The Best Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page B

said.
    Manucci wasn’t smiling. How many hundred percent did he make on his loans?
    “What was the name of that play?” Manucci asked.
    For a moment I couldn’t remember. I glanced over at coach Ezra.
    “It was called A Long Way to Tipperary ,” Ezra said.
    “World War One?” Manucci asked.
    “No,” I said. “The hero is first-generation Irish. His father came from Tipperary.”
    “I hope you don’t mind my questions, Mr. Riller.”
    It’s his ball game, Louie was saying, let him pitch.
    I thought, You’re wrong, Louie. We take turns pitching or it’s no ball game.
    “Mr. Manucci,” I said, “I hope you don’t mind a question from me.”
    “Be my guest.”
    “From your first business deal, did you learn anything?”
    Manucci thought a moment. Smiling at the memory, he said, “The first time I lent anybody big change I learned never pay attention to a guy’s suit. This guy wore a terrific suit. He hadn’t paid for it. He took a long, long time to pay me.”
    I was aware of Ezra laughing along with Manucci now, an audience of two waiting for my response.
    “From the Tipperary run,” I said, “I learned that if you build a better mousetrap, without lots of publicity nobody knows about it. Even the mice stay away.”
    Ezra nodded. I was keeping the mood light.
    “I also learned that it’s too late to start promoting after you open. If you want a smash, you’ve got to set it up that way from the start, at least one name actor for the theater parties, roll the publicity long before you’re in production, feed the gossip columns, and when you open in New York, advertise as if you were Ford launching a new car.”
    “Like the Edsel?”
    I let him relish his crack for a moment.
    “Like the Mustang,” I said. “You have to get behind whatever you’re launching.”
    “Even if it’s a lemon.”
    “I don’t produce lemons, Mr. Manucci.”
    “Maybe not so far, Mr. Riller. Maybe this one’ll be your first. Suppose the critics don’t like what’s-its-name?”
    “ The Best Revenge is its name,” I said. “If you’ve presold enough theater parties, it doesn’t matter much.”
    “How much?”
    “If the production gets good word-of-mouth from the theater parties, it’ll run.”
    “What happens if you don’t get theater parties, like on this one? Mr. Riller, I made one phone call before you came, somebody in your business who owes me, and from what he said it sounds as if your investors think your new play is controversial. Do you agree with that?”
    Manucci sure was thorough. I said, “I’ve had my share of inoffensive hits. I decided it’s time to have an offensive one. A lot of people thought John Osborne and Harold Pinter offensive at first.”
    “Did they pay off?”
    “Some did. Some didn’t.”
    “Mr. Riller, you sound as if producing plays isn’t exactly a business.”
    Ezra interjected. “Depends what you mean by business,” he said.
    “A business,” Manucci said, “is when you get to take out enough more than you put in to be worth the trouble. It seems to take a lot of trouble to put a play on.”
    “Compared to what?” I said.
    “Compared to what I do.”
    “Mr. Manucci,” Ezra said, “all of Mr. Riller’s plays are part of a mix. Some are pure commercial for visiting firemen. Some are for serious theatergoers. If either lands big, they get everybody. A few of Mr. Riller’s productions will continue to generate income long after we’re gone.”
    “Can you borrow against that future income?”
    “Not really,” Ezra said.
    “Mr. Hochman,” Manucci said, sipping coffee again as if it might lubricate his harsh consonants, “an asset is something you can borrow against now. Posterity is not an asset.”
    Ezra started to speak. Manucci cut him off.
    “If Mary my wife becomes Mary my widow and needs what’s in my safe deposit box, she don’t want to find future income. She wants to find cash money. No posterity, no prestige. Fellows in the fantasy business