Chapter Three

THE stranger waited quietly until Peter had finished waiting on the customer before he went over to him. "Is Johnny Edge around?" he asked.

Peter looked at him curiously. He didn't look like one of the creditors Johnny had mentioned in his note; Peter knew most of them. "Not at the moment," he replied. "Maybe I can help, I'm Peter Kessler. I own the building."

The stranger held out his hand and smiled. "I'm Joe Turner of Graphic Pictures Company. I came up to show Johnny how to operate the moving-picture machine that was delivered yes­terday."

Peter took his hand and shook it. "Glad to know you," he said. "But I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment. Johnny left here the day before yesterday."

Turner looked disappointed. "He couldn't hold out?"

Peter shook his head. "Things were pretty bad. He went back to his old job."

"With Santos?" Turner asked.

"Yes," Peter answered. "You knew Johnny?"

"We worked for Santos together. He's a good kid. Too bad he couldn't have held on for a few more days. Moving pictures would have pulled him out of the hole."

"In Rochester?" Peter laughed.

Turner looked at him. "Why not? Rochester isn't any differ­ent than any place else and moving pictures are the biggest thing in the entertainment field and getting bigger every day. Ever see them?"

"No," said Peter. "Never even heard about them until your man delivered the machine here yesterday."

Turner took a cigar out of his pocket, bit the end off it, and lighted it. He blew out a cloud of smoke and looked at Peter a moment before he spoke. "You look like a fair man to me,

Mr. Kessler, so I'm going to make you a proposition. I guaran­teed Johnny's machine to my office. If I have to pull it back I'm hooked for the freight and installation charges even if the machine is never used. That's over a hundred dollars. You let me run a show for you tonight, and if you like it you open up and give it a try."

Peter shook his head. "Not me. I'm a hardware man. I don't know nothing about moving pictures."

Turner persisted. "It doesn't make any difference. It's a new business. Just two years ago a man by the name of Fox opened a picture show without any experience and he's doing all right. So did another man by the name of Laemmle. All you have to do is run the machine. People will pay to see the pictures. There's good money in it. It's the coming thing."

"Not for me," Peter told him. "I got a good business. I don't need any headaches."

"Look, Mr. Kessler," Turner said, "it won't cost you anything to see it. The projector's here already. I got some cans of film outside and nothing better to do with my time. Let me run a show for you, and you can see for yourself what it's like. And then if you don't like it, I'll pull the machine out."

Peter thought for a moment. He wanted to see the moving pictures. The few words the drayman had said to him the other day had excited his imagination. "All right," he said, "I'll look. But I'm not promising anything."

Turner smiled. He held his hand out to Peter again. "That's what they all say until they see it. I'm telling you, Mr. Kessler, you may not know it but you're in the picture business al­ready."

Peter invited Mr. Turner to have supper with them. When he introduced Turner to Esther, she looked at him questioningly but didn't say anything. He hastened to explain: "Mr. Turner is going to show us some moving pictures tonight."

After they had eaten, Turner excused himself, saying he had to go downstairs to set things up. Peter went along with him.

As they walked into the penny arcade together, Turner looked around. "Too bad Johnny had to leave. This was just the thing he needed."

Then Peter told him why Johnny had left and about the note Johnny had written.

Turner listened attentively while he worked, and when Peter

had finished, he said: "Anyway, Mr. Kessler, you don't have to worry about the money Johnny owes you. If he said he'd pay you, he will."

"Who's worried about the money?" Peter asked. "We liked the kid. He almost seemed like one of the family by now."

Turner smiled. "That's the way Johnny is. I remember when his folks were killed. Johnny was about ten years old then. Santos and I were discussing what to do with him. He had no other relatives, so he would have gone to an orphanage, but in­stead Santos decided to keep him. After a while Santos used to say Johnny seemed just like his own kid."

Turner finished his work in silence and Peter went upstairs to get Esther. When they came down, all the lights in the store were turned off. They sat down self-consciously in the dark where Turner told them. Excited as Peter was about seeing the moving pictures, at the same time he was glad there weren't many people on the street to see him.

"Ready?" Turner asked.

"Yes," Peter answered.

Suddenly a bright light flashed on the screen that Turner had set up in front of where they sat. Some printed words, which blurred, then became clearer as Turner focused the lens. Then the words were off the screen before they had a chance to read them and there was a train, small in the corner of the screen, smoke belching from it. It was moving toward them, growing larger every second.

