The Prince of Beverly Hills Read Online Free PDF

thousand bucks a week. “My God, what a day!” he said aloud.

5

    CLAD IN BORROWED ELEGANCE— a finely tailored mohair tuxedo, silk shirt and waistcoat and gleaming alligator shoes— Rick arrived at the Bel-Air address of Eddie and Suzanne Harris at ten minutes past the hour. He hoped he was only fashionably late.
    His car was parked by an attendant, and he was greeted at the door by an English butler who was dressed as well as he. Rick had been in houses as impressive as this Greek Revival mansion, with its marble entryway and sweeping staircase, but usually when the owner had either been robbed or was lying facedown, bleeding into the Aubusson carpet. He tried to adopt the mind-set of a guest, instead of an official intruder.
    The butler showed him into the living room, where the Harrises and another couple were standing before a cheerful fire.
    “Ah, Rick,” Harris said, coming toward him, a martini glass in his hand, “good to see you.” He drew Rick toward the fire. “You met Suzanne earlier, of course.”
    “I’m so happy you could come, Rick,” she said, offering her hand.
    “So am I,” Rick replied.
    “Rick,” Harris said, “I’d like you to meet our boss—or God, as we sometimes call him. This is Sol Weinman and his wife, Rebecca.”
    “How do you do, Mr. Weinman, Mrs. Weinman,” Rick said, shaking hands with both.
    “I’ve heard much about you from Eddie,” Weinman said. He was short and plump, with a fringe of white hair circling a hairless dome. “He’s needed someone like you for some time now, and I’m glad you’re coming aboard. You must drop by my office for a chat soon.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Weinman, I’d like that,” Rick replied.
    “And you must call me Sol. Everybody at Centurion is on a first-name basis. We don’t stand on ceremony like Metro and some others I could mention.”
    “Thank you, Sol.”
    A waiter appeared at Rick’s elbow with a tray of martinis, and he took one. As he did, two other couples were being shown in, and Rick found himself being introduced to Sam Goldwyn and William Wyler and their wives. The party was completed when Clark Gable and Carole Lombard arrived, accompanied by an attractive older woman, who turned out to be Sol Weinman’s sister, Adele Mannheim. He was in illustrious company, and he was finding it easy to get used to the idea.
    After another half hour of chat, they were called to dinner, twelve around a table of glistening china, silver and crystal. Rick sent a silent prayer of thanks to his mother, who, when he was a boy, had drilled him in his table manners and which fork to use. He was seated between Carole Lombard and Adele Mannheim, and as dazzled as he was by Lombard, he was smart enough to pay a lot of attention to Mrs. Mannheim, since he had clearly been invited as her dinner partner.
    “I was widowed earlier this year,” she confided, “and the Harrises have made a point of inviting me over regularly.” She leaned over and whispered, “I must say, I’m having more fun than when my husband was alive; he didn’t like going out.”
    Rick listened closely to her every word and tried to charm without flattering too much. When she excused herself for a moment, he turned to Lombard, and was disappointed to find her engrossed in conversation with Wyler, who sat on her other side.
    When dinner was concluded, the ladies went somewhere with Suzanne Harris, while the men remained at the table over coffee, port and cigars. Rick declined a cigar; he despised them.
    “Sam,” Sol Weinman said to Goldwyn, “what do you think about this television thing? Do we have anything to worry about?”
    “I don’t think so,” Goldwyn replied, in accented English. “A fuzzy little picture of baseball games and puppet shows is not going to take anybody away from a big screen in Technicolor, and you can say I didn’t say so.”
    “Clark,” Wyler said, “would you act on television?”
    “In what?” Gable replied. “A baseball game or a