Tessie Brand’s first two pictures went through the box-office roof. She received an Academy nomination for the first one and was awarded the golden Oscar for the second. Audiences all over the world lined up at motion-picture theaters to see Tessie and to hear that incredible voice. She had everything. She was funny, she could sing and she could act. Her ugliness turned out to be an asset, because audiences identified with it. Tessie Brand became a surrogate for all the unattractive, the unloved, the unwanted.
Tessie married the leading man in her first picture, divorced him after the retakes and married the leading man in her next picture. Sam had heard rumors that this marriage too was sinking, but Hollywood was a hotbed of gossip. He paid no attention, for he felt that it was none of his business.
As it turned out, he was mistaken.
Sam was talking on the phone to Barry Herman, Tessie’s agent. “What’s the problem, Barry?”
“Tessie’s new picture. She’s not happy, Sam.”
Sam felt his temper rising. “Hold it! Tessie’s approved the producer, the director and the shooting script. We’ve got the sets built and we’re ready to roll. There’s no way she can walk away now. I’ll—”
“She doesn’t want to walk away.”
Sam was taken aback. “What the hell does she want?”
“She wants a new producer on the picture.”
Sam yelled into the phone. “She what?”
“Ralph Dastin doesn’t understand her.”
“Dastin’s one of the best producers in the business. She’s lucky to have him.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Sam. But the chemistry’s wrong. She won’t make the picture unless he’s out.”
“She’s got a contract, Barry.”
“I know that, sweetheart. And, believe me, Tessie has every intention of honoring it. As long as she’s physically able. It’s just that she gets nervous when she’s unhappy and she can’t seem to remember her lines.”
“I’ll call you back,” Sam said savagely. He slammed down the phone.
The goddamned bitch! There was no reason to fire Dastin from the picture. He had probably refused to go to bed with her, or something equally ridiculous. He said to Lucille, “Ask Ralph Dastin to come up here.”
Ralph Dastin was an amiable man in his fifties. He had started as a writer and had eventually become a producer. His movies had taste and charm.
“Ralph,” Sam began, “I don’t know how to—”
Dastin held up his hand. “You don’t have to say it, Sam. I was on my way up here to tell you I’m quitting.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Sam demanded.
Dastin shrugged. “Our star’s got an itch. She wants someone else to scratch it.”
“You mean she has your replacement already picked out?”
“Jesus, where have you been—on Mars? Don’t you read the gossip columns?”
“Not if I can help it. Who is he?”
“It’s not a he.”
Sam sat down, slowly. “What?”
“It’s the costume designer on Tessie’s picture. Her name is Barbara Carter—like the little liver pills.”
“Are you sure about this?” Sam asked.
“You’re the only one in the entire Western Hemisphere who doesn’t know it.”
Sam shook his head. “I always thought Tessie was straight.”
“Sam, life’s a cafeteria. Tessie’s a hungry girl.”
“Well, I’m not about to put a goddamned female costume designer in charge of a four-million-dollar picture.”
Dastin grinned. “You just said the wrong thing.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that part of Tessie’s pitch is that women aren’t given a fair chance in this business. Your little star has become very feminist-minded.”
“I won’t do it,” Sam said.
“Suit yourself. But I’ll give you some free advice. It’s the only way you’re ever going to get this picture made.”
Sam telephoned Barry Herman. “Tell Tessie that Ralph Dastin walked off the picture,” Sam said.
“She’ll be pleased to hear that.”
Sam gritted his teeth, then asked, “Did she have anyone else in mind to produce the picture?”
“As a matter of fact, she did,” Herman said smoothly. “Tessie has discovered a very talented young girl who she feels is ready for a challenge like this. Under the guidance of someone as brilliant as you, Sam—”
“Cut out the commercial,” Sam said. “Is that the bottom line?”
“I’m afraid it is, Sam. I’m sorry.”
Barbara Carter had a pretty face and a good figure and, as far as Sam could tell, was completely feminine. He watched her as she took a seat on the leather couch in his office and daintily crossed her long, shapely legs. When she spoke, her voice sounded a trifle husky, but that may have been because Sam was looking for some kind of sign. She studied him with soft gray eyes and said, “I seem to be in a terrible spot, Mr. Winters. I had no intention of putting anyone out of work. And yet”—she raised her hands helplessly—“Miss Brand says she simply won’t make the picture unless I produce it. What do you think I should do?”
For an instant, Sam was tempted to tell her. Instead, he said, “Have you had any experience with show business—besides being a costume designer?”
“I’ve ushered, and I’ve seen lots of movies.”