Harold Robbins by Andrew Wilson

Author:Andrew Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2008-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

13

“When one looks at him, one sees, along with oneself, whatever Robbins is looking at—most frequently a passing bikini. It is rather like conversing with a television set.”

—Thomas Thompson on Harold Robbins

The air reeked of cigar smoke and sweat. The men clustered around the green baize table, glasses of whiskey or bourbon at their sides. As the croupier started to deal the next hand, Harold thought he could discern a warning in the whisper of the cards, an augur of bad luck. He took another sip of his drink and picked up his hand. He had a feeling it was going to be no better than the last one. He studied his fellow players: shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis, now looking more like a wizened rhinoceros than ever; and Darryl F. Zanuck, the legendary studio head who had founded Twentieth Century Pictures and had taken over Fox. These were serious risk-takers, men who knew how to gamble, men who were rich enough to lose a fortune in one night. He stared at the sign above the table that read, “Sans limite,” and swallowed nervously. But he had to retain his composure. He couldn’t allow himself to lose face, not with gamblers like these, not in a casino as grand as this one in the South of France.

As the sabot was passed counterclockwise around the table and the game of chemin de fer progressed, Harold lost more and more hands until finally his friend Steve Shagan, who sat by him, shot him an anxious glance. But Harold ignored him and continued to play in the hope that he could claw back some of what he had lost. He felt his mouth going drier, his heart beating faster, with each game, but it was no use. His luck was not going to improve. Finally he decided to call it a night. He left the table reeling and staggered out of the casino just as dawn was breaking over the Mediterranean.

The two men walked back in silence to Harold’s boat, before he turned to his friend and said, “I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just pissing it all away.”

Shagan listened as Harold poured out his heart, telling him how he enjoyed the thrill that came with gambling, the allure of mixing with magnates like Onassis and Zanuck, the joy of winning and the utter misery of losing. He told him about the time he was playing in a syndicate in Monte Carlo when he dropped $180,000 in a couple of hours. The casino bosses were so angry with him that they refused to advance him enough money to pay his hotel bill. When Harold came out of the casino, he saw a Greek man admiring his car, an Eldorado Caddy, and so he asked the wealthy man whether he would like to buy it. He did, in exchange for $12,000 in cash.

“Do you want my opinion?” asked Steve.

“Yeah, sure.”

“There’s only one way to save you,” he said. “You need to get your lawyer to write to the heads of the casinos barring you from the tables.

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