That was the new Western – a singing cowboy and a guitar.
He felt a vague distaste even as he thought about it.
That chubby little Gene Autry had made it big.
The only problem, he'd heard from one of the wranglers, was to keep him from falling off his horse. Tex Ritter was doing all right at Columbia, too.
Nevada looked up again at the house.
That was the biggest stupidity of all – a quarter-million-dollar trap.
It took more than twenty servants to keep it running and ate up money like a pack of prairie wolves devouring a stray steer.
He quickly reviewed his income.
The cattle ranch in Texas had just started to pay off when the depression hit and now he was lucky if it broke even.
His royalties on the sale of Nevada Smith toys and cowboy suits had dwindled as children shifted their fickle loyalties to other stars.
All that was left was his share of the Wild-West show and the Nevada divorce ranch. That brought in at most two thousand a month. The house alone cost him six thousand a month just to keep going.
Rina had offered to share the expenses but he'd refused, feeling it was a man's responsibility to pay the bills.
But now, even with the bank loans for The Renegade paid off, he knew it wouldn't be possible to keep the house going without dipping further into his capital.
The sensible thing was to get rid of it. He'd have to take a loss.
Thalberg over at Metro had offered him a hundred and fifty thousand.
That way, at least, he'd save the broker's fee.
He made up his mind.
There was no use sitting around, waiting for the telephone to ring.
He'd go out on the road with the show and sell the house.
He began to feel better. He decided to tell Rina when she got back from the studio that night.
The telephone on the pole against the far rail began to ring loudly.
He walked his horse over to it.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Smith?" It was the voice of the butler.
"Yes, James," he said.
"Mrs. Smith would like you to join her for breakfast in the Sun Room."
Nevada hesitated.
Strange how quickly the servants recognized who was important in the family.
James now used the same distant formal manner of speaking to him that he had once used in speaking to Rina.
He heard the butler clear his throat.
"Shall I tell Mrs. Smith you will be up, sir?" he asked. "I think she's expecting some photographers from Screen Stars magazine."
So that was it.
Nevada felt a stirring of resentment inside him.
This was the first time in months that Rina had called him for breakfast and it took a publicity layout to do it.
Almost immediately, he regretted the way he felt. After all, it wasn't her fault. She'd been working day and night for months.
"Tell her I'll be up as soon as I stable the horse," he said.
"Just one more shot of you pouring coffee for Nevada," the photographer said, "and we're finished."
Nevada picked up his cup and extended it across the table to Rina.
She lifted the silver coffeepot and poised it over the cup.
Professionally and automatically, the smiles came to their lips.
They'd gone through the whole routine. The picture of Rina frying bacon and eggs while he looked over her shoulder at the stove, the burned-toast bit, the popping of food into each other's mouth.
Everything the readers of fan magazines had come to expect from movie stars.
This was supposed to give them the homey touch. There was an awkward silence for a moment after the photographers picked up their gear and left.
Nevada spoke first.
"I'm glad that's over."
"So am I," Rina said. She hesitated, then looked up at the wall clock. "I'd better get started.
I'm due in make-up at seven thirty."
She started to get up but the telephone near her began to ring.
She sat down again and picked it up.
"Hello."