Page 28 of The Gathering Storm

Al Feinstein relit the stub of his cigar and clenched it between his teeth, screwing up his eyes against the rising smoke. The narrowed eyes gave him a dangerous, calculating look. He was such a mixture of the crass and the canny, it was hard to say which he really was. Perhaps, Lennie thought, he meant people not to know, so as to keep them off balance. In a world that made money from acting, it became hard to tell when anyone was simply being themselves.

‘And she’s staying at your place?’

‘In one of the guest bungalows, quite separate from the house,’ Lennie said. ‘She has her dresser with her, sleeping in an adjoining room. Then there’s her housekeeper Dola and my housekeeper living in—’

Al’s teeth grinned round the stub. ‘I wasn’t questioning your respectability, Len – though it’s as well to be careful. There’s some that’ll always look on the dark side of everything. But your reputation is sound. I was asking how she’s getting on.’

‘She’s doing well. Off the dope, getting her strength back. Lots of walking and swimming and tennis. Wilma’s feeding her up with every vitamin in the book. Steaks, oranges and cod liver oil every day.’

‘Okay. So far so good.’

‘She’s learned her lesson, Al. She just wants to get back to work.’

‘Hmph,’ Al said noncommittally. The stub had gone out again. He took it out, looked at it in disgust, and put it in the ashtray. ‘Cohiba my ass,’ he muttered. ‘Never buy a stogie from a guy you meet at a poker game. Five bucks a box of ten, the robber.’

‘“What this country needs is a really good five-cent cigar,”’ Lennie said, quoting Thomas R. Marshall.

Al looked impatient. ‘Whaddaya wasting my time talking about smokes for? This situation with Rosie is not so good. And this affects you, too,’ he added sharply, throwing a furious look at the other person in the room.

Dean Cornwell’s agent, Doris Forman, allowed the look to bounce off her harmlessly. She was used to Al Feinstein trying to bully her because she was a woman, but she was a formidable person, not least because of her connections. She was the sister of David B. Reznik, ABO’s leading film director, a second cousin to Louis B. Mayer, and the wife of producer Bernard Forman, who was responsible for a string of hits to rival Feinstein’s.

‘I’m just waiting for you to get to me, Al,’ she said comfortably. ‘Take all the time you need.’

Al stabbed a forefinger as thick as a Cohiba and much the same colour at the newspaper lying on his desk. ‘What I need is some constructive suggestions!’ he bellowed. ‘God damn it, they’ve only been married a year. It was billed as the greatest love story since – since—’

‘Antony and Cleopatra?’ Lennie suggested helpfully.

Feinstein was sidetracked. The finger now poked at Lennie. ‘You’ve said a bundle, Lennie my friend. That’d make a great movie! It’s got everything – doomed lovers, Roman soldiers, chariots, pyramids, a snake! And it’s never been done! You can’t count that Blackton one-reeler in, what was it, 1908? With Florence Lawrence!’ He sidetracked himself again, staring into space. ‘My God, she was a gorgeous gal! Could act, as well. Signed with Universal eventually, and they nearly killed her – a stage fire got outta hand, burned off all her hair, and she got a fractured spine when the set collapsed.’

‘Yes, I read about it,’ Lennie said.

‘Then those shysters wouldn’t pay her medical bills, the bastards – pardon my French, Doris. Not one dime. Wonder where she is now? It’s a great idea, Tony and Cleo,’ he said, his focus returning to Lennie, ‘but we got to get outta this hole we’re in first. Rosie and Deanie. Doris, your boy done her wrong. Whaddaya gonna do about it?’

‘He doesn’t want a divorce,’ Doris Forman said, with an air of getting her bid in first.

Al was half out of his chair, shouting, ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass what he wants! Who does he think he is? I eat punk actors like him for breakfast!’

‘He could be the next Clark Gable,’ Doris said calmly.

‘In his dreams he could! He’s milquetoast. Rosie carried him in Falcon, and you know it.’

Lennie winced, not wanting to get into this kind of exchange. There were enough hard feelings flying around Hollywood without adding to them. ‘I think there has to be a divorce,’ he said, in a level voice, ‘for both their sakes. There’s been too much publicity for them to get back together with any credibility, even if Rosie was willing. Let them move on. Get them both talked about with new partners – at a very respectable boy-and-girl-next-door level, I mean. A clean divorce without rancour is the best solution all round.’

‘I agree,’ said Al. ‘I don’t like divorce, it stinks, but in this case it’s the best option. They’re both young, youngsters make mistakes, it’ll be easier forgotten if it doesn’t drag on.’

‘It’s not going to look good for Dean if she makes out it’s his fault,’ said Doris.

‘It is his fault,’ Lennie pointed out.

‘There are faults on both sides,’ Doris said, giving him a look that said, Don’t mess with me, buster. ‘Things could come out she mightn’t like. For instance, why has Michael Rosecrantz dropped her if she’s the innocent party?’

Lennie gave her a steady look in return. ‘A clean, speedy divorce. Otherwise Rose might be forced to look for an annulment, on the grounds of non-consummation.’

Feinstein thumped his desk. ‘Ha! He’s got you there, Dorrie! You don’t wanna open that can-a worms! No reason a virile young man wouldn’t want to do the business with a gorgeous gal like Rosie, is there? Or is there?’

Doris was thinking furiously. As Al drew breath to speak again she held up her hand, stopping him, while she calculated. ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘A clean divorce – without recriminations on either side. No leaking little innuendoes to the mags! They made a genuine mistake, found out they didn’t suit, no alternative but to split, going their own two ways but still the best of friends. And no financial settlements, either way. No strings. They’ve both got their careers to support them.’

‘What about Roselands?’ They had bought the house between them.