She looked at her face in the bathroom mirror.
Her skin was clear and pink and her eyes were sparkling.
She smiled again.
For the first time in her life, she was glad she was a woman.
Carefully she stepped into the tub and sank into the warm water.
She would not soak too long.
She wanted to be at the telephone at seven o'clock when David called from New York.
She wanted to hear the happiness in his voice when she told him.
David looked down at the blue, leather-bound book of accounts.
Six million dollars' profit this year. Almost two million last year.
If nothing else, the figures proved how right had been the deal he made with Bonner three years ago.
True, Bonner made almost as much for himself. But he had a right to it.
Almost all that profit had come from his own big pictures, those he had produced and financed himself.
If only David had been able to persuade Jonas to come up with the financing when Bonner offered it to them. If he had, the profit this year would have been ten million dollars.
Only one thing troubled David.
During the past year, Cord had been gradually liquidating part of his stock as the market rose.
He'd already recovered his original investment and the twenty-three per cent of the stock he still owned was free and clear.
Ordinarily, in a company this size, that meant control. But someone was buying. It was the story of Uncle Bernie all over again.
Only this time, Jonas was on the wrong side of the fence.
One day, a broker named Sheffield had come to see David.
He was rumored to be the head of a powerful syndicate and their holdings in the company were considerable.
David had looked at him questioningly, as he sat down.
"For almost a year now, we've been trying to arrange a meeting with Mr. Cord to discuss our mutual problems," Sheffield said. "But no one seems to know where he is or how he can be reached.
We've never even received an answer to our letters.''
"Mr. Cord is a busy man."
"I know," Sheffield said quickly. "I’ve had dealings with him before. The least I can say is that he's erratic." He drew a gold cigarette case from his pocket and opened it. Carefully he took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He lit the cigarette and as carefully put the case back in his pocket.
He blew a cloud of smoke toward David. "Our patience is at an end," he said.
"We have a considerable investment in this company, an investment that will tolerate neither a dilettante operation nor an obvious neglect of profit opportunities."
"It seems to me the investors have very little to complain about," David said. "Especially in view of the profits this year."
"I commend your loyalty, Mr. Woolf," Sheffield said. He smiled. "But we both know better.
My group of investors was willing to advance the financing needed for certain pictures which might have doubled our profit.
Mr. Cord was not.
We are willing to work out an equitable stock and profit-sharing plan for certain key executives.
Mr. Cord is not.
And definitely we are not interested in burdening the company with certain expenses, like those at the Boulevard Park Hotel."
David had been wondering how long it would take him to get around to that. It was an open secret in the industry.
Cord's harem, they called it.
It had begun two years ago, when Jonas tried to get a suite in the hotel for a girl and was refused.
Using the picture company as a subterfuge, he then rented several floors of the staid establishment on the fringe of Beverly Hills.
On the day the lease was signed, he had the studio move in all the girls on the contract-players' list.
There had almost been a riot as thirty girls swarmed into as many apartments under the shocked eyes of the hotel management.
The newspapers had a field day, pointing out that none of the girls made as much in a year as each apartment would have ordinarily cost in a month.
That had been two years ago but the lease ran for fifteen years. Admittedly, it cost the company a great deal of money.
The hotel would have been only too willing to cancel the lease but Jonas would have no part of it.
Gradually most of the girls moved out. Now most of the apartments were empty, except when Jonas came across a girl he thought had possibilities.
David leaned back in his chair.
"I don't have to point out, of course, that Mr. Cord receives no remuneration or expenses from the company."
Sheffield smiled.
"We would have no objections if Mr. Cord rendered any service to the company.
But the truth is that he is not at all active. He has not attended a single board meeting since his association with the company began."