Then it was upon them. It seemed to leap from the screen into their faces. Esther made a small cry and buried her face on Peter's shoul­der, her hand grasping for his. Peter held her hand tightly. His throat was dry, he couldn't speak, and his face was pale with sweat.

"Is it gone?" Esther asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"It's gone," Peter answered, surprised that he could speak.

Almost before the words had left his mouth, they were on a beach and some girls were going swimming and they stood around and smiled; and then they were on a ferryboat coming into New York Harbor and the familiar buildings looked so real that they were tempted to reach out and touch them, but before they could they were out at the race track in Sheeps-

head Bay and the horses were running and the crowd was milling around and one horse, running mightily, finished ahead of the others and it was all over. A bright light flashed on the screen again, hurting their eyes.

Surprised, Peter still found Esther's hand in his. He heard Turner's voice saying: "How did you like it?"

Peter stood up, still blinking his eyes. He saw Turner smil­ing at him. He brushed his hands over his eyes wonderingly. "If I didn't see it myself, I still wouldn't believe it."

Turner laughed. "They all say that at first." He turned on the store lights. Then Peter first saw the crowd. They were standing in the street, their faces vague and anonymous, pressed up against the windows of the store, their eyes filled with the same won­der and amazement as his. He turned to Esther. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," she answered. "I never saw anything like this before."

The door opened and the crowd came pouring in. Peter began to recognize people and faces. They were all talking at once.

"What is it?" one of them asked.

"Moving pictures, from New York," Peter heard Turner reply. "You going to show them here?"

"I don't know," Turner answered. "That depends on Mr. Kessler."

The crowd looked at Peter. Peter stood there a second without speaking, his mind still filled with what he had just seen. Suddenly he heard himself saying: "Sure, sure we're going to show them here. We'll be open by Saturday night."

Esther grabbed him by the arm. "Bist du meshuggeh?' she asked; "Saturday is the day after tomorrow!"

He whispered to her: "Crazy? Me? With all these people wanting to pay to see moving pictures?"

She didn't answer. Peter began to feel big, his heart started to pound. He would open by Saturday night. After all, Esther didn't say no.

It was a little less than six weeks later that Johnny came back in Rochester. His valise in one hand, he walked up the street

toward the arcade. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building. The hardware store was still the same but the penny arcade was no more. The old sign had been taken down and a new one put up:

Kessler's Nickelodeon.

It was early in the morning and the street was still deserted. Johnny stood there looking at the sign for a minute; then, shifting his grip on the valise from one hand to the other, he walked into Peter's store. He stood in the doorway for a second, his eyes getting used to the darkness in the store. Peter saw him first and came running up to him, hand outstretched. "Johnny!" Johnny dropped the valise and took Peter's hand.

"You did come back," Peter was saying excitedly, "I told Esther you would. I told her. She said maybe you wouldn't want to, but I said we'll telegraph him anyway and find out."

Johnny grinned. "I didn't understand why you wanted me — especially after the way I powdered on you. But—"

Peter didn't let him finish. "No buts. What happened we'll forget. It's over." He looked around him for Doris; seeing her, he called: "Go upstairs and tell Mamma that Johnny's here." He drew Johnny farther into the store.

"I felt you should come back. This was your idea, you were entitled to something from it." His gaze fell on Doris. She was still standing there, looking at Johnny. "Didn't I tell you to go upstairs and tell Mamma?" he demanded.

"I only wanted to say hello to Uncle Johnny first," she answered plaintively.

"All right, then, say hello and hurry up to Mamma."

Doris came over to Johnny gravely and held out her hand. "Hello, Uncle Johnny."

Johnny laughed and picked her up and held her to him. "Hello, sweetheart, I missed yuh."

She blushed and squirmed out of his arms and ran to the stairs. "I gotta tell Mamma," she said, and ran up the steps. Johnny turned to Peter. "Now tell me what happened."

"The day after you left, Joe Turner came in, and before I knew it I was in the picture business." Peter smiled. "I didn't expect it to be such a big thing though. It's too much for me. Esther has been working the cash, but I'm too tired at night

after a day in the store to run movies too. So we decided to ask you to come back. Like I said in the telegram, you get a hundred a month and ten per cent of the profits."

