Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Author:F. Scott Fitzgerald [Fitzgerald, F. Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
Publisher: Golgotha Press
Published: 2012-01-29T00:00:00+00:00

TEAMED WITH GENIUS

Esquire (April 1940)

“I took a chance in sending for you,” said Jack Berners. “But there’s a job that you just may be able to help out with.”

Though Pat Hobby was not offended, either as man or writer, a formal protest was called for.

“I been in the industry fifteen years, Jack. I’ve got more screen credits than a dog has got fleas.”

“Maybe I chose the wrong word,” said Jack. “What I mean is, that was a long time ago. About money we’ll pay you just what Republic paid you last month--three-fifty a week. Now--did you ever hear of a writer named René Wilcox?”

The name was unfamiliar. Pat had scarcely opened a book in a decade.

“She’s pretty good,” he ventured.

“It’s a man, an English playwright. He’s only here in L. A. for his health. Well--we’ve had a Russian Ballet picture kicking around for a year--three bad scripts on it. So last week we signed up René Wilcox--he seemed just the person.”

Pat considered.

“You mean he’s--”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” interrupted Berners sharply. “We think we can borrow Zorina, so we want to hurry things up--do a shooting script instead of just a treatment. Wilcox is inexperienced and that’s where you come in. You used to be a good man for structure.”

“Used to be!”

“All right, maybe you still are.” Jack beamed with momentary encouragement. “Find yourself an office and get together with René Wilcox.” As Pat started out he called him back and put a bill in his hand. “First of all, get a new hat. You used to be quite a boy around the secretaries in the old days. Don’t give up at forty-nine!”

Over in the Writers’ Building Pat glanced at the directory in the hall and knocked at the door of 216. No answer, but he went in to discover a blond, willowy youth of twenty-five staring moodily out the window.

“Hello, René!” Pat said. “I’m your partner.”

Wilcox’s regard questioned even his existence, but Pat continued heartily, “I hear we’re going to lick some stuff into shape. Ever collaborate before?”

“I have never written for the cinema before.”

While this increased Pat’s chance for a screen credit he badly needed, it meant that he might have to do some work. The very thought made him thirsty.

“This is different from playwriting,” he suggested, with suitable gravity.

“Yes--I read a book about it.”

Pat wanted to laugh. In 1928 he and another man had concocted such a sucker-trap, Secrets of Film Writing. It would have made money if pictures hadn’t started to talk.

“It all seems simple enough,” said Wilcox. Suddenly he took his hat from the rack. “I’ll be running along now.”

“Don’t you want to talk about the script?” demanded Pat. “What have you done so far?”

“I’ve not done anything,” said Wilcox deliberately. “That idiot, Berners, gave me some trash and told me to go on from there. But it’s too dismal.” His blue eyes narrowed. “I say, what’s a boom shot?”

“A boom shot? Why, that’s when the camera’s on a crane.”

Pat leaned over the desk and picked up a blue-jacketed “Treatment.

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