Right before we left, Sam Spiegel called.
Sam Spiegel was one of Hollywood’s most colorful characters. Born in Austria, he had come to Hollywood to sell Egyptian cotton. He had served time in Brixton Prison for fraud. While in Hollywood, he decided to become a producer, and changed his name to S. P. Eagle. He became the joke of the town. When Darryl Zanuck heard the news, he said, “I’m changing my name to Z. A. Nuck.”
The laughter quickly stopped, for Sam Spiegel went on to produce a long list of Academy Award-winning pictures, including Lawrence of Arabia, On the Waterfront, and The African Queen.
I had met him at one of the lavish parties he gave, and we had become friends.
After his phone call, Jorja and I had dinner with Sam. He said, “I’ve heard about a foreign film I might be interested in remaking. If you’re going to Paris, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at it and tell me what you think.”
Three days later, Jorja and I flew to New York, to spend a few days before boarding the Queen Mary.
There were some interesting plays on Broadway—The Crucible, Wonderful Town, Picnic, The Seven Year Itch, and Dial M for Murder. Walking into the lobbies of the various theaters gave me a sharp sense of déjà vu. Some of the plays were in theaters that Ben Roberts and I had had plays in. So many incredible events had happened since that time. But the most incredible of all was that a Cary Grant picture that I had directed was going to open at Radio City Music Hall.
One evening, Jorja and I went to see The Crucible, Arthur Miller’s new play. In the cast were Arthur Kennedy, E. G. Marshall, Beatrice Straight, and Madeleine Sherwood. It was a stunning evening in the theater. Jorja was enthralled.
As the curtain came down, she turned to me. “Who directed this play?”
“Jed Harris. He’s directed Uncle Vanya, A Doll’s House, Our Town, and The Heiress.”
“He’s incredible,” Jorja declared. “I want to work with him one day.”
I took her hand. “Only if he’s that lucky.”
CHAPTER 24
The following morning we sailed for London. It was a perfect, smooth crossing, and it seemed to me that that described my present life. I was married to a woman I adored. I was under contract to a major studio, doing what I loved to do, and I was on my way to Europe, on a second honeymoon.
When the ship docked, we took the boat train to London, spent a few days there, and then went on to Paris, where we checked in at the beautiful Hotel Lancaster on Rue de Berri. The hotel had a spectacular garden where they served drinks and meals.
The first thing I did once we checked in was to call the Paris office of United Artists. I spoke to Mr. Berns, the manager.
“Mr. Spiegel told us to expect your call, Mr. Sheldon. When would you like to see the film?”
“It really doesn’t matter. Anytime.”
“Would tomorrow morning be satisfactory? Say—ten o’clock?”
“Fine.”
Jorja and I spent the day sightseeing and went to the fabled Maxim’s for dinner.
The next morning, as I was getting dressed, Jorja was still in bed.
“We’re running the film at ten o’clock, honey. You’d better get ready.”
She shook her head. “I’m a little tired. Why don’t you go? I think I’ll stay in and rest today. We’re going to dinner and the theater tonight.”
“All right. I won’t be long.”
The United Artists office sent a limousine to pick me up and take me to their headquarters. I met Mr. Berns, a tall, pleasant-faced man with a full head of silver hair.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Why don’t we go right into the theater?”
We walked into the huge theater that the company used to screen movies. There was only one other person there. He was slight, short, and unprepossessing. The only thing outstanding about his features were his eyes. They were very bright, almost probing. We were introduced, but I didn’t get his name.
The movie began. It was a French western, badly done, and I was sure that Sam Spiegel would have no interest in it.