"It sounded good to me," Johnny said. "I seen a lot of these nickelodeons around and they're getting to be a big thing."

Later they walked into the nickelodeon. Johnny looked around him approvingly. The machines had all been taken out and rows of benches had been placed in their stead, only the Grandma fortune-telling machine remained undisturbed in her corner near the door.

Johnny walked over to the machine and rapped on the glass. "It looks like you were right, old girl."

"What did you say?" Peter asked, looking startled.

"The old girl here told my fortune the night I left. She said I'd be back. I thought she was nuts, but she knew more than me."

Peter looked at him. "In Yiddish we have a saying: "What is to be must be."

Johnny looked around the store before he answered: "I still can hardly believe it." He thought back to the time when he got Peter's telegram. He had shown it to Al Santos.

"I don't know why this guy wants me back after I skipped out on three months' rent" he had said.

"Two months," Al Santos corrected him. "You sent him one month's rent last payday."

"I know," Johnny answered, "but I still don't get it."

"Maybe the guy likes yuh," Al said. "What yuh goin’ tuh do?"

Johnny looked at him in surprise. "Go back. What do you think I'm gonna do? "

Johnny took his hand off the fortune-telling machine. "How many shows a day do you give here?" he asked.

"One," Peter answered.

"From now on we're giving three," Johnny said. "One mati­nee and two evenings."

"Where we get the customers?" Peter asked.

Johnny looked at Peter to see if he was joking. Satisfied that Peter was entirely serious, he answered: "Peter, you got a lot to learn about show business. I'll tell yuh how we're goin’ to get the business. We'll advertise. We'll plaster billboards all across the countryside, we'll advertise in the newspapers.

We're the only picture show in the whole section. People will travel to see it, if we let them know about it. Besides, it doesn't cost us any more to run the film three times a day instead of once. We only pay one rental for it."

Peter looked at Johnny with a new respect. "The kid's got common sense. Right away he figures out how we could do three times more business," he thought, feeling a sense of re­lief flow over him. Now that Johnny was back, he began to realize that he didn't have to worry about the nickelodeon any more.

"That's a good idea, Johnny," Peter said aloud, "a very good idea."

Late that night when Peter fell asleep he was still thinking about it. Three times more business.

Chapter Four

GEORGE PAPPAS stood across the street from Kessler's nick­elodeon at seven thirty in the evening and watched the crowds going in to see the show. He took out his watch and checked the time. He heaved a sigh and shook his head. These moving pictures were changing the time habits of the town. Before the nickelodeon had opened, you could find only a few persons on the street after seven o'clock. And here it was nearly eight o'clock and people were going into the nickelodeon.

It wasn't only the townspeople that were there. Farmers and other people from out of town were coming to see the moving pictures, too. This fellow Edge that Kessler had with him was a live wire all right. He had covered the entire territory with signs telling about the new nickelodeon.

George Pappas sighed again. It was very strange, but he had a feeling the change was here to stay. He had been in to see

the show before and he felt an important thing had come into his life. Just how it was going to affect him he did not know. He only knew that it would.

He owned a small ice-cream parlor about five blocks away. At seven o'clock he and his brother would close up the store mid go home to eat. There wasn't any business in the evening, except on Saturday nights. But here it was Tuesday and there were more people coming in to see Kessler's show than George bad seen on the streets of Rochester even on a Saturday night. He sighed again and wondered how it would be possible to attract some of these people to his ice-cream parlor.

He started to walk toward home pondering this problem, when suddenly he stopped short. A thought had come to him. It had flashed into his mind in Greek. It came so quickly and naturally that he didn't fully understand it until his mind had translated it into English. Then it was so right, so perfectly the answer to his question, that he turned back and walked across the street to the nickelodeon.

At the door he stopped. Esther was there taking change from the people as they entered. "Hallo, Missus Kessler," he said.

Esther was busy, so she answered briefly: "Hello, George."

"Is Mr. Kessler around?" he asked in his funny stilted manner.

"He's inside," Esther told him.

"I would like for to see him, plizz."

She looked at him curiously; his earnest intentness had caught her attention. "He'll be out in a few minutes, the show is about ready to go on. Is there anything I can do?"

George shook his head. "I will wait. I got some business to make with him."

