Fancies and Goodnights

PICTURES IN THE FIRE

Dreaming of money as I lay half asleep on the Malibu sand, a desolate cry reached me from out of the middle air. It was nothing but a gull, visible only as a burning, floating flake of white in the hot, colourless sky, but wings and whiteness and a certain deep pessimism in the croak it uttered made me think it might be my guardian angel.

Next moment, from the dank interior of the beach house, the black telephone raised its beguiling voice, and I obeyed. It was, of course, my agent.

«Charles, I've made a date for you. For dinner tonight. Have you ever heard of a man called Mahound?»

«A Turk?»

«He could be a Turk.»

«Never.»

«I'll be honest with you, Charles, neither had I. But, believe me, he's solid. Money, new ideas, wonderful organizing power — everything.»

«What does he want from me?»

«Everything.»

«It seems almost superfluous.»

«Look, Charles, this guy wants to make pictures. Pictures have to be written, Charles, and they have to be produced. Now this guy …»

«Does he know my wages?»

«I'm trying to tell you, Charles, it'll be more than salary. A lot more.»

«Where, and at what hour?»

On the first stroke of eight, I entered the foyer of the Beverly-Ritz. Precisely on the last stroke, an elevator boy, with an air of triumph, flung back his softly clanging lattice, and disclosed, like a Kohinoor in a casket, a personage of such distinguished bearing that I thought for a moment he must be a dummy, put there to lend tone to the hotel. I was wrong. He inhaled the smoke of a cigar of surpassing diameter; he swept a dark and flashing glance over the squalid congregation in the foyer; this glance came to rest on my hair, which I arrange in an unaffected style. He knew me. I knew him. «Mr. Rythym, this is very, very good of you. You have come all the way up from Malibu.»

«Yes. Why do things by halves?»

«An excellent principle, Mr. Rythym. I have impressed it on my chef, who travels with me. If you'll come up to my little suite here, you shall tell me if I've been successful»

He fell silent as we entered his suite, awaiting my cry of surprise and admiration. It was with some difficulty that I repressed it. I was enchanted to hear him say, with the faintest discernible chagrin in his voice, «I hope this sort of decoration is not distasteful to you?»

«Not in the least. I like the baroque; I admire Titian.»

«I confess I like my comfort. I like to travel with my own things. I had some little architectural changes made also.»

«Excellent taste, if I may say so, and excellent judgment!»

He knew that I was impressed, but I knew that he wished to impress me. This made us even, except of course that he still had the money.

«I shall put that compliment to the test,» said he. «Win you trust my taste so far as to let me give you a completely new cocktail?»

«I look forward to an important experience. How pleasant to talk like this! Which, of us started it? I feel that at any moment we may exchange bows.»

The new cocktail was a sizable affair, with something of the cloudy opalescence of absinthe, and one of those vague but fiery flavours — memories, regrets, contempt for regrets. I swallowed the first; the second swallowed me; I emerged, rather larger and greedier than life, in the midst of a banquet and a conversation. «Have a little more wine, Mr. Rythym. As I was saying, I should like to be like the recognized leader of a revived and superior film industry.»

«All you need is money, and, of course, talent»

«You are with me then?»

«My agent permitting. A sordid soul, I must warn you!»

«He is to join us later this evening. I think I can talk to him in a language he will understand. Have a little brandy, Mr. Rythym. We'll drink to a long and happy association.»

Next day, I visited Joe's offices at an early hour. Our eyebrows waved like the antennae of encountering ants. «Well, Joe? Did I sign something last night?»

«Think of a number,» said he.

«Come on, I've been thinking of it all night.»

«Multiply it by five,» said he, smiling.

«Impossible! I'm not Einstein.»

«Here's the contract, Charles. See for yourself.»

«What a lot of pages! Hey! Here's rather a long string of options!»

«Well, like you said last night — 'For all eternity, at that figure!'»

«Joe, I'd like to read this contract over with you, word by word.»

«Sorry,» said Joe. «I've got another client waiting. Did you notice her?»

«I saw, I must admit, what seemed like a patch of sunlight in your ante-room.»

«That was Miss Belinda Windhover from England. Take another look as you go out»

«Before I do that, Joe, tell me some more about that fellow Mahound.»

«Well,» said my agent, hedging a little, «what did you think of him yourself?»

«Seems to have been everywhere.»

«He certainly does.»

«Knows everybody.»

«He seems to, indeed.»

