"My friend?"
"Yes, you know who.
The crazy one. The flier. Jonas Cord."
"Oh," David said.
He liked the way his uncle put it, reminding him of the earlier conversation they had had about Cord some years ago. He and Cord had never exchanged so much as a word. He even doubted if Cord knew he was alive. "How did he look?"
"The same," his uncle replied. "Like a bum. Wearing sneakers and no tie.
I don't know how he gets away with it.
Anybody else they would throw out, but him?
Shows you there's nothing like goyishe money."
"You talk to him?" David asked curiously.
"Sure," Norman answered.
"I read in the papers where he's making another picture. Who knows, I says to myself, the schnorrer might get lucky again.
Besides, with prestige like we're stuck with, we could use him. We could pay a lot of bills with his money.
"It's two o'clock in the morning and he's got two courvehs on his arm.
I walk over and say,
'Hello, Jonas.'
He looks at me like he's never seen me before in his life.
'Remember me,' I says, 'Bernie Norman from Hollywood.'
'Oh, sure," he says.
"But I can't tell from his face whether he really does or doesn't, he needs a shave so bad.
'These two little girls are actresses,' he says to me, 'but I won't tell you their names. Otherwise, you might sign them up yourself.
If I like a girl,' he says, 'I put her under contract to Cord Explosives now. No more do I take any chances and let them get away from me the way you signed that Marlowe dame.'
With that, he gives me such a playful shot in the arm that for two hours I can't raise my hand.
"I made myself smile even if I didn't feel like it.
'In our business, you got to move fast,' I says, 'otherwise you get left behind the parade. But that's over and done with. What I want to do is talk to you about this new picture I hear you're makin'.
We did a fantastic job for you on your last one and I think we should set up a meetin'.'
" 'What's the matter with right now?' he asks. 'It's O.K. with me,' I says.
He turns to the girls. 'Wait right here,' he says to them. He turns back to me an' takes my arm. 'Come on,' he says, draggin' me off. 'Come up to my office.'
"I look at him in surprise.
'You got an office here in the Waldorf,' I ask him.
'I got an office in every hotel in the United States,' he says.
We get on an elevator an' he says 'Mezzanine, please.' We get off and walk down the hall to a door. I look at the sign. 'Gentlemen,' it says.
I look at him. He grins.
'My office,' he says, opening the door.
We go inside an' it's white and empty.
There's a table there and a chair for the attendant. He sits down in the chair and suddenly I see he's very sober, he's not smiling now.
" 'I haven't decided yet where I'm going to release the picture,' he says. 'It all depends on where I can get the best deal.'
'That's smart thinking.' I says, 'but I really can't talk until I know what your picture is about.'
'I'll tell you,' he says. 'It's about the fliers in the World War. I bought up about fifty old planes – Spads, Fokkers, Nieuports, De Havillands – and I figger on havin' a ball flyin' the wings off them.'
" 'Oh, a war picture,' I says. 'That's not so good. War pictures is dead since All Quiet on the Western Front.
Nobody'll come to see them.
But since I got experience with you and we was lucky together, I might go along for the ride.
What terms you looking for?'
He looks me in the eye. 'Studio overhead, ten per cent,' he says. 'Distribution, fifteen per cent with all expenses deducted from the gross before calculating the distribution fees.'
'That's impossible,' I says. 'My overhead runs minimum twenty-five per cent.'
" 'It doesn't,' he says, 'but I won't quibble about it. I just want to point out some simple arithmetic to you.
According to your annual report, your overhead during the past few years averaged twenty-one per cent.
During that period, The Renegade contributed twenty-five per cent of your gross.
Deduct that from your gross and you'll find your overhead's up to almost thirty-six per cent.
The same thing applies to the studio,' he says.