Esther watched him walk over to the door and lean against the wall. Vaguely she wondered what business George had with Peter, but she was busy making change and in a few seconds had forgotten he was there.

George was busy too. As he stood by the door he counted about forty people going in. He looked in the door of the nickelodeon. The place was filled with people. Row after row, people sat close together chatting expectantly with one another, waiting for the show to start. Some of them had brought fruit with them and were eating it. George figured there were

more than two hundred people in the place when Peter came out and shut the door. And there were still people in the street, and more were coming.

He watched Peter shut the door and hold up his hand. "There will be another show in an hour," he heard Peter say to those waiting. "We're all filled up, but if you'll wait you all will get in."

He heard a good-natured murmur of disappointment come from the crowd, but very few left; most of them settled down for a wait. And those that left were more than made up for by new arrivals. Gradually a line began to form that went down the street.

Peter stuck his head inside the door, "All right, Johnny," he shouted. "Start the show."

The audience started to applaud as the lights in the store went off; then suddenly there was silence as the first picture began to flash on the screen.

Peter had lit a cigar as George walked up to him. "Hallo, Mr. Kessler."

"Hello, George, how are you?" Peter replied expansively, puffing at his cigar.

"Prooty good, Mr. Kessler," George said politely. He looked around him. "Lots of poopuls you got come here."

Peter smiled. "We certainly have, George. Everybody wants to see the moving pictures. Did you see them yet?" George nodded his head. "It's the coming thing," Peter said.

"Mr. Kessler, I think so, too," George assured him. "You got good mind for what poopuls want."

Peter beamed at the compliment. "Thanks, George." He reached into his vest pocket. "Here, George, have a cigar."

George took it gravely. Although he didn't like cigars and couldn't stand smoking at all, he held it "expertly to his nose and smelled it. "Good cigar," he said.

"I have 'em sent special from New York," Peter told him. "They're six cents apiece."

"If it's all right with you, Mr. Kessler," George said, putting the cigar carefully in his pocket, "I will smoke him after dinner to enjoy him better."

Peter nodded, his attention already wandering, his eyes on the crowd.

George sensed his inattentiveness, but he didn't know just how to broach what he wanted to say. At last he blurted it out. "Mr. Kessler, I would like for to open a ice-cream parlor here."

Peter's attention came back to George with a snap. "An ice­-cream parlor here?" he queried. "What for?"

George was embarrassed. His face turned red. His inade­quate English became even more unintelligible. "These poopuls," he stammered, "good for business. Ice cream, candies, fruits, nuts."

Peter stopped smiling; he suddenly understood what George meant. His voice became serious. "It's a good idea, George, but where can we put it? There isn't enough room."

Magically George found the words for what he wanted to say. He spoke quickly, easily. He explained to Peter how little room they would need for it. But what clinched the argu­ment was his offer to pay rent plus a share of the profits.

While business at the nickelodeon was good, it was not without its problems. Under Peter's agreement with Graphic he was given a new show every three weeks. This was all right until they had begun giving three shows a day. Then it seemed that the first week of the show everybody in the section would see it and business would fall off greatly in the follow­ing two weeks. He had spoken to Johnny about it and they had agreed to ask Joe Turner on his next trip up if there was anything that could be done about it.

About two weeks after George had opened his little stand, Joe came up on his regular monthly visit. He stood in the small lobby watching George and his brother move busily behind the counter. After a while he went into the nickelodeon and spoke to Johnny. The afternoon show had just finished and Johnny was rewinding the film for the next show. "Whose idea was that?" Joe asked him. "Peter's," Johnny answered. "What do you think of it?"

Joe nodded his head approvingly. "It's a good 'un," he said. "Makes me feel the idea will catch on in town when I tell 'em about it."

Johnny finished rewinding and set the reel in place so that it would be ready to run off for the next show. He clambered

down from the little platform on which the projector stood. "C'mon out and have a Moxie," he invited Joe.

They walked out to the stand and ordered their drinks. Johnny introduced him to George and his brother. For a moment they sipped their drink reflectively, then Johnny spoke. "Haven't you got any other films? People are getting tired of the same show for three weeks straight."

Joe shook his head. "There isn't much to be had, but we just got a new one-reeler that we can send you."

"What the hell good is one reel when we need a whole show?" Johnny asked.