«Amazing eyes, Joe.»

«Yes, Charles, quite extraordinary.»

«Anyway,» said I, «he seems to have pots of money.»

«Rich as the … Rich as Croesus,» cried Joe, at once becoming his sunny self again.

«He must be older than he seems, Joe. He described an incident in the Boer War.»

«Did he, indeed? Ha! Ha! I thought you were going to say the Crusades.»

«What's that? He didn't describe an incident in the Crusades?»

«He did, though, to me. Of course, people say anything to an agent»

«Joe, does this Mahound remind you of anybody? Is his name in any way familiar?»

«I never could fit a name to a face, Charles. But I'll swear I've never seen him before.»

«No, but frankly, Joe,» said I uneasily, «who do you think he is?»

«It's not my business, old chap, to think who people are. That would never do. My job is to sell a client»

«You've sold me, Joe. Damned if you haven't! Damned anyway! Hell!»

«Look here, old boy. You don't want to get temperamental. After all, it's pictures. Think of the people I've sold you to in the past»

«Yes, Joe. But these damned options. You didn't really give him options on me for all eternity?»

«Well, it's just a phrase.»

«A phrase! Oh, boy!»

«After all, he's a wonderful organizer. I bet he'll get some amazing effects, too. You work well with him, Rythym, and you've got a blazing future.»

«Joe, this contract's got to be bust. I'm out»

«Sorry, old chap, it's cast-iron. Besides, think of the money. Think of me. An agent needs his percentage, Charles. Anyway, he may not be what you suppose. You're a writer, a dreamer; you've got to remember this is the twentieth century. Maybe he's just some old guy who found out monkey-glands in the Crusades or somewhere.»

«With those ears?»

«Maybe he was a money lender in those days. Maybe he got 'em clipped a bit.»

«Those nails?»

«Look, Rythym, you don't want to start being satirical. I know what producers are. I'm a man of taste, same as yourself. All the same, this is the industry, you know. I do a lot of business with these fellows. I can't go picking 'em to pieces just for a laugh.»

«Joe, I think I'm going to walk about the streets a bit»

«That's the stuff. I knew you'd shape up to it. God! I'd give the world to undo it, Charles. I just made a fool mistake.»

I went out, passing Miss Belinda Windhover on the way. She looked like an angel. What was that to me? That evening I called again at the Beverly-Ritz, and this time I was shown up to Mr. Mahound's suite. His dressing jacket was stupendous.

«Mr. Mahound, were you by any chance at the Crusades?»

«Mr. Rythym, that was a very interesting assignment»

«It makes you rather old, doesn't it?»

«Well, one's as old as one feels. I feel devilish young today, my dear Rythym. To be in the Beverly-Ritz Hotel, signing up talent, about to re-create the American Film Industry!»

«Avaunt!»

«My dear fellow! This is the twentieth century.»

«Well then, clear off!»

«Have a cigar.»

«Listen. I'm a tough customer.»

«So am I. Which reminds me: I thought we might do a new version of Jekyll and Hyde. I could play the lead. Watch!»

«Phew!»

«Queen! Everyone hates seeing me like that. There was a saint I once looked in on. She said she'd rather spend the rest of her life on red-hot needles than see me like that for one second. Flattering, in a way. But don't you worry, Rythym, you and I are going to get along like blazes.»

«Yes! Yes, indeed! Stay as you are now, that's all I see that I'm in for it. I'll do anything you like.»

«That's what I like about writers. Well, now, what are we going to do about making films?»

«Take a friendly word of advice. You don't want to make pictures. It's nothing but worry. Besides, you'll get mixed up with a lot of actors.»

«I have always found the players very congenial.»

«I guess you've been rather out of things recently. You haven't seen some of our stars.»

«My dear Rythym, forgive me, but I'm supposed to have rather a good way with people. As for the worry — pooh! I've been a top executive in one of the biggest organizations in existence. Nothing but grumbling and complaints! Now I've retired, and I mean to enjoy myself.»

«Well, why not sit back?» said I. «Sit back and take it easy?»

«You should see my throne! No, my dear fellow, I'm crazy to start in making pictures. You concentrate on finding a story. I'll stay here to interview the press. And, by the way, there's someone coming here to see me soon. Your excellent agent found her for me. A clean English girl. Fresh! Unspoiled!»

«I know that sort»

«I think not, Rythym. She's a mere child! I'm going to groom her for stardom. In fact, she may be here already.» He rang a bell. «Has a Miss Windhover arrived?»

