Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The THE BIG NOWHERE

“You surely have.”

Side 34

Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The Hughes cocked two finger pistols, his thumbs the hammers. “Remember the premiere of _Billy the Kid_? The Legion of Decency was outside Grauman’s shouting ‘Whoremonger’ at me and little old ladies from Pasadena were throwing tomatoes at Jane Russell. Death threats, the whole megillah.”

Buzz crossed his legs and picked lint off a trouser cuff. “I was there, boss.”

Hughes blew imaginary smoke off his fingertips. “Buzz, that was a dicey evening, but did I ever describe it as dangerous, or big?”

“No, boss. You surely didn’t.”

“When Bob Mitchum was arrested for those marijuana cigarettes and I called you in to help with the evidence, did I describe that as dangerous or big?”

“No.”

“And when _Confidential Magazine_ was getting ready to publish that article that alleged that I like well-endowed underage girls, and you took your billy club down to the office to reason with the editor, did I describe _that_

as dangerous or big?”

Buzz winced. It was late ’47, the fuck pads were at full capacity, Howard was a pork-pouring dervish and was filming his teenaged conquests’

endorsing his prowess–a ploy aimed at getting him a date with Ava Gardner. One of the film cans was snatched out of the RKO editing department and ended up at _Confidential_; he broke three sets of scandal mag fingers quashing the story–

then blew Hughes’ bonus betting stupid on the Louis-Walcott fight. “No, Howard.

You didn’t.”

Hughes shot Buzz with his finger guns. “Pow! Pow! Pow! Turner. I am telling you that that seditious spectacle down on the street is both dangerous _and_ big, and _that_ is why I called you here.”

Buzz looked at the pilot/inventor/mogul, exhausted by his theatrics, wanting to get to it. “Howard, is there any cash money involved in all this big danger? And if you’re askin’ me to break some union heads, take another think,

’cause I am too old and too fat.”

Hughes laughed. “Solly Gelfman wouldn’t say that.”

“Solly Gelfman is too goddamned kind. Howard, what do you want?”

Hughes draped his long legs over over Herman Gerstein’s desk. “What’s your opinion of Communism, Buzz?”

“I think it stinks. Why?”

“The UAES down there, they’re all Commies and Pinkos and fellow travelers. The City of Los Angeles is getting a grand jury together to investigate Communist influence in Hollywood, concentrating on the UAES. A bunch of studio heads–myself, Herman and some others–have formed a group called

‘Friends of the American Way in Motion Pictures’ to help the City out. I’ve contributed to the kitty, so has Herman. We thought you’d like to help out, too.”

Buzz laughed. “With a contribution out of my meager salary?”

Hughes aped the laugh, putting an exaggerated okie twang on it.

“I knew appealing to your sense of patriotism was a long shot.”

“Howard, you’re only loyal to money, pussy and airplanes, and I buy you as a good buddy of the American Way like I buy Dracula turning down a job at a blood bank. So this grand jury thing is one of the three, and my money’s on money.”

Hughes flushed and fingered his favorite plane crash scar, the one a girl from the Wisconsin boonies was in love with. “Brass tacks then, Turner?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hughes said, “The UAES is in at Variety International, RKO, three others here on Gower and two of the majors. Their contract is ironclad and has five more years to run. That contract is costly, and escalation clauses will cost us a fortune over the next several years. Now the goddamn union is picketing for extras: bonuses, medical coverage and profit points. Totally unacceptable.

_Totally_.”

Buzz locked eyes with Hughes. “So don’t renew their goddamned contract or let them strike.”

“Not good enough. The escalation clauses are too costly, and they won’t strike–they’ll pull very subtle slow dances. When we signed with UAES in ’45, no one knew how big television was going to get. We’re getting reamed at the box office, and we want the Teamsters in–despite the goddamned Pinko UAES and their goddamned ironclad contract.”

“How you gonna get around that contract?”

Hughes winked; scars and all, the act made him look like a big kid.

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