Joe looked at him for a moment before he answered. "I got something that might help you out, but it's gotta be kept quiet."

"You know me, Joe. I'm like a clam when I gotta be." Joe smiled at Johnny's expression. "I guess yuh heard about the big companies gettin' together to form a combine and control the picture business." "Yeah."

"Well, I guess yuh know one of the reasons for that is be­cause a lot of small producers are makin' pictures an' cuttin' into their time. They want you exhibitors to play their kind of show, which is a short one, and they want to make sure that you get your pictures from them, so they combine. That way they control all the picture patents between 'em and no­body can make pictures but them."

"So what?" Johnny asked. "I still don't see how we're gonna get more pictures."

"I'm gettin' tuh that," Joe said. "Graphic's joinin' the combine an' I'm leaving them to go with one of the independents who plans to make enough pictures for a new show every week."

"Sounds good," Johnny said, "but where do we come in?" He sipped some Moxie up through his straw. "According to our agreement we can only show Graphic pictures."

"A lot of exhibitors figure what the combine won't know won't hurt 'em." Joe replied. "Look—you got to take their pictures for three weeks, but you don't have to play them for three weeks if you can't do business with them."

"I see," Johnny said, finishing his drink. "Let's go in and see Peter about it."

On their way into the hardware store Joe told Johnny all he had to do to get the film was to go down to New York and sign a rental agreement.

Who's this guy you're goin' to work for?" Johnny asked.

"Bill Borden," Joe answered. "He's the biggest independent in the field."

"What you gonna do?" Johnny lit a cigarette. "Sell pictures for him?"

Joe shook his head. "Nope. I'm through with that. I'm gonna make the pictures. I told Borden that what he needed was a man who knew what the exhibitors wanted, and since I knew what the exhibitors wanted, I was the man he needed."

Johnny laughed. "You haven't changed a bit since we worked carny. You could still shoot the bull with the best of them."

Joe joined in Johnny's laugh. "But seriously, kid, it's gonna be a great racket some day. I'd like to see you get in it."

Chapter Five

JOHNNY stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He could hear Esther's voice through it. She was talking to Peter.

"Nu?" she was saying. "Aren't you getting dressed yet? Doris and Mark you were going to take to the park today."

Johnny grinned to himself in the hall. He heard Peter's voice indistinctly as he replied to his wife, but he couldn't understand the words. Its tone was lazy and grumbling. Johnny grinned again. It was Sunday and he knew that Peter liked to spend the morning with his feet on a hassock reading the papers. He turned the knob and walked into the kitchen.

Esther looked at him in surprise and then at the clock. "You’re up early, Johnny," she said. There was a big pot bubbling on the stove behind her.

He smiled at her. "I'll only be a minute, I just wanted to ask Peter if he wanted me to pick up anything for him in New York."

"You're going to New York today?" she asked.

He nodded. She seemed a little peeved. He wondered what it was.

Peter came to the door of the kitchen and looked in on them. "You're going to New York?" he echoed Esther's words.

"Yeah," Johnny answered laconically. He looked at Peter. Peter was in his shirtsleeves, the belt on his trousers loosened comfortably. Peter had put on a little weight lately, he thought. Well, why shouldn't he? Things were going pretty good.

"What for?" Peter asked.

"I promised Joe I'd be down to see him and look over some of the new pictures," he replied. "I'll be back tomorrow in time for the evening show."

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "If you want to travel eight hours just to look at a couple of pictures, it's all right with me, but I wouldn't do it."

Johnny smiled. "If you did," he thought silently, "maybe you'd understand what I've been trying to tell you the past few months—that this is growing into a big business." Aloud he said: "I like to do it. You get an idea of what's goin' on that way."

Peter looked at him. A peculiarly fanatical light had come into Johnny's eyes as he spoke. Moving pictures had captured Johnny's mind. He ate, slept, and dreamed moving pictures. Since he had started to go into New York to buy them for the nickelodeon, he couldn't stop talking about them. He re­membered what Johnny had said one day when he had come back from the city:

"This guy Borden's got the right idea. He's making two-reel films with a story in them. And there's those other guys, Fox and Laemmle, them too. They say it's gonna be a big business. They say some day there will be theaters that will show noth­ing but moving pictures, like they have now for plays."