«Yes, sir. She's waiting.»

«Show her in.»

In a moment Miss Windhover had entered, again like a patch of sunshine, outdoing the costly electric glare.

«Oh, Mr. Mahound. I … I … I …»

He patted her hand reassuringly. «Now, now, my dear! Not nervous, surely? Always remember that you have talent, the thing that money can't buy. Remember that. It will give you poise. Miss Marlene Dietrich has poise. I want you to have poise, too.»

«If you knew what it's been like, Mr. Mahound. The struggle for small parts. The cheap boarding-houses. And Daddy's been so cross. And Mummy cries. Why are one's people always such snobs? They're dears, of course, old-fashioned dears. Why are one's people always so old-fashioned?»

«There, there, my dear. It's all over now. Think of the big lights. Wealth! Fame! Parties in Beverly Hills!»

«And my art!»

«Yes. Yes. Your art.»

«It comes first. And, of course, doggies.»

«Yes, indeed. My dear Rythym, Miss Windhover loves dogs. Could you, possibly… ?»

Not too pleased, I took the telephone and called Room Service.

«Some dogs. For Miss Belinda Windhover.»

«Sorry, sir. Pet-shops all shut by now.»

«Do you call this service? Are there none in the hotel?»

«Only Myra de Falla's.»

«She's slipping. Send 'em up.»

The page soon arrived with two Borzois, four Scotties, and a pug. Belinda Windhover was delighted. «Oh, doggies!»

«See how she kisses them, my dear Rythym. You think she will make a star?»

«Listen, Mahound, I can see you're going to spoil that girl.»

«Nonsense. I flatter myself I have a way with people. I want you to take her out, study her psychology, write her a big part.»

«Let her study the part. To hell with her psychology!»

«Oh, come, my dear Rythym!»

«I won't,» said I. «That's flat.»

«Well! Well! I say, just look at this parquet floor. One of the blocks is loose.»

As I looked, he dislodged a block with his toe. The effect was extraordinary. I seemed to be looking down to an infinite depth, at a vast number of highly animated figures in a flame-coloured setting. Mr. Mahound edged the block into place again, and the vision was gone.

«Phew!»

«What did you say, my dear Rythym?»

«I said, 'yes.'»

«You will spend the evening with Miss Windhover?»

«Yes.»

«And explore her psychology?»

«Yes.»

«Ah, here are the reporters! Come in, gentlemen! Come to. I want you all to meet Miss Belinda Windhover. She gave up a refined home for her art. Write it down.»

«OK. We know it. Old-fashioned parents.»

«Well, take a photograph. Here she is, being groomed for stardom in Mahound Pictures Incorporated. Here are her beloved dogs.»

«O.K. We know them. Hallo, Mirza! Hallo, Bobbles! Remember when Nancy North had 'em, boys?»

«She's slipped.»

«And Lucille Lacey. She was always took with the pug.»

«She's slipped, too.»

«Maybe they ain't house-trained. O.K. Frame up. What about this gent?»

«I'm a writer.»

«Fine! You can hold the leg of my tripod. O.K. Shoot Miss Belinda Windhover. And you're Mr. Mahound?»

«I will tell you my intentions with regard to the renascence of the American Film Industry.»

«Sure. Let's get Belinda with the big white dogs. They're class. Where's your sables, Miss Windhover?»

«Sables for Miss Windhover, my dear Rythym.»

«Yes.» Annoyed, I took up the telephone again.

«Sables.»

«Sorry, sir. Can't buy sables at this hour.»

«What sort of joint is this? Are there none in the hotel?»

«Plenty, sir. There's Miss Pauline Powell's.»

«She's slipping. Bring 'em up.»

Soon the photographs were all taken. The pressmen withdrew.

«Now, young people, I'm going to send you off to make friends with one another.»

«Oh, Mr. Mahound, aren't you coming along?» cried Belinda with an arch pout and wiggle.

«Call me Nicholas, my dear. Tonight, alas, I can't be with you. I've a great deal to attend to.»

«But,» said she, «do you think I ought to be seen about with a writer?»

«Mr. Rythym is a very distinguished writer, my dear. What's more, he's my right-hand man.»

«Yes, and I'm going to explore your psychology.»

