Hollywood and Levine Read Free Page B

slipping?”
    â€œThat’s what the negotiations tell me. And I’m baffled, hurt, amazed. I’ve done great work for Warners in the past couple of years. Berlin Commando grossed three million bucks, Boy From Brooklyn did two-seven. That’s serious dough.”
    â€œYou don’t have to sell me, Walter.”
    â€œFirst, they compromised at three,” Adrian went on, picking up speed. “Not what we asked for but good, very good. You never get what you ask for, that’s why you ask for it. So they say yes to three and we’re about to sign when they come back at us with twenty-five.”
    Our steaming briskets arrived and the soup bowls were cleared. The waiter wanted to make some bad jokes at our expense by starting a “There’s a hundred things on the menu and both these guys order brisket. Where you from, Cleveland?” spiel. We completely ignored him and he departed in poor humor.
    â€œSame fucking waiters,” I muttered.
    Walter picked up where he had left off, as if he had been holding his breath. “We were unhappy enough about the twenty-five, but the next day it was down to twenty-two. Like a goddamn stock market crash! I was about to leave for New York and got half-crazy, as you can well imagine. How come I suddenly had the plague? My agent told Warners they could shove the twenty-two. They told him to get wise and accept.”
    â€œThey give any reasons for this?”
    â€œReasons?” he bellowed. The platinum lady and the gentleman with the green cigar turned around. Walter blushed and lowered his voice. “Reasons? A collection of excuses, lame excuses, the kind they give when they want you to know they’re only lame excuses. They’re worried about television, they have to tighten ship, all a lot of crap.”
    â€œWalter, this doesn’t make too much sense. You’re a top screenwriter, a moneymaker. If Warner Brothers is trying to force you down, go somewhere else. You’ll find a studio that’ll pay you what you want, no?”
    Adrian picked at his brisket uneasily.
    â€œI don’t think so,” he said. “This isn’t the time. My agent made some calls: Paramount, Metro, Fox, Selznick. But he couldn’t say out front that Warners was trying to cut me out. It was a fishing expedition: he talked vaguely about Walter Adrian wanting to get more freedom. All he got were compliments and the stall.”
    We ate in silence for a while, Adrian depressed and Le-Vine hungry. The brisket was lean and aromatic. When we finished, we ordered strawberry cheesecake and coffee, to complete a most excellent glut.
    â€œSo where does it stand right now, Walter, as we speak?”
    â€œAs we speak?” The writer played with his lip, kneading it between his fingers. “As we speak, it hardly stands at all. The agent told me to sit tight, that if we held out Warners would ultimately give us what we wanted. So I flew East with at least a little peace of mind. Last night I called the Coast.” He stared bleakly ahead. “The market has plunged again: they’ve gone down to seventeen-fifty. And that’s just an insult, nothing else.”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    Adrian’s jaw muscles worked silently and fiercely. “Jack, will you please understand,” he said angrily and precisely, “that the dollar amounts are symbolic. The numbers mean they want me out.”
    â€œOkay. Now the question is why?”
    â€œI don’t have the vaguest.”
    Our cheesecake was brought forth; gloom and despair briefly vanished. We ate our strawberry-topped wedges with the solemn ecstasy of religious fanatics letting communion wafers dissolve in their mouths. When the last bites began their greased plunges to our respective stomachs, we settled back and called for more coffee. Walter was kind enough to offer me a Havana and I was smart enough to accept. We lit up and sat puffing like a pair of exiled