I said I would and that I’d drop off my bill with him.
In the next hour I shaved and worked on the bill and came up with this:
Fee: $50 per day for five days (minus $50 advance)
$200
New windows for 1934 Buick
40*
Payment for information
10
Hospital room and expenses
37
Replacement of ruined suit
25*
Telephone
3.50
Motor court, one night
7
Holy Name Church of God’s Friends
1
Food
11
Parking. 50
Gas
8
–
Total
$343.00
*Estimated expenses
I had a feeling I had missed something, but I wanted the whole thing over with. I clipped on the hospital bill, a parking stub, and a receipt from the Happy Byways Motor Court, and put the bundle in an envelope. The only envelope I could find had Shelly’s name on it, complete with the D.D.S. and the S.D. The S.D. didn’t mean anything. It was something he had made up to look impressive. At least the return address was right, and it was the only one I had.
I was getting up to leave when Gunther Wherthman came through the door. His mustache was gone, and he wore a smile.
We shook hands, and he found a way to get on my chair with dignity. He politely did not look at the office, nor comment on it.
“I should like to thank you for what you have done, Mr. Peters,” he said. His suit was neatly pressed, and the bruise from my brother was fading.
“That’s all right,” I said.
“I should like to pay you for your services. For your time and trouble. What is your normal fee?”
“M.G.M. is paying me, Mr. Wherthman,” I explained.
“Nonetheless,” he said, reaching for his wallet, “I wish no charity from M.G.M.”
Even I could recognize dignity when I saw it, though I hadn’t seen much of it around Los Angeles. I knew Wherthman was just getting by and anything he gave me would cut into his rent or lunch, but I wasn’t going to deprive him of what he wanted.
“Ten bucks,” I said.
“That is very little for what you have done,” he said, counting ten singles out, “but I must admit if it were much more I should have to owe it to you.” He got down from the chair, and we shook hands.
“Can I buy you dinner tonight, Mr. Wherthman?” I asked. He said he would be delighted, and I said I’d pick him up at his place around seven.
“I’ve got to make a stop at M.G.M. and then look around for a place to live,” I explained. “I just lost my last place.”
“There is, I believe, an opening in the house in which I am living,” he said. “If you would be interested. It is clean, quiet, and on a nice street. The landlady is pleasant, and the rent is reasonable.”
I thanked him for the idea and said I’d think about it. There was nothing to read into my answer this time. I really meant to think about it. It might not be exactly what I had thought about a few hours earlier, but it was a step in the right direction, and I liked Wherthman’s company. His dignity might rub off on me.
My stitches were tight when I stepped into Shelly’s office. He was working on the skinny lady. Mr. Strange of one-tooth fame was holding the woman’s baby and making faces at it. It was his God-given talent. The baby loved it.
The drive to M.G.M. was pleasant. I only thought of Cassie James and what she had done once or twice. The rest of the time I thought about my next meal, the money from Metro, and my future.
Buck McCarthy was on the gate, and we jawed for a few seconds until a car pulled in behind me. Greer Garson was in it, her red hair blowing in the slight wind. She pulled next to me, and Buck waved her in. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Everyone was smiling today.
“Adios,” I said to Buck, and he smiled.
Hoff’s secretary gave me a pleasant South of the Border smile and told me to go in. Hoff pumped my hand and thanked me. I accepted a ginger ale with ice, and he looked at the bill.
“Looks reasonable,” he said. He went into his pocket and pulled out four 100-dollar bills. They were crisp and new and I took them.
“We’ll just even it out,” he said. “I’ll get reimbursed when I turn in your bill.”
We wanted to say something else to each other, but there was nothing to say. What we shared we didn’t want to talk about, and there was a hell of a lot we didn’t share. So I drank my ginger ale, and he drank something dark with ice in it. I said I had to go. He reminded me that Mayer wanted to see me. I hadn’t forgotten.
We walked back to Mayer’s office, and he left me. He said he hoped we’d see each other again, and I said the same, but neither of us meant it.
This time I had to wait for Mr. Mayer. Someone was with him. I tried to talk to Blonde No. 1, but she acted busy, as if she had misplaced her desk.
I spent half an hour looking at the photographs of the studio’s stars on the walls. Then the door opened, and Mickey Rooney came out with a tall, dark man wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase. Rooney was grinning and rubbing his hands. He almost danced out. The shoulders on his suit were too wide. I expected him to say, “Oh, boy, oh, boy” in glee, just like Andy Hardy.
He recognized me and said hello, but he couldn’t put a name to my face. A lot of people can’t. I told him who I was and reminded him that I had worked a premiere or two as security.
“You working here full time now?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Just temporary.”
“Too bad,” he said, grinning. “It’s a classy dump.”
The tall man with him said nothing. Rooney bounced away smiling. It was a classy dump.
The blonde led me through the door and turned me over to the redhead; then to the second blonde, who led me into Mayer’s office. He was talking to a woman in a grey suit about redecorating the office. I thought it was a good idea, but I didn’t say so. I sat in the same comfortable white chair without being asked and waited.
“I want it to stand out and yet be subtle,” he told the woman, who nodded to indicate she understood.
When she left, Mayer came around the table, and I stood up. He pumped my hand a few times and looked into my eyes.
“Words can hardly express how much I appreciate what you’ve done, Mr. Peters,” he said.
“Words and cash,” I said. “I’ve been paid, and I’ve been thanked.”
“Do you know who was just in here?” said Mayer. “Mickey Rooney. He’s a good lad, a little excitable, but a good boy. This studio has a reputation for good, wholesome entertainment, and you’ve helped to keep our image