Peter had sniffed at the idea, but secretly he had been impressed. All these men, maybe they had something. He had seen their pictures. They were certainly better than the combine's; maybe they knew what they were talking about.

He had wondered what it would be like to own a theater

that showed nothing but moving pictures, but resolutely he pushed the thought from his mind. No, it was foolish to waste time even thinking about it. It would never pay off. He was better off the way he was.

Doris came running into the kitchen followed by Mark. She looked up at Johnny, her face radiant. She had heard his voice In the other room. "Going to the park, Uncle Johnny?" she liked excitedly.

He looked down at her, smiling. "Not today, sweetheart," he said, "Uncle Johnny's gotta go to New York on business."

Her face fell and a look of disappointment came over it. "Oh," she said in a very small voice.

Esther turned and looked meaningly at her husband. Peter caught the glance. He stepped forward and took Doris's hand. Papa'll take you, liebchen," he said. He turned to Johnny. "Wait for us, we'll walk you down to the station." He left the room to get his jacket.

Some coffee, Johnny?" Esther asked.

"No, thanks," he replied, smiling, "I had breakfast already." Peter came back into the kitchen, buttoning his jacket. "All right, kinder," he said, "let's go."

In the street Mark tugged at Johnny's hand. Johnny looked down at him.

"Piggy-back!" Mark said in his little treble. Johnny grinned and swung the child onto his shoulders.

"Whee!" shouted Mark as they walked along.

It wasn't until they had walked halfway down the block that Peter realized Doris had gone over to the other side of Johnny and was holding Johnny's free hand. He smiled to himself. It was a good sign if children liked you.

"How is Joe getting along?" he asked Johnny. He hadn't seen Joe since he had quit the combine and gone to work for Borden.

"Good," Johnny answered. "He's turning out some swell pictures. Borden says he's the best man he's got."

"That’s fine," Peter said. "Is Joe satisfied?"

"Joe likes it, but there's one thing more he wants to do." Johnny was trying to untangle Mark's grip on his hair. Mark was laughing.

Peter looked up at him. "Let go Uncle Johnny's hair," he said sternly, "or I’ll tell him to put you down."

Mark loosened his grip and Peter spoke to Johnny. "What is it he wants?"

Johnny's voice was elaborately casual. "He wants to go into business himself. He says there is a lot of money in it."

"What do you think?" Peter was interested, though he pre­tended not to be.

Johnny stole a quick glance at him out of the corner of his eyes. Peter's face was calm but his eyes gave him away. "I think he's got something," Johnny said slowly. "We figured it out.

"A one-reeler costs about three hundred dollars, plus the prints. You make a hundred prints from each negative. You lease each print at least twice for ten dollars each time. That gives you two thousand for each picture. I don't see how you can miss."

"Then what's stopping him?"

"Money," Johnny answered. "He needs at least six thousand for cameras and equipment and he hasn't got it."

They were at the station now and Johnny lifted Mark down from his shoulders. "You know, Peter," he said, looking at him speculatively, "it wouldn't be a bad business for us to go into."

Peter laughed. "Not me. I'm no schlemiel. I know when I'm well off. What happens if you can't get rid of the film?" He answered his own question. "You go broke."

"I don't think so," Johnny said quickly. "Look at us. We buy film from every place we can get it and never have enough. I don't see how it can miss." He finished out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. "And all the other exhibitors I met in New York arc in the same boat we are. Their tongues are hanging out for more pictures."

Peter laughed again. This time his laugh wasn't as assured as before. Johnny could tell that he was intrigued by the idea. "I'm not greedy," Peter said. "Let the other guy have the head­aches. We're doing all right."

A few minutes later the train pulled in and Johnny climbed aboard. He stood on the platform and waved to them as the train pulled out. They waved back to him and he smiled. He knew Peter well enough by now to realize he had planted the germ of an idea in his mind. Leave it alone for a while and every now and then say a few words more about it. In time the idea would catch on and begin to grow. The platform was

lost to his sight as the train turned round a bend and he went inside and found a seat. He took a newspaper from his pocket and opened it, still smiling. Maybe by the time Joe was ready, Peter would be too.

Back at the station, Doris began to cry as the train pulled out. Peter looked down at her in surprise. "Why are you crying, liebchen?" he asked.

She sniffled. "I don't like to see anybody go away on a train."