This cheered the future star a little. «I want to know all about my psychology,» said she as we went down in the elevator. «I'm not going to be an ordinary actress, Mr. Rythym. I'm going to be intellectual. And at the same time I like nothing better than cooking, just simple things, in a simple play-suit. I'm going to ask Clark Gable, and Katharine Hepburn, when I get properly known, and Gary Cooper, and give them little cookies I bake myself.»

«Fine! Stick to that idea. I like it.»

«And you'll tell me all about my psychology?»

«Sure,» said I. «We'll go into it together. Come on.»

Next day, I spent a lot of time with Mr. Mahound. His suite was full of orchids and cablegrams.

«People are getting excited,» said he, rubbing his hands.

«Yes.»

«We're going to do great things.»

«Yes.»

«Now, what about our Belinda? Can you fit a part to her psychology?»

«Yes. I'm sure of it.»

«Did she … talk about me at all last night?»

«She did. She thinks you're the cat's pyjamas.»

«The cat's pyjamas, eh? Rythym, we're going to do great things. Great things! Run along.»

I ran along to the restaurant where I was to meet Belinda. She seemed to have acquired poise overnight

«Mr. Rythym. How do you do?»

«Listen. A film studio is the greatest democracy in the world. You can call me Charlie.»

«Yes. I'm just simple. I like to cook. How's Mr. Mahound?»

«Belinda, he's wild about you.»

«Tell me. Is he one of the really great producers?»

«The biggest of all. He's got all the money in the world.»

«Yes, Charlie. But there's one thing money can't always buy, not in England anyway. Or is that just a thought of my own?»

«You mean talent. I can guess your thoughts, Belinda.»

«Don't do that. You see, my people are old-fashioned. I think I'd like to play Juliet.»

«It's been done.»

«Not as I shall do it. You shall write a new script, specially for me.»

«O.K. We'll modernize it. The Capulet apartment is in a New York skyscraper. Romeo's a young G-man, from Harvard, but disguised as a Yale man in order to outwit the gangsters. Capulet's Harvard, you see. It builds for a reconciliation, a happy end. Romeo's keen on mountain climbing; that builds up for the balcony scene. On a skyscraper, you see. Only his name's not Romeo. It's Don.»

«Isn't that making him different?»

«Well, you know what Shakespeare said, 'Wherefore art thou Romeo?»'

«Juliet said that.»

«Well, anyway, it showed there were doubts.»

«You're right I've only just thought of it. Charlie, you write my thoughts in a book on Shakespeare, and I'll sign it. I don't want to be an ordinary actress.»

«You won't. But let's go and join Mahound. He's wild about you.»

«And he's really one of the very big producers?»

«He is. But, a word in your ear. (God! It's like a shell! A lovely, rosy shell!) I was going to say, remember you've got the talent. Last night you were just a discovery. Today — you are what you are today. You're developing fast. Think in a big way. Don't let anybody cramp your style. Not even Mahound.»

«No. Because of my art. That's sacred.»

«Grand!»

Mr. Mahound, when we entered his suite, took both her hands in his. «What a very, very lovely thing to do, on the part of a very, very lovely lady, to come and see a poor old film man, in his little hide-out in the Beverly-Ritz!»

«Nicky, Charlie's thought me up a part. Juliet, only better.»

«Splendid. Have you anyone in mind for Romeo, my dear Rythym?»

«Oh, some guy.»

«He's got to climb up the face of a skyscraper, Nicky. For me to do the balcony scene, holding a rose.»

«Will your Hollywood leading men manage that, Rythym? They are not all as young as they might be.»

«Sure. They'll climb anywhere. And look, we've got to work in a Joan of Arc touch to build up the part. She's got to save New York.»

«From what?»

«Gangsters. And listen to the pay-off.»

«What's that?»

«Real bullets.»

«Oh, Rythym! Come, come! After all, there are rules to the game, you know. Even I …»

«Hear me out,» I cried. «The part demands it. Doesn't it, Belinda? How's she going to act up, give all she's got, if you let her down on the bullets?»

«I think I ought to have real bullets, Nicky.»

«Of course,» I insisted. «Do you think Theda Bara would have played Cleopatra without a real pearl?»

«Not a real asp, though,» said Mahound, clutching at a straw.

I twitched it away. «Yeah, a real asp, only an old one. With its teeth out. You can use old bullets. Say, you can use old gangsters, and let on they died of heart failure.»

«You sound rather tough all of a sudden, my dear Rythym.»

«Tough? You wait till I get on the set!»

«Perhaps the set will have parquet flooring.»

