The company needs about three million dollars of revolving credit to get through this year if we're to maintain the current level of production."
"You'll get a million dollars," I said. "You'll have to make do with that."
"But Jonas," Dan protested. "How do you expect me to make the kind of pictures I want to make if you won't let us have the money?"
"If you can't do it," I snarled, "then get the hell out and I'll get someone who can." I could see Dan's face whiten. He closed his lips grimly and didn't answer.
I looked from him to the others. "The same thing goes for all of you.
From now on, I’m through playing wet nurse to the world. Any man that doesn't deliver can get out.
From now on, nobody bothers me about anything. If I want you, I’ll get in touch with you.
If you have anything to report put it in writing and send it to my office.
That's all, gentlemen. Good night."
As the door closed behind them, I could feel the hard, angry knot tightening in my gut.
I looked out the window.
Forest Hills. I wondered what kind of schools they had out there that a kid like Jo-Ann could go to.
I swallowed the rest of my drink. It didn't untie the knot; it only pulled it tighter.
Suddenly I wanted a woman.
I picked up the phone and called Jose, the headwaiter down at the Rio Club.
"Yes, Mr. Cord."
"Jose," I said. "That singer with the rumba band. The one with the big- "
"Eyes," he interrupted, laughing quietly. "Yes, Mr. Cord. I know.
She'll be at your place in half an hour."
I put down the telephone and walked back to the table. I took the bottle to the window with me while I filled my glass.
I'd learned something tonight.
People would pay any price for what they really wanted.
Monica would live in Queens so she could keep her daughter.
Dan would swallow my insults so he could make pictures.
Woolf would do anything to prove he could run the company better than his uncle Bernie.
And Mac kept on paying the price for the security I'd given him.
When you got down to it, people all had their price. The currency might differ.
It could be money, power, glory, sex. Anything.
All you needed to know was what they wanted.
A knock came on the door.
"Come in," I called.
She came into the room, her dark eyes bright, her long black hair falling down her back almost to her hips, the black gown cut way down in front showing white almost to her navel.
She smiled at me.
"Hello, Mr. Cord," she said, without the accent she used in the cafe. "How nice of you to ask me up."
"Take off your dress and have a drink," I said.
"I’m not that kind of girl," she snapped, turning and starting for the door.
"I’ve got five hundred dollars that says you are."
She turned back to me, a smile on her lips, her fingers already busy with the zipper at the back of her dress.
I turned and looked out the window while she undressed.
There weren't as many lights in Queens as there were in Manhattan. And what few lights there were weren't as bright.
Suddenly, I was angry and I yanked the cord releasing the Venetian blind.
It came down the window with a crash and shut out the city.
I turned back to the girl.
She was staring at me with wide eyes.
All she had on was a pair of skin-tight black sheer panties, and her hands were crossed over her bosom, hiding only the nipples of her large breasts.
"What did you do that for?" she said. "No one out there can see in here."
"I'm tired of looking at Queens," I said and started across the room toward her.
The Story of DAVID WOOLF.
Book Six.
1.