Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

The elevator doors opened. The screenwriters stepped aside and allowed Gillian to enter first. She stepped into the car and pressed the button for the third floor. The screenwriters came into the car silently. One of them pushed the “2” set into the elevator panel.

Before they got out, one of the writers said, “In Room at the Top , they did it on a bed.”

“That was British,” the other writer explained, and they stepped out of the car.

She got out on the third floor and walked to room 306. She paused outside the door and looked at her seams again, and then wet her lips. Here we go, she thought. Good luck, Gillian. She opened the door. The receptionist looked up as she entered. A small redheaded boy was sitting on the couch reading a comic book.

“Miss Burke?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re a little late,” she said, looking at her watch. “Mr. Floren just about gave up on you.”

“I’m awfully sorry. The traffic—”

“Yes, would you go right in, please? Mr. Floren’s waiting.”

“Thank you,” Gillian said. She went to the door of the inner office, took the knob, and twisted it. The door did not budge. She turned back toward the desk, and the receptionist pushed her release button. The door clicked open.

Herbert Floren was sitting behind his desk reading a copy of The Hollywood Reporter . He put the paper down when Gillian entered, looked at her in surprise, and said, “That girl never tells me when anyone’s here. Lucky thing I’m not a secret drinker. Are you Miss Burke?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How do you do?” Floren said pleasantly. He rose and extended his hand. Gillian took it. “Sit down, sit down. What happened? Traffic jam?”

“Yes. I came in from the beach, and I guess I didn’t allow myself enough time.”

“Crazy traffic in this cockamamie town, well, that’s all right, sit down, unwind, take it easy.” Floren smiled again. He was a balding man in his early fifties, wearing an impeccably tailored blue suit and a striped gray tie. His nose was too large for his face, and his eyes were shrewd and piercing behind his eyeglasses, but he had a pleasant smile, and he used it extravagantly. “Your agent’s been saying very nice things about you, Miss Burke. Very nice.”

She didn’t know whether an answer was expected or not. She smiled politely and modestly, and kept silent.

Floren nodded. “I saw the thing you did for Warners, the roller coaster. Very nice. I saw some of the television stuff, too. Wagon Train , very nice. General Electric , very nice.”

“Did you see the Playhouse 90? ” Gillian asked.

“No, I didn’t. When was that?”

“Last year.”

“Your agent didn’t show it. Listen, everybody goofs now and then. You’re a good actress, Miss Burke.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m doing a picture,” he said, “ doing it, I’m up to my ears in it already, a million dollars gone and we haven’t even begun shooting. There may be something in it for you, I don’t know. How old are you?”

She debated lying. She hesitated for a moment, and then told the truth. “I’m thirty-four,” she said, and she watched his face.

“Well, that’s good,” Floren answered, “because this girl is supposed to be a young mother. Thirty-four’s not bad. You look younger, though.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. If you test too young, you can forget all about the part.”

She sat stunned, scarcely daring to breathe. For a moment, she thought she’d misunderstood him. This was not the way it happened. You did not walk into a producer’s office, and he did not begin talking about tests and parts, this was not the way it happened.

“Did you see the kid sitting outside? The little redheaded kid?”

“Yes,” Gillian answered. She was afraid to speak. Suppose he doesn’t like my voice? You have a good voice, she told herself.

“Listen, what are you so nervous about?” he asked. “Relax. I’m a grandfather already. You’ve been hearing too many stories about Hollywood producers. You want a cigarette? You want a drink?”

“No. No, thank you.”

“You don’t smoke? You don’t drink?”

“I smoke. I drink.”

“Have a cigarette. Here. It’ll do you good.” Floren came around the desk and offered her the open cigarette box. She took one and he lighted it for her, reaching behind him for the gold lighter on his desk. “They gave me this when I finished my last picture,” he said. “Not my last picture, God forbid. My most recent one. You interested in this part?”

“ Interested? ” she said. “Am I interested? ”

“All right, relax, relax.” He went around behind his desk again. “I asked you did you see that kid outside?”

“Yes, I saw him.”

“We already signed him. He’s a good little actor. Done a lot of Lassie , and he was in a picture with John Wayne, he’s a good kid, we signed him. You’re supposed to be his mother. He’s got red hair, did you notice that?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Your hair’s not as red as his, but we’ll see how it shows in the test. I want to test you together. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s... that’s fine.”

“You’ll choke on that cigarette,” Floren said. “Put it out. Go ahead, do what I tell you. I never met anybody so nervous in my life. What’ll you do during the test? Drop dead? Blow your chance?”

“No, no, I...”

“Okay, we’re set up downstairs, stage three. I’ve had a little crew hanging around since two o’clock, waiting for you to arrive. Marilyn Monroe, yet. You know how much they’re costing me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But I had no idea...”

“What do you think I called you in for? You know how many girls there are in Hollywood who come around and stick their pictures in my face every day of the week? You think I got time to waste with all of them? Look, if you test okay, the part is yours. You can act, that’s what I’m interested in. This is just one scene, and it’s played in the foreground while the star is sitting on a bench watching, but it’s very important to the picture, it’s like a catalyst for the star, you understand? The things you say to your son, they cause a response in the star, you see? So we need an actress for it. You’ll be on the screen for maybe five minutes all together, unless the director or the cutter decide to snip you out. Five hundred bucks, okay?”

“Okay,” Gillian said.

“That’s too cheap,” Floren said. “What do you want to work so cheap for? You work cheap, everybody’ll hear about it. Lucky thing I’m not a big-mouth. I’ll contact your agent. He’ll probably talk me into a thousand. If you test okay.”

“Well... well... when do I...?”

“I want you to meet the kid first. That shlocky little crew’s been waiting since two o’clock, they can wait a little longer, too, it wouldn’t kill them. What do they care, it’s my money.” He lifted his phone and said into the mouthpiece, “Listen, Miss Surprise Package of 1959, would you send Tommy in? Thank you.” He hung up. “They sent her over from the mimeographing department. My own girl is on vacation, she’s divorcing her husband in Vegas.”

The door clicked open. Tommy walked into the office and said, “Hello, Mr. Floren.”

“Tommy, this is Gillian Burke.”

“How do you do, Miss Burke?” Tommy said, and he shook hands with her. He was perhaps eight years old, but he moved and spoke with all the professional aplomb of a top box-office star. Gillian smiled at him pleasantly.

“How would you like Miss Burke to be your mother?” Floren asked.