"That sounds fair," I said.
"Meanwhile, we're under a deadline. We're going to have to work eight days a week."
I thought about the pressure of the Broadway shows I had done. "I'm used to that."
The telephone rang and he picked it up. "This is Eddie Cantor."
And to this day, I have never heard a man say his own name with such pride.
We went to work. We discussed the framework of an idea I had, to star Eddie and Joan Davis. He liked it, and I began to write. I usually worked at his house, starting early in the morning and leaving about seven o'clock in the evening, including Saturdays and Sundays.
The evenings were mine and I relaxed. I met a very attractive girl who seemed to like me and we began to have dinners together. The problem was that she could see me only every other evening.
I was curious. "What do you do on the evenings I don't see you?" I asked.
"I'm seeing someone else, Sidney. I like you both very much, but I have to make up my mind."
Who's the other man?
"His name is Jose Iturbi. He wants to marry me."
Jose Iturbi was a famous pianist-conductor who gave concerts all over the world, and he had guest-starred in musicals at MGM, Paramount, and Fox. There was no way I could compete with a famous man like Iturbi.
She said to me, "Jose told me that you're a Coca-Cola."
I blinked. "I'm a what?"
"A Coca-Cola. He said there are millions of you and only one of him."
I never saw her again.
Three days before Eddie Cantor's contract with RKO would have expired, I delivered my screenplay. Sammy Weisbord sent it to RKO, and the following day it was approved. Now I could take my time and polish the dialogue and tighten the script. There were a lot of things I wanted to do with it that I had not been able to do because of the time pressure.
Sammy Weisbord called me. "Sidney, I'm afraid you're off the picture."
I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. "What?"
"Cantor is bringing in his radio writers to do the polish."
I thought of all the long days and weekends I had worked. You're going to have to work your ass off to get the script in on time. But when you finish the first draft and the studio approves it, then you'll have all the time in the world to polish the dialogue, tighten it up, do whatever you want with it. It will be all yours . . .
Welcome to Hollywood.
On September 2, 1945, the Japanese formally surrendered. Richard was on his way home. I could not wait to see him.
On Christmas Eve, Richard's ship finally docked in San Francisco. We had dinner his first night in Los Angeles. He looked thinner and physically fit. I was eager to hear all that had happened to him. I knew where he had been. New Guinea, Morotai, Leyte, Luzon . . .
"What was it like?"
My brother looked at me a long time. "Let's never discuss this again."
"Fair enough. Do you know what you're going to do now?"
"Marty Leeb offered me a job. I'm going to take it. I'll get to spend more time with Mom."
I was delighted. I knew he and Marty would get along well.
Sam Weisbord called the next day. "You have two offers for Suddenly It's Spring."
"That's great," I said excitedly. "Who are they from?"
"One is from Walter Wanger." He had produced many prestigious movies, including Stagecoach, Foreign Correspondent, and The Long Voyage Home.
"And the other one?"
"David Selznick."
My heart stopped for a moment. "David Selznick?"
"He loves your treatment. Dore Schary is going to co-produce for him. Wanger is offering forty thousand dollars. Selznick is offering thirty-five thousand dollars and each offer includes your writing the screenplay."
I wasn't concerned about the money. The idea of working with Selznick was thrilling. Besides, hadn't he started me in the business? It would be good to get together with my fellow reader again.
"Take the Selznick offer."
The following morning I met with David Selznick and Dore Schary. Selznick was a tall, imposing figure, seated behind a huge desk in an ornate, beautifully furnished office. Dore Schary was dark and trim with a visible intelligence. We shook hands.
Selznick said, "Sit down, Sheldon, I'm glad to meet you."
I thought maybe I could see Mr. Selznick -
No, Mr. Selznick is a busy man.
"I liked your story. It's excellent. I hope your screenplay turns out as good as your original treatment."
Dore said, "I'm sure it will be."
Selznick studied me a moment. "I heard you had another offer from Wanger. I'm glad you came to me. I talked to your agent. We'll pay you thirty-five thousand for the original and the screenplay."
I flashed back to Selznick's secretary handing me an envelope. There's ten dollars in there.
I started to work that morning. I was given an office at the RKO studios, where we were going to make Suddenly It's Spring. RKO was an important studio. They were currently shooting It's a Wonderful Life, The Farmer's Daughter, and Dick Tracy. In the commissary I saw James Stewart, Robert Mitchum, and Loretta Young, and because I had seen them so often in movies, I felt as though they were old friends. But I didn't have enough courage to speak to any of them.
I was enjoying writing the screenplay. The story involved a playboy, a young girl, and her sister, a judge. The man I had had in mind when I wrote the treatment was Cary Grant, but he was always so busy that I was sure it would be impossible to get him.
I thought the screenplay was coming along well. Knowing Selznick's penchant for hiring writer after writer on the same project, I was flattered that he had not tried to replace me. And then one day, I came across a memo from Selznick to Dore Schary: