“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Can I help you?”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Bill Orr.”
“Sidney Sheldon.”
His face lit up. “Ah, Helen told me you’d be coming here.”
He opened the door wider and I stepped inside. It was a lovely little well-furnished apartment, with a bedroom, a small living room, a den, and a kitchenette.
“I hate to put you out,” I said, “but I—”
“Don’t worry. I was ready to leave anyway.”
I found out why when I read the next morning’s Los Angeles Times. Bill Orr was about to marry Jack Warner’s daughter and would later become head of Warner Television.
My next stop was the boardinghouse on Carmen Street to visit Gracie. Nothing had changed except for the faces. There were new wannabes filling the rooms—tomorrow’s stars and directors and cameramen, all waiting for the Phone Call.
Gracie had not changed at all. She still bustled around, mothering all her nestlings, dispensing soothing advice and commiserating with those who had given up and were leaving.
I got a big hug and an “I hear you’re famous now.” I was not sure whether I was famous or infamous.
“I’m working on it,” I said.
We spent a couple of hours talking about old times, and finally I told her I had to go. I was seeing my agent.
I had signed with the William Morris Agency, one of the top agencies in Hollywood, and was being handled by Sam Weisbord, a short, dynamic agent with a constant tan, which I later learned was replenished from time to time in Hawaii. Sammy had started as an office boy at William Morris, and years later would work his way up to president.
Sammy introduced me to some of the other agents and to Johnny Hyde, who was the vice president of the agency.
“I’ve been hearing about you,” Hyde said. “We’re going to do some interesting things together.”
At that moment, his secretary walked in.
“This is Dona Holloway.”
She was lovely, tall and slim, with intelligent gray eyes and a warm smile. She held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Sheldon. I’m glad you’re going to be with us.”
I was going to like this agency.
I said to Sammy and Johnny Hyde, “I wrote an original story that I brought with me.”
“Fine,” Sammy said. “How would you like to go to work right away?”
“I’d like that.”
“One of our clients, Eddie Cantor, has a picture deal at RKO. The problem is he hasn’t been able to come up with a script that the studio will approve. The deal runs out in three months and if we don’t have a script that the studio okays by then, it’s off. He’d like you to create something. A thousand dollars a week.”
And I had only been back in Hollywood one day.
“Great.”
“He wants to see you this afternoon.”
I had no idea what I was in for.
CHAPTER 16
Eddie Cantor had starred in half a dozen movies and was arguably one of the most popular comedians in the country. He had appeared on Broadway for Florenz Ziegfeld, and Whoopee! and Roman Scandals had made him a star in the movies. He had his own radio show and it was a huge success.
I met Eddie in his large, sprawling house on Roxbury, in Beverly Hills. He was a short, dynamic man who never stopped moving. As he talked, he paced. As he listened, he paced. I almost had the feeling that while we were sitting at lunch, Eddie was mentally pacing.
“I don’t know if they explained it to you, Sidney, but here’s the situation: RKO has turned down three scripts that my boys prepared.” “His boys” were his radio writers. “I’m running out of time. I need a script the studio will approve in the next three months or the deal is off. Do you think you can come up with a blockbuster story for me?”
“I’d like to try.”
“Good. 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.”