«Yes, perhaps it will,» said I, despondently. «Perhaps we'll have blank cartridges. Perhaps I'll go out and buy some real pearls instead. Because I'm going to write in a Cleopatra touch, where she comes in rolled up in a carpet»

«Do so, my dear fellow. We've got a writer of talent, Belinda.»

«Charlie's all right, but he gives way so. Please, Nicky, I want real bullets.»

«Listen, folks,» said I. «I'm off to buy those pearls. You talk it over.»

On the way back, I was overcome by misgivings. Had I gone too far? Maybe the pearls were a little vulgar. I thought I'd go to my room and see how they looked with two or three of the largest taken from the middle. As I walked along the corridor the elevator came humming down. Mr. Mahound was in it. He saw me. His lips shaped the words, «She's wonderful!» Then he was gone.

Later on, I went up to his suite. Belinda was there alone, tearing up orchids.

«They look like confetti,» she said. «I find him a leetle … fascinating, your Mr. Mahound.»

I noted her middle-European accent. «You have your bullets, then?»

«Charlie, we're going to have me save the city from a Red Navy. Real shells.»

«That's right, Belinda honey. Nick's a grand guy. He's a white man, Belinda. He's got background. If I were a girl, I'd think a lot of Nick. But don't forget it; you're the one with the talent. Don't let anybody cramp your style. You've got a big future, Belinda. Maybe you think you're in the money. Baby, that's chicken feed to what's coming to you, all so long as you don't get your style cramped.»

«You're right, Charlie. It's my art. It's sacred.»

In the evening I saw Mahound alone. «She's wonderful, Charles! But … I say …»

«Yeah?»

«Did she say anything to you about shells?»

«She said you'd said something to her about shells.»

«Maybe I did. In a moment of emotion. It's tough, Charles. Real shells! There'll be trouble. I don't want to be dragged into court»

«What do you care?»

«I care about my ambitions in pictures. What's more, Charles, I don't like your script. Forgive me, old fellow. It's a grand script, but I don't like it. The fact is, it's too expensive.»

His eyes could not meet mine. I saw that he was ashamed that his millions were not entirely unlimited. I reflected that where vanity of that sort is to be found on one side of a contract there is always hope on the other. I goaded bun. «I thought you had all the money in the world. I thought you were solid. They say 'rich as the devil,' you know.» He couldn't bear to say frankly he was only a devil. He muttered something about a budget being a budget.

«I can do you a western,» said I, sarcastically. «Will you run to a real horse?»

«I've run to a real trap already, my dear Rythym.»

«Maybe you have. Very well, I'll get something on paper.»

Next day I called Belinda early. «Well, lovey, our script's got panned. I'm writing you a little old period piece in a small-town setting. You wear one of those big bonnets that hide the face.»

«Charlie, you don't say so! I want to come in in a carpet, with three big pearls.»

«The pearls are out, ducky. There's an economy ramp on. Listen, even your shells are gone. It's you and a horse.»

«Don't write a word, Charlie. Wait till I've seen Nick.»

After lunch, the telephone summoned me to Mr. Mahound. Belinda was there, flushed and radiant

«Real shells, Charlie!»

«And bells, Charles. Belinda and I are going to be married. Isn't that so, sweetie?»

«Yes, and I'm going to have real shells.»

«Real battle-ships, too,» said I. «How about that for an idea? Let me put 'em in the script. Coming up the Hudson, blazing away! My present to the bride.»

«Do you hear what he says, Nick? Oh, Charlie, you can write! Real battle-ships!»

«I'm afraid Charles is joking, my dear. He likes jokes about blazing away. But you and I — let's talk about our wedding.»

«All right, Nicky. We'll fly to New York. Well go to the Little Church Around the Corner.»

«Did you say the little judge around the corner?»

«No, honey, the Little Church.»

«Not for us, honey. Us for a quiet wedding, in front of a judge.»

«What? Who do you think I am? Your chattel? Your slave? Am I a film star, or not?»

«But a good little wife, too, honey. Remember you're a simple girl. Doggies . . . cookies . . . Her fans want her to be an ideal little wife, don't they, Charles?»

«Yes, Nicky. But I'm not signed up for the wife part yet awhile. I'm not acting any part before I'm signed up for it. My mother said a girl shouldn't ever act like a wife till she is one. She's old-fashioned. Why are one's people so old-fashioned?»

