He went back into the room and turned off the light. He didn't want them to know he was still awake. He sat down near the phone and lit another cigarette. Why didn't that d.a.m.n call go through? It must be eleven in the morning in Paris. Peter should be in the office there at that time.

The phone began to ring. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up quickly, his heart pounding. It had sounded like a fire alarm in the quiet night. He was silent for a moment before he answered it. He hoped that its ring hadn't been overheard. At last he spoke into it in a quiet voice. "h.e.l.lo."

The operator's voice was slightly nasal. "Mr. Mark Kessler?"

"Speaking," he answered.

"I have your Paris call for you," she said tonelessly. "Go ahead, please."

"h.e.l.lo, Papa?" he asked nervously.

His father's voice was excited. "Mark, what's the matter? Is Mamma all right?"

"Mamma's all right, there's nothing the matter with the family," he said quickly.

He heard his father's sudden sigh of relief. "You scared me."

He put his cigarette in the tray near the phone, where it smoldered slowly. He hesitated a moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was calm again. "I didn't mean to, Pa," he said slowly. "I just wanted to talk to you on business."

Peter's voice was alert. "So go ahead and talk," he said. "But at almost twenty dollars a minute, be quick about it."

His eyes glowed in the dark. There was a trace of cunning in his voice that his father didn't recognize. "I called about Johnny, Pa," he said.

"Johnny?" Peter asked in a puzzled voice. "What's wrong?"

"He came out to the studio today and raised h.e.l.l here. I think there's something on his mind."

"What did he say?" Peter asked.

"It was nothing in particular, but he complained about everything in general. He didn't like the way the pictures were coming through. He's insisting that we finish United We Stand before anything else," Mark told him.

Peter laughed. "Don't get upset, Mark. You'll have to get used to it. New York is always telling us what to do. You just ignore them, that's all."

"But Johnny is insisting on it," Mark repeated.

"Did you ask him why?" Peter asked.

"I did, but he wouldn't give me a straight answer. I can't figure it out. He's been acting very strange lately."

Peter was silent for a moment, then his voice came through the phone again. "Maybe he's got a good reason. Johnny's a very smart boy."

"Then why won't he tell me?"

"Johnny's like that sometimes. He gets stubborn. Don't worry about it, though. You make the pictures and stop worrying. I'll talk to him when I get back." Peter's voice was rea.s.suring.

"I don't know," Mark persisted doubtfully. "He's acting awfully funny. I overheard him talking on the phone today to Bob Gordon over at Borden's. He was laughing at something that Bob must have said. Then he said: 'You can't tell what will happen, Bob, maybe we'll be working together again, sooner than you think.'"

Peter's voice was puzzled again. "I don't understand that."

"I don't either," Mark said quickly, "but that plus the way he's been acting made me think I ought to call you." He hesitated a moment. Might as well go the whole hog, he thought. "Don't forget what we're up against, Pa," he added meaningly. "And when you scratch 'em deep enough, there isn't a one of them that really likes us. They're all the same."

Peter's voice was doubtful. "Johnny isn't like that," he said.

Mark smiled to himself as he heard the doubt in his father's voice. "I'm not saying he is, Pa, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

Peter's voice was still unsure. "That's right, Mark," he said slowly. "We got to be careful."

"That's why I called you," Mark said. "I wanted your opinion on it."

Peter's voice was hesitant. "You go ahead with your work," he said. "We'll talk about it again when I get back."

"All right, Pa." Mark's voice was very deferential. "How are you feeling?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"Fine," Peter answered, his voice belying his words. Mark could tell that he was still thinking about what he had just heard.

"That's good, Pa," he said. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," his father answered absently.

"Good-by, Pa," Mark said. He heard his father's reply and then hung up the phone. He lit another cigarette and sat there motionlessly for a minute. Then he got out of his seat and walked to the window and looked out.

In the dark he could see Johnny and Doris walking up the path to the house hand in hand. He smiled again to himself. He'd take care of Johnny. The smile faded from his lips. And Doris too.

7.

Vittorio Guido slowly lumbered to his feet. He was a big man and moved heavily. He held his hand out, unsmiling. "h.e.l.lo, Johnny," he said with an attempt at geniality that merely served to emphasize the lack of warmth in his voice.

Johnny took his hand and shook it. "Vic, how are you?" he asked.

Vittorio nodded his head. "Good," he said slowly.

"And Al?" Johnny asked.

Vittorio looked at him. He wondered why Johnny had come to his office. He knew it wasn't a social call, they didn't like each other that much. "Al's all right considering his age," he said portentously. "The doc wants him to take it easy and stay on the ranch." He picked up a box of cigars on the desk and offered it to Johnny. Johnny shook his head. He took one from the box. "Sit down, Johnny," he said, lighting up. He watched Johnny.

Johnny remained standing. Vic didn't like him. He knew it. If only Al were here, things would be different. There would be a warmth in the air that was lacking now. Slowly he sat down opposite Vic.

The cigar was exuding small clouds of smoke. A smile crossed Vic's face. "What's on your mind, Johnny?" he asked. Almost as quickly as the words pa.s.sed his lips, he wished he hadn't asked them. He had wanted to make Johnny come to him, but his curiosity had got the better of him.

"I need money, Vic," Johnny said reluctantly. He didn't want to talk to Vic about it either, but he had no choice.

Vic leaned back in his chair and half-closed his eyes. He studied Johnny. There was a faint veiled contempt behind the half-closed eyelids. These picture people were all alike. They couldn't manage their own money. It wasn't that they didn't make enough either. No matter how much they made, sooner or later they would come to him. "How much?" he asked.

Johnny looked at him. The sum came reluctantly to his lips. He could see what Vic was thinking. "A million dollars," he said.

Vic didn't answer. He sat there quietly thinking. He blew some smoke through pursed lips and regarded it satisfactorily. He was right. Johnny was no better than the rest, no matter what Al said about him. At last he looked at Johnny. "What do you need the money for?" he asked.

Johnny shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Vic didn't make it easy to talk to him. "I want to buy a half interest in a picture we're making out there, United We Stand."

Vic's eyes were still half-closed. He had heard about that picture. Mark Kessler's folly, they were calling it in Hollywood. It had been rumored that the picture would cost in excess of two million dollars. Suddenly he wondered why Johnny wanted to buy half of it. From what he had heard, it was a stiff. Besides, his accountant's mind told him, Magnum couldn't even hope to break even on a two-million-dollar picture. Their grosses weren't big enough. His voice was expressionless. "You know our policy on pictures like those, Johnny," he said quietly. "Magnum owes us two million dollars and we can't make cross-loans against their pictures."

"c.r.a.p!" Johnny thought angrily. Vic could do whatever he wanted. He just didn't want to lend him the money. "Is there any other way I could get the money, then?" he asked, his voice revealing none of his inner thoughts.

Vic looked at him with new interest. Something really important must be going on out at Magnum if Johnny persisted in his attempt to get money. "Have you anything else to offer as collateral?" he asked cautiously.