mean?”
“I don’t think there’s going to be …”
Simpson laughed. “You’re bullshitting me again.”
Corman shook his head.
“Yes, you are,” Simpson told him confidently. “Playing me for a fool.”
“I was just interested in …”
“Something for nothing,” Simpson interrupted. “Well, you can forget it.” He started to close the door. “I got to talk to the cops, but I don’t have to do nothing for you without there’s something in it for me.”
“But I don’t have anything to give you,” Corman said.
Simpson smiled mockingly and closed the door. “Works the same from me to you, dickhead,” he said.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
CORMAN DRESSED quickly the next morning. He could still see Simpson’s door closing in his face, blocking another route to Sarah Rosen and the book Julian wanted out of her. Hastily, he considered his other options, his frantic pace sweeping out to Lucy, rushing her through her morning routine so hurriedly that by the time they reached her school she was tired and irritable.
“May I play at Maria’s after school?” Lucy asked as they neared the school gate.
“I guess.”
She smiled brightly. “Don’t forget to pick me up there,” she said, then lunged away from him, sprinting up the stairs, as if in dread of his good-bye kiss.
Corman shook his head helplessly, then walked east to the offices of the
As he made his way toward the building’s perpetually turning revolving doors, Corman remembered the morning Lazar had brought him over to introduce him to Pike and get him started in the business. They had paused at the doors and Lazar had nodded toward the river, showing him where Nathan Hale had declared his regret at having only one life to give for his country, a line which made him famous, Lazar had said with a slim, ironic smile, despite the fact that he’d simply lifted it from an old English play.
Corman did not pause now as he hustled into the building and went directly to the elevators. Once on the fourth floor, he glanced toward Pike’s office and saw him pacing back and forth behind its Plexiglas windows. For a moment he hesitated, standing silently as the elevator doors closed behind him, almost afraid to move. It was as if each step he took now was somehow irretrievable, marked with fatal falls.
Pike was leaning over a light box, staring at several strips of negatives when Corman finally walked into his office. Rudy Fenster stood half-hidden in a rear corner, slumped against a green metal filing cabinet, his eyes darting impatiently about the office while he waited.
“Not bad, Rudy,” Pike said finally as he straightened himself. “I might be able to use one of these shots.”
Rudy’s face brightened with mock delight. “Hear that?” he asked as he stepped away from the cabinet. “Hear that, Corman, one fucking shot.”
Pike shook his head tiredly. “What do you want, a private publisher? This is a fucking newspaper. I don’t use more than one picture on anything but the lead.”
Fenster stepped over to the light box, began gathering up his negatives. “Not good enough, Hugo,” he said. “This stuff is still warm.”
Pike laughed. “In an hour it’ll be cold as death, Rudy. For Christ’s sake, take the money and run.”
Fenster shook his head determinedly, his fingers still peeling the strips from the light box. “Can’t do it.”
Pike stared at him wonderingly. “You really going to start playing me against the
“Against whoever I can,” Fenster said with a shrug.
Pike grabbed Fenster’s hand. “Wait a second, Rudy, let Corman be the judge.” He waved him over to the light box. “Take a look at these shots. Tell me how they add up to a lead.”
Fenster pulled his hand free and peeled off the last of the strips. “You’re king of the butt-fuckers, Hugo,” he said disgustedly.
Pike looked at him, stunned. “What did you say?”
Fenster dropped the negatives into a plastic folder. “You heard me.”
Pike’s eyes turned into small, angry slits. “Get out of my fucking office, Rudy,” he cried. “What are you, huh? Van Gogh, something like that? Just get the fuck out of my office.”
Fenster hooked his camera bag over his shoulder and started toward the door.
Pike was right behind him, an angry bird swooping at his back. “Get out! Get out! Go slice off your fucking ear!” He slammed the door as Fenster stepped through it, then turned back to Corman, still blazing. “Prima- fucking-donna,” he sputtered. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”
Corman stared at him silently, waiting for him to cool. Pike’s head rotated slowly back toward the door. Fenster’s tall frame could still be seen, a soft blur through the frosted glass.
Pike turned to Corman. “Did I say he was a hack? Did I insult the man? Was I going to buy a goddamn picture? What the fuck’s the matter with that guy?”
Corman didn’t answer. Instead, he decided to go on to another subject. “I was wondering if you’d heard anything about Groton.”
“Yeah, I did,” Pike answered gruffly. “He’s a dead man.” He stomped back to his desk and collapsed behind it. “He came in first thing, told me the whole story, just like he said he would.” He glanced out the window beside his desk, stared down toward the swarming ants below, then returned his eyes to Corman. “I knew his father, you know.”
“Groton’s?” Corman asked, surprised to hear it.
Pike’s lips jerked downward. “Rudy’s,” he said. “From way back, I knew his father.” He shook his head. “Tommy Fenster. He was a rewrite man for forty years, as good as there ever was.” He thought about it for a moment longer, then returned to Groton, his voice a bit shaky, despite the control. “Harry didn’t let out a whimper,” he said. “The old guy has balls, I’ll say that for him.”
“How long’s he got?”
“Six months, on the outside.”
“Six months,” Corman repeated softly.
“You want his job?”
Corman thought about it, remembering the conversation of the day before. “I’m not sure,” he said.
Pike leaned forward and turned off the light box. “Groton’s willing to take the new guy on a few shoots,” he said. “One of them’s scheduled for later this afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Some wingding at the Waldorf. Big wedding reception in the Grand Ballroom. Three-thirty. You interested?”
“Maybe,” Corman said tentatively.
“A little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you.”
“It’s just that I’m working on something else right now,” Corman explained.
Pike’s eyes closed wearily. “What something else?”
“The woman who jumped out of the window on …”
“That’s dead meat,” Pike said, his eyes still closed. He waved one hand dismissively, rubbed his eyes with the other. “Forget it.”
“She had a college degree,” Corman said quickly. “She had to come from somewhere or done something, you know, unusual.”
Pike opened his eyes and lowered his hands to his desk. “Sounds like you’re working a reporter angle more than anything else.”
“I need a story to make the pictures worth something,” Corman said. He saw Simpson’s door closing again.
