Квентин Тарантино - Once Upon a Time in Hollywood - The First Novel By Quentin Tarantino

Then there’s a small tap on the office door, just before the miniskirt-wearing Miss Himmelsteen enters the office, carrying two cups of steaming coffee for Rick and Marvin. She carefully hands the hot beverages to the two gentlemen.

“This is from Rex’s office, right?”

“Rex said you owe him one of your cigars.”

The agent snorts. “That cheap Jew bastard, the only thing I owe him is a hard time.”

Everybody laughs.

“Thank you, Miss Himmelsteen; that will be all for now.”

She exits, leaving the two men alone to discuss the entertainment business, Rick Dalton’s career, and, more important, his future.

“Where was I?” Marvin asks. “Oh yeah—violence in modern movies. Mary Alice doesn’t like it. But she loves westerns. Always has. We saw westerns all through our courtship. Watching westerns together is one of our favorite things to do, and we thoroughly enjoyed Tanner .”

“Awww, that’s nice,” Rick says.

“Now when we do these double features,” Marvin explains, “by the last three reels of the first film, Mary Alice is asleep in my lap. But for Tanner , she made it to just before the last reel—which was nine-thirty—which is pretty good for Mary Alice.”

As Marvin explains to Rick the movie-viewing habits of the happy couple, Rick takes a sip of the hot coffee.

Hey, that’s good , the actor thinks. This Rex fella does have classy coffee.

Marvin continues, “Movie’s over, she goes to bed. I open up a box of Havana’s, pour myself a cognac, and watch the second movie by myself.”

Rick takes another sip of Rex’s delicious coffee.

Marvin points at the coffee cup. “Good stuff, huh?”

“What,” Rick asks, “the coffee?”

“No, the pastrami. Of course the coffee,” Marvin says, with Catskill timing.

“It’s fuckin’ sensational,” Rick agrees. “Where does he get it?”

“One of these delicatessens here in Beverly Hills, but he won’t say which one,” Marvin says, then continues with Mary Alice’s viewing habits. “This morning after breakfast and after I leave for the office, the projectionist, Greg, comes back and screens the last reel so she can see how the picture ends. And that’s our movie-watching routine. We’re very happy about it. And she was very much looking forward to seeing how Tanner ends.”

Then Marvin adds, “However, she’s already figured out you’re gonna hafta kill your father, Ralph Meeker, before it’s all over.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the problem with the movie,” Rick says. “It ain’t if I kill the domineering patriarch, it’s when . And it ain’t if Michael Callan, the sensitive brother, kills me—it’s when.”

Marvin agrees. “True. But both of us thought you and Ralph Meeker matched up pretty well together.”

“Yeah, me too,” Rick replies. “We did make a good father-and-son team. That fuckin’ Michael Callan looked like he was adopted. But with me, you could believe Ralph was my old man.”

“Well, the reason you matched up so well together was you two shared a similar dialect.”

Rick laughs. “Especially when compared to fuckin’ Michael Callan, who sounded like he should be surfing in Malibu.”

Okay, Marvin thinks, that’s the second time Rick has put down his Tanner co-star Michael Callan. That’s not a good sign. It suggests stinginess in spirit. It suggests a blamer. But Marvin keeps these thoughts to himself.

“I thought Ralph Meeker was sensational,” Rick tells the agent. “The best damn actor I ever worked with, and I’ve worked with Edward G. Robinson! He was also in two of the best Bounty Law ’s.”

Marvin continues recounting his Rick Dalton double feature from the night before. “Which brings us to The Fourteen Fists of McCluskey ! What a picture! So much fun.” He pantomimes shooting a machine gun. “All the shooting! All the killing!” Marvin asks, “How many Nazi bastards you kill in that picture? A hundred? A hundred and fifty?”

Rick laughs. “I never counted, but a hundred and fifty sounds right.”

Marvin curses them to himself. “Fuckin’ Nazi bastards … That’s you operating the flamethrower, ain’t it?”

“You bet your sweet ass it is,” Rick says. “And that’s one shit-fuck crazy weapon you do not want to be on the wrong side of, boy oh boy, let me tell you. I practiced with that dragon three hours a day for two weeks. Not just so I’d look good in the picture, but because I was shit scared of the damn thing, to tell you the truth.”

“Extraordinary,” says the impressed agent.

“You know, it was just sheer luck I got my role,” Rick tells Marvin. “Originally, Fabian had my part. Then eight days before shootin’ he breaks his shoulder doin’ a Virginian. Mr. Wendkos remembered me, talked the brass over at Columbia into getting Universal to loan me out to do McCluskey. ” Rick concludes the story the way he always does: “So I do five movies during my contract with Universal. My most successful film? My Columbia loan-out.”

Marvin removes a gold cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket, pops it open with a ping. Offers one to Rick. “Care for a Kent?”

Rick takes one.

“Do you like this cigarette case?”

“It’s very nice.”

“It’s a gift. From Joseph Cotten . One of my most cherished clients.”

Rick gives Marvin the impressed expression the agent is demanding.

“I recently got him both a Sergio Corbucci picture and an Ishirō Honda picture, and this was a token of his gratitude.”

Those names mean nothing to Rick.

As Mr. Schwarz slips the gold cigarette case back in the inside pocket of his jacket, Rick quickly digs his cigarette lighter out of his pants pocket. Snaps open the lid of the silver Zippo and lights both smokes in his cool-guy way. When he’s done lighting both cigarettes, he snaps the lid of the Zippo closed with loud panache. Marvin chuckles at the show of bravado, then inhales the nicotine.

“What do you smoke?” Marvin asks Rick.

“Capitol W Lights , ” Rick says. “But also Chesterfields, Red Apples, and, don’t laugh, Virginia Slims.”

Marvin laughs anyway.

“Hey, I like the taste,” is Rick’s defense.

“I’m laughing at you smoking Red Apples,” Marvin explains. “That cigarette is a sin against nicotine.”

“They were the sponsor of Bounty Law , so I got used to them. Also, I thought it was smart to be seen smoking them in public.”

“Very wise,” Marvin says. “Now, Rick, Sid’s your regular agent. And he asked me would I meet you.”

Rick nods his head.

“Do you know why he asked me to get together with you?”

“To see if you wanted to work with me?” Rick answers.

Marvin laughs. “Well, ultimately, yes. But what I’m getting at is, do you know what I do here at William Morris?”

“Yeah,” Rick says. “You’re an agent.”

“Yeah, but you already got Sid as your agent. If I was just an agent, you wouldn’t be here,” Marvin says.

“Yeah, you’re a special agent,” Rick says.

“Indeed I am,” Mavin says. Then, pointing at Rick with his smoking cigarette, “But I want you to tell me what it is you think I do.”

“Well,” Rick says, “the way it was explained to me is you put famous American talent in foreign films.”

“Not bad,” Marvin says.

Now that the two gentlemen are on the same page, both take big drags off their Kents . Marvin exhales a long stream of cigarette smoke and goes into his spiel: “Now, Rick, if we get to know one another, one of the first things about me you’ll learn is nothing … and I mean nothing , is as important to me as my client list. The reason I have the contacts I have in the Italian film industry, and the German film industry, and the Japanese film industry, and the Filipino film industry, is both because of the clients I represent and what my client list represents. Unlike others, I am not in the has-been business. I am in the Hollywood-royalty business. Van Johnson — Joseph Cotten — Farley Granger — Russ Tamblyn—Mel Ferrer.”