"Good. You can pick up the book at our studio in Culver City."
"I'm on my way." I replaced the receiver. Selznick International Studios. I looked at my watch. It was nine-thirty in the morning. Culver City was an hour and a half away. There were a few other problems. I had no transportation. I am a hunt-and-peck typist, and to have typed a thirty-page synopsis would have taken me forever, and forever did not even include time to read a four-hundred-page novel. If I arrived at the Culver City studio at eleven, I would have exactly seven hours to perform a miracle.
But I had a plan.
Chapter 9
It took a streetcar and two buses to get me to Culver City. On the second bus, I looked around at the passengers and wanted to tell them all that I was on my way to see David Selznick. The bus dropped me off two blocks from the Selznick International Studios.
The studio was a large, imposing Georgian structure, fronting on Washington Street. It was familiar because I recognized it from the opening credits of David Selznick's movies.
I hurried inside and said to the woman behind the desk, "I have an appointment with Mr. Selznick's secretary." At least I was going to meet David Selznick now.
"Your name?"
"Sidney Sheldon."
She reached into the desk and pulled out a thick package. "This is for you."
"Oh. I thought maybe I could see Mr. Selznick and - "
"No. Mr. Selznick is a busy man."
So I would meet David Selznick later.
Clutching the package, I left the building and started running down the street, toward the MGM studios, six blocks away, reviewing my plan as I ran. It stemmed from a conversation with Seymour about Sydney Singer, his ex-wife.
Do you ever see her, Seymour?
No. She went to Hollywood. She got a job as a secretary at MGM for a woman director. Dorothy Arzner.
I was going to ask Sydney Singer to help me. It was a long, long, long shot, but it was all I had.
When I reached the MGM studios, I went up to the guard behind the desk in the lobby. "My name is Sidney Sheldon. I want to see Sydney Singer."
"Sydney . . . Oh - Dorothy Arzner's secretary."
I nodded knowingly. "Right."
"Is she expecting you?"
"Yes," I said confidently.
He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "Sidney Sheldon is here to see you . . ." He repeated slowly, "Sidney Sheldon." He listened a moment. "But he said - "
I stood there, paralyzed. Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.
"Right." He replaced the receiver. "She'll see you. Room 230."
My heart started beating again. "Thank you."
"Take the elevator, over there."
I took the elevator and hurried down a corridor on the second floor. Sydney's office was at the end of the corridor. When I walked in, she was seated behind her desk.
"Hello, Sydney."
"Hello." There was no warmth in her voice. And I suddenly remembered the rest of the conversation with Seymour. She hates my guts. She said she never wants to see me again. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Would she ask me to sit down? No.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, I just dropped in to ask you to spend your afternoon as my unpaid secretary. "It's - it's a long story."
She looked at her watch and rose. "I'm on my way to lunch."
"You can't!"
She was staring at me. "I can't go to lunch?"
I took a deep breath. "Sydney - I - I'm in trouble." I poured out the whole story, starting with the fiasco in New York, my ambition of becoming a writer, my inability to get past any of the studio guards, and the telephone call that morning from David Selznick.
She listened, and as I got to the end of the story, her lips tightened. "You took the Selznick assignment because you expected me to spend the afternoon typing for you?"
It was a bitter divorce. She hates my guts.
"I - I didn't expect it," I said. "I was just hoping that - " It was hard to breathe. I had acted stupidly. "I'm sorry I bothered you, Sydney. I had no right to ask this of you."
"No, you didn't. What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to take this book back to Mr. Selznick. Tomorrow morning I'll leave for Chicago. Thanks anyway, Sydney. I appreciate your listening to me. Goodbye." I started for the door, in despair.
"Wait a minute."
I turned.
"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
I nodded. I was too upset to speak.
"Let's open that package and take a look at it."
It took a moment for her words to sink in. I said, "Sydney - "
"Shut up. Let me see the book."
"You mean you might - "
"What you've done is the most insane thing I've ever heard. But I admire your determination." She smiled for the first time. "I'm going to help you."
A feeling of relief flooded through me. I couldn't stop grinning. I watched her riffle through the book.
"It's long," she said. "How do you expect to finish this synopsis by six o'clock?"
Good question.
She handed the book back to me. I glanced at the inside cover to get a quick idea of what it was about. It was a period romance, the kind of story that Selznick seemed to enjoy making.
"How are we going to do this?" Sydney asked.
"I'm going to skim the pages," I explained, "and when I come to a story point, I'll dictate it to you."
She nodded. "Let's see how it works."
I took a chair opposite her and began turning pages. In the next fifteen minutes, I had a fairly clear sense of the story. I began skimming through the book, dictating when I came to something that seemed pertinent to the plot. She typed as I talked.