Дэшил Хэммет - The Collected Dashiell Hammett

“A fine business,” I said. “The director of a horse opera going temperamental.”

He had the decency to seem embarrassed. “Well, if you were in my shoes—” He broke off. “Uh — you know Kitty Doran? This is Bugs Parish.”

The small dark girl dimpled and held out her hand. “How do you do?”

Fred growled, “Come on, what’s the bad news?”

When I told him he hit the top of the tent and spun there. I had expected him to yell his head off, of course, but he put on a really grand performance.

“You know how Max is,” I said with soothing intent as soon as I could get a word in. “He hears Feldman’s going in for sex in the open spaces — we’ve got to have sex in our open spaces. What the hell? He’ll probably change his mind before—”

“That’s just it,” he howled. “He’ll change his mind again and stick me with a week’s retakes and I’m already three days behind. What was the idea of sending us way over here in the first place? And with nothing ready. I got to do every damned thing myself. What’s he trying to do — make a bum out of me? Why don’t he give me some of those crooner shorts if that’s what he’s trying to do?”

Fred was only a run-of-the-mine director, but his habit of getting pictures into the can a little ahead of his schedule and a little under his budget made him worth his wages, and he knew it.

I said, “I don’t blame you for squawking. Let’s see what you’ve shot and we’ll save as much of it as we can.”

He said, “I know it’s not your fault, but, by God, Max is driving me nuts.”

Betty Lee Fenton, our little gingham girl, came in and said: “Hello, Bugs. Say, is Max sticking this guy Finn in the picture? He knows I don’t like to work with him.”

“Danny’s a good comic, whatever else you say about him.”

She made a face. “The else is plenty.”

“How are you on good clean sex?”

“What?”

“I don’t mean tonight, or anything like that; I mean in the picture.”

“What is this — a gag?”

I moved my head up and down. “And it’s got Fred here rolling on the floor. The picture’s new title is Go West with Sex.”

Then it was her turn. “I might’ve known it,” she shrieked. “Once I let Max talk me into a ride-ride-bang-bang, he thinks he can do anything to me. Well, he can’t, and he might just as well find it out right now. If he’s crazy, I’m not. Don’t he think my public’s got a right to the kind of a characterization they expect of me? Does Fox try things like that with Janet Gaynor? Of course not. Sheehan’s got too much sense. Max is a fool.”

Fred said to her, “Now for God’s sake don’t you start cutting up.”

She turned on him: they were not very fond of each other. “Listen, Mr. Lubitsch, I’ve had—”

I said, “Come, come, my gal, you’re yelling before you’re hurt. Maybe—”

She turned on me. “You’re damned right I am! And I’m veiling long distance to Max right now.” And out she went.

Kitty Doran said primly, “I think she’s unreasonable.”

Fred said: “What? Oh! Uh — better scoot, Kitty. We got to work.”

“All righty.” She smiled brightly at him and came over to me. “I’m awfully, awfully glad to have met you, Mr. Parish, and I hope— Well, by-by, Freddy.” She waved her hand at both of us and went out.

“Whaty is thaty?” I asked Fred.

“She’s all right, just a kid that had a couple of bits in my last picture. I’m giving her a small part in this.” He looked as if a thought had struck him. “We might build it up a little. She’s pretty good.”

“She must be — if she needs private coaching in one-eyed fade-aways.”

“She’s just a green kid, of course,” he admitted, “but — you’ll see. You don’t think you got a chance of changing what La Fenton calls her characterization, do you?”

“No. I’m counting on Ann for the chief—”

“Sure,” he said, “and we can build up Kitty’s part, too. She’s just a green kid, but she takes direction swell and—”

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

He scowled at me. “Are you going to start that too? Any other director can pick a girl out of the line because he knows talent when he sees it, but with me it’s got to be because I’ve fallen for the dame and she’s playing me for a sucker. You and Ann ought to incorporate.”

“Ann doesn’t think your Kitty’s got talent?”

“Ann’s just being disagreeable. What’s the matter with women? Look here, Bugs: I’m not saying this kid’s a Hepburn; I’m saying she’s got something. What do you know about it? You’ve never seen her work. Wait till you do.”

That seemed reasonable enough. I said: “O. K., Freddy. Get your author and let’s start pushing his masterpiece around.’

I sat beside Ann at dinner that night and we went for a walk down a canyon afterwards. “What’s the matter with everybody?” I asked.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said. “Location fever, I guess.”

“Sure, but that oughtn’t to come till you’ve been out a couple of weeks, and here you’ve all been out only since — what? — Sunday and you’re already split up into tight little groups going around dog-eyeing each other.”

“Well, Fred’s been in a bad humor and I guess it’s catching.”

“What’s the matter with him?” I asked.

She laughed, though not very happily. “It started with the Indians. It was somebody’s bright idea to send us to hell and gone over here because these Indians had never been used in pictures before. You know what I mean? Simple, natural, unspoiled, that kind of junk. What a bright idea that was! Never having worked in pictures before, these little red brothers had no idea of what extras get. All they knew was what they read about Garbo and Gable and they started off putting anything from a hundred dollars a day up on their price tags. Then, when we got ’em over that, we found out they didn’t have any horses and most of ’em didn’t know how to ride, so we had to get horses and teach them. Then Fred tried shooting them without putting Indian make-up on ’em — some more of that natural stuff — and had to shoot ’em all over again. All that wasted time and money — and you know how Fred is about the schedule and budget.” We took about ten steps in silence, then she said, “And then this cutie.”

“The Doran girl?”

“Yes. You know her?”

“I met her before dinner.”

“Sure. If you’ve seen Fred you’ve seen her.”

“Why don’t you write that guv off, Ann?” I said. “What do you want to waste your time on him for when you can have a fellow like me?”

“Probably because I’m a sap,” she said, “but neither of us can help that. How big a part is Fred persuading you to give her in the new script?”

“It depends on what she can carry. Is she any good?”

“Terrible!” She took hold of my arm. “She really is. It’s not just that I am jealous, though I am — awfully. Oh, Bugs, can I help it that I’m nuts about that guy?”

“Maybe not,” I said, “but I can do without hearing too much of it.”

She squeezed my arm and said, “I’m sorry,” as if she were thinking of something else. Presently she asked, “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“She is.”

“Prettier than I am?”

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ve got to talk to somebody. You’re the only one that knows how I really feel about Fred. I... I hoped maybe you could help me.”

“You mean help you get him back?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a sweet job to give me. You’re not just nuts about him — you’re nuts. Anyway, how do you know he isn’t really in love with the girl — and through with you?”