«I'm old-fashioned, too, dear,» said Nick. «I can't go to the Little Church Around the Corner. I should sink through the floor. Look, darling, make it just a plain judge, and maybe I can stretch a little on budget. Maybe I'll get you a battle-ship or two.»

«Well, don't forget you've promised.»

«What a relief! What happiness!» cried he. «Real happiness! Let's start at once.»

«Linda,» I whispered, while he was telephoning for a plane. «Don't forget your prestige. Make it a good long honeymoon. Two months at least, honey, or the world'll think there's something wrong with your glamor.»

«You're right, Charlie. I will.»

So they went to Yuma. After some weeks I got a telegram. «Home on Friday. Love. Nick and Linda.» Soon afterwards came another. «Confidential. Can you possibly outline alternative script? Western, South Sea, or other simple natural background. Repeat confidential. Nick.»

After some thought I drafted a rather humorous farm story, of the sort that made Mabel Normand in the good old days. I thought it would hardly appeal to Belinda, but I was under contract. Orders were orders.

I was at the airport to meet them. Linda alighted first, and was at once seized on by the press. I heard the words husband, doggies, cookies.

«Charles,» whispered Mahound. «A word in your ear. Have you got that outline? That rough script?»

«Yes. I've got it. What's the matter? Are you stalling on the real battle-ships?»

«Charles, she wants the real New York.»

«Well! Well! Well! Never mind. I've got a farm story. She can have real striped stockings.»

«She thinks big, Charles. She may feel it rather a letdown after the real New York.»

«Don't worry. You go off to the hotel. Everything's fixed up for you. I'll look in after supper.»

Late that evening I went round to see them. Something told me that all was not harmony in the romantic ménage. Mahound was frowning over a heap of bills.

«You've bought a lot of rather impressive orchids, Charles,» said he, in a worried tone.

«Nothing's too good for you and Linda,» said I, smiling. «You're my best friends in pictures.»

«Yes, but it all goes down on the expense account»

«There you go again, dear!» cried Linda. «He's got all mean, Charlie. He says he can't afford to buy me New York. For the bombardment scene. Where I save it. I can't act in front of a lot of paste-board, Charlie. You tell him.»

«There's something in that, Nick,» said I. «Still, listen, Linda, I've got a new script for you. The part's sort of lovable. Farm. Birds singing. Real birds. Hens, too. You come in scattering the corn. With comedy stockings on. Real stockings. Real comedy.»

«Nick, is this just a bad joke, to welcome me home?»

«Now, listen, honey,» said Nick. «Give the writer a chance. He's put his life's blood into this story. Go on, Charlie.»

«That's true, Linda. There's smiles and tears in this script»

«Smiles?»

«Where you get a sock in the puss with a custard pie. A real …»

«Say. What have you got lined up for me next? A burlesque act? I'm out. I'm through.»

«Joan of Arc started on a farm, honey.»

«Joan of Arc never got no custard pie.»

«She got worse than that, milking the cows, sweetie,» said Nick. «I was there. I fixed it.»

«What do you mean, you were there?» cried Belinda. «Are you starting in lying to me already? I'll fly to Reno. No, I won't, though. Don't forget what you put in my contract, out in Yuma. I've got to O.K. every script.»

«Well, sweetie, Charles'll write you one you'll really like. Maybe where you're a young girl, mad to get on the stage. Then you can do your Juliet speech at a party. Where there's a big producer.»

«No, he won't»

«Yes, he will.»

«No, he won't. That's flat.»

«Yes, he will,» said Mahound. «A lovely script. A part that'll make you drive the whole world crazy. The real world. Won't you, Charles?»

«Well, as a matter of fact,» said I, «I won't»

«What?»

«Look at the clock. Didn't you hear it strike twelve?»

«What of it?»

«Well, Nick,» said I, «it's two months. Today — but now it's yesterday — my first option came up for renewal. I'm afraid you've let it slip by. I'm free!»

«Hell! I could sink through the floor!»

«Nicky, you got to sign a writer who'll put me in New York. And parts for my doggies.»

«Your doggies are dead,» I told her. «They ate your cookies.»

«Ow! Charlie! My doggies!»

«I could sink through the floor!» muttered Nick. «To slip up on an option!»

«Yeah,» said I. «You've slipped. Sink away!»

«I will, too,» cried he, stamping his foot.

And with that he seized Belinda, and, WHOOSH, they were gone through the floor.

I chose one of the smaller orchids for a button hole, and went off to a night-club. Next day I returned to Malibu.