Peter was puzzled; he scratched at his ear. As far as he knew, she had never seen anyone off on a train before. "Why?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her soft blue eyes swimming in tears. "I—I don't know, Papa," she said in a small voice. "I just feel like crying. Maybe Uncle Johnny isn't coming back."

Peter looked down at her. For a moment he stood there silently, then he took her hand. "Such nonsense!" he said gruffly. "Come on. Let's go to the park."

Chapter Six

IT was dark when Johnny awoke. He was in a strange room. His head felt logy, heavy. He groaned and stretched his arms.

There was a stir in the bed beside him. He started in sudden surprise as his outstretched hand encountered warm, soft flesh. He turned his head.

In the darkness he could barely see the face of the girl sleeping beside him. She was lying on her side, one arm under the pillow. He sat up slowly, trying to remember what had happened last night. He remembered Joe ordering more wine. They were all getting drunk. Painfully it began to come back to him.

It had started when he came into the studio about five o'clock. Joe had told him they would be working because it was the only day some of the girls they had hired would be free. These girls worked in a burlesque show during the week and this was a chance for them to pick up a few bucks extra.

When he got there, Joe was in the midst of a hot argument with one of the girls. She was screaming at him. At first Johnny couldn't make out what it was all about, but then he gathered it had something to do with the clothes she was wearing. Bill Borden was standing near by, wearing a worried look that Johnny had come to recognize as customary for all picture men. Joe stood there calmly waiting for the girl to stop screaming. Johnny stopped near the door. No one even noticed his entering.

At last the girl stopped yelling. Joe looked at her for a moment, then turned to Borden. "Give her her time, Bill," he said calmly, ignoring the girl. "We can't afford temperament in this business."

Borden didn't answer. The worried look on his face grew deeper.

The girl started to shout again. "You can't do it!" she screamed at Joe. "I'm supposed to have the lead in this picture. My agent'll sue you!" Her voice grew shrill.

Joe looked at her calmly for a moment; then he suddenly ex­ploded. "Who the hell do you think you're gonna sue and for what?" he shouted back at her. ''Why, for Christ's sake, we pay you more here for one day's work than you make all week hustling your ass on a burley line! Sue us an' you get no work from any of the picture people!" He stepped close to her and shook an angry finger in her face. "Now, if you want to play the lead in this picture, take off your Goddam dress and show your chemise! And don't give me any bull about being modest. I seen you on the stage of the Bijou without nothin' on! Thass the reason I hired you!"

The girl fell silent in the face of this sudden tirade. After a few seconds of looking at him thoughtfully, she said: "All right, I'll do it. But there's one thing!" With a sudden motion she stepped back from him, drew her dress off over her head, and threw it at Joe's feet.

A gasp rose in Johnny's throat. The girl didn't have a stitch of clothing on under the dress.

Quickly Joe picked up the dress and rushed to cover her. Borden threw his hands over his face and groaned.

The girl smiled as Joe reached her. "You'll have to lend me a chemise," she said sweetly. "It was too damn hot to wear one."

Joe began to laugh. "Yuh shoulda said so in the first place, baby," he managed to say. "We would've saved ourselves a pack uh trouble."

A few minutes later the girl was dressed in a chemise, and I lie camera began to roll. Joe looked up and saw Johnny. He went toward him, a smile on his face. "See what I gotta go through?" he asked.

Johnny grinned back at him. "Yeanh. Pretty tough, isn't it?"

Joe laughed at Johnny's answer. "No foolin', though," he said seriously. "These kids are crazy, you never know what to ex­pect from them."

Johnny grinned again. "I didn't see nuthin' to complain about."

Joe shoved him gently by the shoulder. "Go on into the projection room an' look at those pictures, you unsympathetic rascal," he said in a friendly voice. "I should be through by the time you are. Then we'll go to eat."

"Okay," Johnny said, starting to turn away.

Joe called him back. "I was just thinkin'," he said with a smile on his face, "it might be a good idea if we took a couple the babes along with us. The kinda life you been leadin' up in Rochester ain't too good for yuh."

"Decent of you to worry about me," Johnny told him with a derisive smile on his face. "I suppose you can get along without dames".

Joe smiled comfortably. "I kin take 'em or leave 'em. But I remember the time when you were about sixteen an' yuh got so randy over that contortionist, Santos had to take yuh over an’ get yuh fixed up."

