Serenade - James M. Cain [47]
"I'm afraid twelve fifty won't do, Mr. Gold."
"Why not?"
"I prefer to work by the picture."
"O.K., then. Let's see, this is on a six-week shooting schedule, that'll make seven and half for the picture. I'll have new contracts drawn up this afternoon with corresponding options."
"I'm afraid that won't do either."
"What the hell are you getting at?"
"I want fifty thousand for the picture, with no options. I want to work, but I want every picture a separate deal. For this one, fifty thousand. When we see how that goes, we'll talk again."
"Talk like you had good sense."
"Listen, I've been out here a little while now, I know what you pay, and fifty thousand is the price. Very low it is, too, but as you say, I'm new here, and I've got to be reasonable."
London left, talking over his shoulder as he went. "Stop work on the sets. I'll wait for Thomas. If I can't get him I'll take Tibbett, and if I can't get him I'll put an actor in and dub the sound. But I'll be goddamned if I'm paying fifty grand to this punk."
"Well, you heard him, Mr. Sharp. He's the producer. Fifty thousand is out of the question. We might up that seven and a half to ten, but that would be top. The picture can't stand it, Mr. Sharp. After all, we know what our productions cost."
"I heard him, and now in case you didn't hear me, I'll say it over again. The price is fifty thousand. Now beginning tomorrow I'm taking a little rest. I've been working hard, and I'm tired. But one week from today, if I don't hear from you, I'm taking the plane for New York. I've got plenty of work waiting for me there, and get this: I'm not just talking. I'm going."
"I hate to see you be so foolish."
"Fifty, or I go."
"Why--pictures could make you rich. And you can't get away with this. You're trying to put one over on us. You'll be blackballed all over Hollywood. No studio will have you."
"To hell with that. Fifty or I don't work."
"Oh, to hell with it, hey? I'll goddam well see that you don't work in Hollywood. We'll see if a lousy ham actor can put one like that over on Rex Gold."
"Sit down."
He sat, and he sat pretty quick. "Once more. Fifty or I'm going to New York. You got a week."
"Get out of my office."
"On my way."
I had bought a little car by then, and every day we would start out early for the beach or some place, and every day when we got back, around one o'clock, so she could take her siesta, there would be a memo to call Mr. Ziskin, or Mr. London, or somebody. I never called. Around five o'clock they would call again, and it would turn out that if I would go over and apologize to Mr. Gold, there might be an adjustment on the price, say up to fifteen thousand or something like that. I did like hell go over and apologize. I said I had done nothing to apologize for, and the price was still fifty thousand. Somewhere around the fifth day they got up to twenty-five. We were at the Burbank airport, going out to the plane, before they came around. A guy ran up, waving signed contracts. I looked them over. They said fifty thousand, but called for three pictures, one each at that price. I thought fast, and said if they'd pay for my tickets it was all right. He snatched them out of my hand before I even finished. Next day I went into Gold's office and said I heard he wanted to apologize. He took that for a gag and we shook hands.
All that time I was making "Woolies," I hardly saw her at all. By the time I got in from the lot, around seven or eight o'clock, she would be gone to night school. I'd eat dinner alone, then go and get her,