The Inheritors by Harold Robbins Read Free Book Online Page A

was silent. That meant exactly nothing. It was agent talk for expensive.
    “I got about thirty-six for you. About five from each of the majors, the rest from independents.”
    “How many good ones?”
    “Average four out of six and the other two aren’t too bad. At least they’re not real dogs.” He finished his drink. “I wanted one for one, but they wouldn’t go for it.”
    I nodded. He had done well. Usually the picture companies hung you up for four lemons for each really good feature they gave you.
    “Now, hold on to your seat,” he said. “They’ll cost you four hundred thousand dollars each and you’ve got exactly twenty-four hours to commit or there’s no deal. And they want the money now because they want to take it into this year’s figures.”
    I stared at him. The price was exactly double the going rate for films up to now, but I knew that was the only reason they would let them go. They were in a bind too. They had to make this year’s figures look good or there would be screams from the stockholders. And they were more afraid of their stockholders just now than they were of the theater owners who had forced them into an agreement to withhold the post-1948 pictures from television. Their stockholders could cost them their jobs, while the exhibitors still had to come to them for product.
    “Okay,” I said. “Buy them.”
    He stared at me. “You know what you’re doing? That’s over fourteen million dollars.”
    “I said buy them.”
    “Don’t you even want to know what pictures they are, what stars are in them—”
    My tone was abrupt. “You’re the expert, Jack. I trust your judgment. You said you didn’t want to take advantage of me.”
    “But it’s your job. If the pictures are no good—”
    I broke in again. This time my voice was cold. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jack. It’s not my job. If the pictures are bombs, it’s your agency that’s on the line. My job allows for mistakes but if you stiff me, WAM never sells another show to Sinclair. And there goes your agency because all the business you get from the other networks isn’t enough to pay the rent on one floor of your offices.”
    His face was pale, and faint beads of perspiration came out on his forehead. He finished his second drink, sipping it slowly without taking his eyes off me. After a moment he spoke. “They’re good pictures.”
    I let up on him. “Then what are you worried about?” I smiled. “Relax and let’s get our dinner. I’m starved.”
    But, oddly enough, he didn’t seem to have much of an appetite.
    ***
    It was after eleven o’clock when I let myself into the apartment. I wasn’t at all tired. I opened the attaché case and spread the papers on the dining room table.
    By the time I finished with them and fell into bed, it was after one o’clock. My eyes burned and they smarted when I closed them, but in less than a moment I spun out. I couldn’t have been sleeping more than a half hour when the door chime began to ring.
    At first it seemed an echo in my head and I tried to turn it off. At last I opened my eyes. It took me a moment to get used to the darkness. The chime sounded louder now that I was awake. I struggled out of bed and went through the apartment to the front door and opened it.
    She wore a fur coat wrapped tightly around her. She clutched a small purse in her hand and her blue eyes looked up at me, wide, dark and afraid.
    I stood there for a moment, then I stepped back and she threw herself into my arms. She was shivering and crying. I closed the door.
    “You didn’t tell me you moved,” she sobbed.
    I held her.
    “I went to your old apartment first. The doorman told me where you had gone.” She looked up into my face, her eyes wet with tears. “Are you very angry with me, Steve?”
    I shook my head.
    The words tumbled out of her. “I couldn’t stand it there anymore. I was alone. So alone. I kept thinking about what you said. About other friends. For the first