What`s Better Than Money

would be fifty thousand dollars in my pocket: a lot better than crawling home and having to tell my father I had flopped.

I lay on the bed thinking like this until it got dark. Then just when I had finally made up my mind to go down and talk Rusty into lending me the money, I heard Rima come up the stairs and go into her bedroom.

I waited.

After a while she wandered in and stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at me.

‘Hel o,’ she said.

I didn’t say anything.

‘How about something to eat?’ she said. ‘Have you any money?’

‘Don’t you want to hear what Shirely said?’

She yawned, rubbing her eyes.

‘Shirely?’

‘Yes. The boss of the Californian Recording Company. I went to see him this afternoon about you –

remember?’

She shrugged indifferently.

‘I don’t want to know what he said. They al say the same thing. Let’s go somewhere and eat.’

‘He said if you took a cure, he’d make a fortune for you.’

‘So what? Have you any money?’

I got off the bed and went over to the mirror on the wall and combed my hair. If I hadn’t done something with my hands, I would have hit her.

‘No, I haven’t any money, and we don’t eat. Clear out! The sight of you makes me sick to my stomach.’

She sat on the edge of the bed. She put her hand inside her shirt and began to scratch her ribs.

‘I’ve got some money,’ she said. ‘I’l treat you to dinner. I’m not stingy like you. We’l have spaghetti and veal.’

I turned to stare at her.

‘You have money? Where did you get it from?’

‘The Pacific Studios. They ’phoned just after you left. I had three hours crowd work.’

‘I bet you are lying. I bet you went down some dark al ey with an old man with a beard.’

She giggled.

‘It was crowd work. I’l tel you something else. I know where we can get that five thousand you’re worrying about.’ I put down the comb and faced her.

‘What the hel are you talking about?’

She studied her finger nails. Her hands were grubby and her nails black rimmed.

‘The five thousand for the cure.’

‘What about it?’

‘I know where we can get it.’

I drew in a long slow breath.

‘There are times when I would like to beat you,’ I said. ‘You exasperate me so much one of these days I’l slap your bottom until you scream blue murder.’

She giggled again.

‘I know where we can get it,’ she repeated.

‘That’s wonderful. Where can we get it?’

‘Larry Lowenstien told me.’

I thrust my hands deep into my trousers pockets.

‘Don’t act cute, you dope! Who’s Larry Lowenstien?’

‘A friend of mine.’ She leaned back on her elbows, arching her chest at me. She looked as seductive as a plate of lukewarm soup. ‘He works for the casting director. He told me they keep more than ten thousand dollars in the casting office. They have to have it in cash to pay the extras. The lock on the door is nothing.’

I lit a cigarette: my hands began to shake.

‘What’s it to me how much money they keep in the casting office?’

‘I thought we could get in there and help ourselves.’

‘That’s quite a bright idea coming from you. What makes you imagine they wouldn’t object to us taking it? Hasn’t anyone told you that taking someone’s money is stealing?’

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged.

‘It was just an idea. If you feel that way about it, forget it.’

‘Thanks for the advice. That’s just what I’m going to do.’

‘Wel , al right. Anything you say, but I thought you were so keen to get that money.’

‘I am, but not that keen.’

She got up.

‘Let’s go and eat.’

‘You go. I have something to do.’

She wandered to the door.

‘Oh, come on. I’m not stingy. I’l treat you. You’re not too proud to be treated by me, are you?’

‘I’m not proud. I’ve something else to do: I’m going to talk to Rusty. I’m borrowing my fare home from him. I’m quit ing.’

She stared at me.

‘What do you want to do that for?’

‘I’m out of a job,’ I said patiently. ‘I can’t live on air so I’m going home.’

‘You can get a job at the Pacific Studios. There’s a big crowd scene tomorrow. They want people.’

‘They do? How do I get a job like that then?’

‘I’ll fix it. Come with me tomorrow. They’l give you a job. Now let’s go and eat: I’m starving.’

I went with her because I was hungry and I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her any more.

We went to a small Italian restaurant and ate spaghetti which was very good and thin slices of veal fried in butter.

Half way through the meal, she said. ‘Did Shirely real y say I could sing?’

‘That’s what he said. He said when you had a cure and when you were a hundred per cent fit, he would give you a contract.’

She pushed aside her plate and lit a cigarette.

‘It would be easy to take that money. There would be nothing to it.’

‘I wouldn’t do a thing like that for you nor anyone else!’

‘I thought you wanted me to have a cure?’

‘Oh, shut up! To hel with your cure and to hell with you!’

Someone put a nickel into the juke box. Joy Miller began to sing Some of these Days. We both listened intently. She was loud and brassy and often off-pitch. The tape I had in my pocket was much, much better than this disc.

‘Half a million a year,’ Rima said dreamily. ‘She isn’t so hot, is she?’

‘No, but she’s a lot hot er than you. She doesn’t need a cure. Let’s get out of here. I’m going to bed.’

When we got back to the rooming-house, Rima came to the door of my room.

‘You can sleep with me tonight if you like,’ she said. ‘I feel in the mood.’

‘Wel , I don’t,’ I said, and I shut the door in her face.

I lay in bed in the darkness and thought about what she had said about all that money in the casting director’s office. I kept tel ing myself that I had to get the idea of stealing the money out of my mind. I had sunk pretty low, but I hadn’t sunk that low, but the idea kept nagging at me. If I could get her cured… I was still pecking at the idea when I fell asleep.

The next morning, soon after eight o’clock, we took the bus into Hol ywood. There was a big crowd moving