He said the words, “I think you’re real cute too,” and for an instant I thought the mike was back on. His voice took on the throaty quality with just a trace of left-over southern accent. If you closed your eyes you could swear you were talking to Janis Whitney.
“My God, Walter,” I said, “that’s uncanny.”
“Isn’t it?” Walter said. “I have an amazing gift for mimicry. And an almost perfect ear.”
“You had her voice exactly,” I said. “Even to that trace of southern accent that she hasn’t quite lost yet.”
“Speaking of uncanny,” Walter said, “it’s uncanny how Janis has got rid of her drawl. You just barely notice it now. And I regard it as particularly uncanny since she was born and raised in Utica, New York.”
Then Walter sighed. All the amusement went out of his face. “Now then, Richard, I don’t like to hurry you but we must settle this one way or the other. I must have the contracts signed as soon as possible. Why don’t you call your partner and have him come up here now? We can get this settled this afternoon.”
“Listen, Walter,” I said. “We’ll get this settled all right. I may do this and I may not. I’ll talk it over with Pat. But I’m not going to talk to him here. I don’t like to have my private conversations recorded. I don’t like to have people peering at me through mirrors. Pat and I will talk this over and if we’re interested we’ll let you know about it.”
Walter sighed again. “You’re such a wild one,” he said. “I shall expect to hear from you by five this afternoon. I cannot possibly delay any longer than that.”
“You’ll hear from me,” I said. “You’ll hear plenty.”
I turned and left the room.
Chapter Eight
I had not been to the office in a week. But nothing had changed.
“You look just ghastly, Mr. Sherman,” Miss Dennison said by way of greeting.
“Thank you, Miss Dennison. Is Mr. Conrad in his office?”
“No.” She smiled maliciously. “He’s at Twenty One with Miss Carstairs. She was very disappointed you weren’t here.”
In spite of the fact that I was feeling even more ghastly than I looked, I could not help grinning. “Poor Pat,” I said. “Poor Pat.”
I went into my office, sat down at the desk and stared out the window.
After a while I picked up the telephone. I had decided that it was now time to find out a little about a man named Max Shriber.
I made three casual telephone calls. To three people who, between them, know everything there is to know about everything. One was a book salesman, one was an associate editor at a large publishing house, and the third was a lady literary agent.
The book salesman knew only that Max Shriber was a big agent. I was getting a little tired of that phrase. The associate editor had met him twice, knew very little about him, but was under the impression that he had once been a gangster. The lady literary agent told me that he handled some very big people, both writers and actors. That he was very attractive in a George Raft sort of way, and that there were rumors that he had spent time in jail for killing a man.
It all added up to nothing. Gossip.
Nothing.
I was on the point of making a fourth phone call when Miss Dennison buzzed me.
I could tell by her voice that something terribly exciting had just happened.
“Mr. Sherman,” she said, gasping a little, “there’s a lady to see you.”
“Tell her to go away,” I said. “I can’t talk to authors’ wives today.”
“This isn’t an author’s wife!” Miss Dennison said. “This is Janis Whitney.”
I was genuinely startled.
“Who?”
“Janis Whitney.” Miss Dennison lowered her voice discreetly. “You know-the movie star.”
“Oh,” I said. “That Janis Whitney. Tell her I’ll be right out.”
I tried to be very calm. I was so cool and poised and collected that I knocked over my chair getting up. I picked up the chair, poured myself a drink, gulped it down, and, slowing myself down to a dignified walk, went out to the reception room.
Janis smiled, stood up and raised her forehead to be kissed. I kissed it. Miss Dennison’s eyes bulged.
“Dick, darling,” Janis said in her movie voice. “I hope you’re not too terribly busy.”
“Busy?” I said. “How could I possibly be too busy?”
“Grand,” Janis said. “Then you can take me to lunch.”
“All right,” I said.
I turned to Miss Dennison. “If anybody calls I’m having lunch at-” I turned to Janis. “Where will we eat?”
“Twenty One?”
I shook my head. I wanted to talk to Janis. I wanted very much to have a long talk with her. And it would be so noisy in Twenty One-when they were throwing Lorraine Carstairs and Pat out.
“Voisin?” I said.
“All right.”
“We’ll be at Voisin,” I told Miss Dennison. Then I took Janis’ arm and steered her toward the elevators. We did not talk going down in the elevator. In the cab I lit our cigarettes and Janis said, “I’m so sorry about last night, Dick.”
“That’s all right. I take it this is pretty much a business lunch?”
Janis raised her eyebrows.
“I assume you want to sell me the book Charles Anstruther finished before he died. Everybody else does.”
“I’d like to have you publish it, Dick. It’s the least I can do. After all, we were pretty good friends once.”
“You don’t have to do me any favors.”
“Please, Dick.”
We were quiet for a minute or two, then, suddenly, I reached over and took her hand. “Darling, what are you doing?” I said. “What are you getting mixed up in? Walter’s a crook. I don’t know anything about your friend Max, but he doesn’t sound like such good company for a little girl. What are you trying to prove? Why don’t you just make movies?”
“I’m not mixed up in anything, Dick. I bought a piece of the Anstruther book on the advice of my manager. It’s a sound investment and it works out very well tax-wise. What makes you think I’m mixed up in anything?”
We got out of the cab at the corner of Park.
“We both know a girl was killed at Walter’s last night,” I said as we crossed the street. “Something’s going on. And it has something to do with the book.”
“I don’t know, Dick,” Janis said. “Sometimes I don’t know.”
At Voisin we were rushed to a table.
We ordered drinks, and sat in silence until the waiter returned. Then I said, “Tell me about Max. It’s very important, darling.”
“What about him?”
“Don’t fence with me, Janis. Who is he? Where did he come from? Was he really a gangster? How does he happen to be your manager or agent or whatever he is? And how come you’re going to marry him?”
“I’m going to marry him because I love him,” Janis said. “He’s my manager and agent because he was the only person in Hollywood who believed in me. You can’t possibly know what he did for me. Got me parts. Loaned me money. Introduced me to important people. I get sixty thousand dollars a picture now, darling. And Max did it. He did it all.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I said. “You did it. You’re beautiful and talented. You’d be making whatever it is