Johnny's face grew red; he started to reply to Joe's statement, but just then Borden came up and hurried him off to the projection room. When he came out, Joe was waiting with two girls.

Joe introduced them. One of them was the girl who had been with Joe; her name was May Daniels and from the way she took Joe's arm Johnny knew they were old friends. The other girl was a cute little blonde named Flo Daley.

She smiled at Johnny. "Yuh better be nice to him, Flo," Joe said laughing. "He's one of our biggest customers."

They had dinner at Churchill's. Joe was in a good mood. He had completed a whole picture that afternoon. After they had finished eating, he lit up a cigar and leaned back in his chair. "Did you talk to Peter yet?" he asked Johnny.

"Un-hunh," Johnny grunted. "Just this morning. I think he'll bite."

"I hope so." Joe leaned forward earnestly. "Borden's workin' on that new studio out in Brooklyn an' it'll be good if Peter comes in in time to take this one off his hands. It'll save us a lot of trouble."

"He will," Johnny said confidently. "I'm sure he will."

"Good." Joe leaned back in his chair again and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

May leaned toward him. "Do you men always have to talk business?" she asked. "Can't you forget it just once and have a good time?"

Joe squeezed her knee under the table. He had drunk just enough to make him feel good. "That's right, baby," he said. "Let's have a real good time." He hailed the waiter. "More wine!"

It was late and they were arguing over how many theaters Johnny owned by the time they reached Joe's apartment. Joe had insisted it was twenty-one while Johnny insisted it was only twenty.

Flo had wondered how a man so young could be so success­ful. Joe drunkenly assured her that Johnny was an organizing genius and was so busy he didn't have time to remember how many theaters he had himself.

They staggered into the apartment. Johnny looked at Joe. "You're loaded," he said to him. "You better go to shleep."

Against Joe's protests they hustled him into the bedroom. He fell across the bed and passed out. They were trying to un­dress him when suddenly May had said she was too tired to bother and stretched out on the bed beside Joe and went to sleep.

He and Flo had looked at each other and giggled. "Can't hold their likker," he had assured her solemnly. Together they stumbled out of the room into the other bedroom.

She turned to him as the door closed behind them. There

was a smile on her face; she held her arms toward him. "Like me, Johnny?" she asked.

He looked down at her. Strange, she didn't sound as drunk as she had a moment before. He pulled her toward him. "Of coursh I like you," he said.

Her eyes were on his face, the smile still on her lips. "Then what are you waiting for?" she asked in a low, excited voice.

For a second he stood very still, then he kissed her. He could feel her body clinging closely to him. His hand found the open bodice of her dress and slipped inside it. Her breast was warm and exciting in his fingers. He moved her toward the bed.

He heard her laugh. "Wait a minute, Johnny," she told him. "You don't have to tear the clothes off me."

He let her twist out of his grasp and watched her as she undressed. "Joe was right," he thought wildly, "the life I been leading ain't normal." But another part of his mind insisted stubbornly that he didn't have enough time for this and everything else he wanted to do.

Her clothes lay on the floor around her as she stepped to­ward him. "See," she smiled, "it's much better this way, isn't it?"

He didn't answer as his hands pulled her to him and their lips met. Her body was as fire to his touch as he thrust all thoughts from his mind and gave himself up to the moment.

His head was pounding fiercely now. He got out of bed and, picking up his union suit from a chair, laboriously got into it. After a few unsteady steps toward the bathroom, he turned hack toward the bed. He looked down at the girl for a few seconds, then he leaned forward and picked up the end of the blanket.

The girl stirred and turned toward him. "Johnny," she mur­mured softly, still asleep. She had nothing on.

Memories of her body, warm against him, flooded through his mind. He let the blanket fall and staggered to the bathroom.

He shut the door and turned on the light. It hurt his eyes. He went over to the washbowl and turned on the cold water. The basin filled rapidly. He leaned over it, hesitated a second, then plunged his head into the cold water.

At last he began to feel better. He picked up a towel and dried himself. He looked in the mirror over the washbowl and ran his hand over his face. He needed a shave, but there wasn't time for it.

He went back to the bedroom and dressed, then silently left the house without waking anyone. The morning air was clean and invigorating. He took out his watch and looked at it. It was six thirty. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to make the early train to Rochester.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14