The Dream Merchants by Harold Robbins Page A

grip on his hair. Mark was laughing.
    Peter looked up at him. “Let go Uncle Johnny’s hair,” he said sternly, “or I’ll tell him to put you down.”
    Mark loosened his grip and Peter spoke to Johnny. “What is it he wants?”
    Johnny’s voice was elaborately casual. “He wants to go into business himself. He says there is a lot of money in it.”
    “What do you think?” Peter was interested, though he pretended not to be.
    Johnny stole a quick glance at him out of the corner of his eyes. Peter’s face was calm but his eyes gave him away. “I think he’s got something,” Johnny said slowly. “We figured it out.
    “A one-reeler costs about three hundred dollars, plus the prints. You make a hundred prints from each negative. You lease each print at least twice for ten dollars each time. That gives you two thousand for each picture. I don’t see how you can miss.”
    “Then what’s stopping him?”
    “Money,” Johnny answered. “He needs at least six thousand for cameras and equipment and he hasn’t got it.”
    They were at the station now and Johnny lifted Mark down from his shoulders. “You know, Peter,” he said, looking at him speculatively, “it wouldn’t be a bad business for us to go into.”
    Peter laughed. “Not me. I’m no
schlemiel
. I know when I’m well off. What happens if you can’t get rid of the film?” He answered his own question. “You go broke.”
    “I don’t think so,” Johnny said quickly. “Look at us. We buy film from every place we can get it and never have enough. I don’t see how it can miss.” He fished out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. “And all the other exhibitors I met in New York are in the same boat we are. Their tongues are hanging out for more pictures.”
    Peter laughed again. This time his laugh wasn’t as assured as before. Johnny could tell that he was intrigued by the idea. “I’m not greedy,” Peter said. “Let the other guy have the headaches. We’re doing all right.”
    A few minutes later the train pulled in and Johnny climbed aboard. He stood on the platform and waved to them as the train pulled out. They waved back to him and he smiled.
    He knew Peter well enough by now to realize he had planted the germ of an idea in his mind. Leave it alone for a while and every now and then say a few words more about it. In time the idea would catch on and begin to grow. The station was lost to his sight as the train turned round a bend and he went inside and found a seat. He took a newspaper from his pocket and opened it, still smiling. Maybe by the time Joe was ready, Peter would be too.
    Back at the station, Doris began to cry as the train pulled out. Peter looked down at her in surprise. “Why are you crying,
liebchen
?” he asked.
    She sniffled. “I don’t like to see anybody go away on a train.”
    Peter was puzzled; he scratched at his ear. As far as he knew, she had never seen anyone off on a train before. “Why?” he asked.
    She looked up at him, her soft blue eyes swimming in tears. “I—I don’t know, Papa,” she said in a small voice. “I just feel like crying. Maybe Uncle Johnny isn’t coming back.”
    Peter looked down at her. For a moment he stood there silently, then he took her hand. “Such nonsense!” he said gruffly. “Come on. Let’s go to the park.”

6
    It was dark when Johnny awoke. He was in a strange room. His head felt logy, heavy. He groaned and stretched his arms.
    There was a stir in the bed beside him. He started in sudden surprise as his outstretched hand encountered warm, soft flesh. He turned his head.
    In the darkness he could barely see the face of the girl sleeping beside him. She was lying on her side, one arm under the pillow. He sat up slowly, trying to remember what had happened last night. He remembered Joe ordering more wine. They were all getting drunk. Painfully it began to come back to him.
    It had started when he came into the studio about five o’clock. Joe had told him they