The Other Side of Midnight

I called Otto and Natalie to tell them what had happened. They were thrilled. I later learned that after my phone call, Otto had gone around telling his friends that I had single-handedly saved all the studios in Hollywood from a ruinous strike.

One of the new boarders at Gracie’s was a shy young man named Ben Roberts. He was my age, short, with a dark complexion, thin hair, and a smiling face. He had a dry, laconic sense of humor. We soon became friends.

Ben was a writer, but his only credit was on a Leon Errol short. We started talking about collaborating. Every evening, Ben and I would go to the corner drugstore and have a sandwich for dinner, or drop in at a cheap Chinese restaurant. Collaborating with Ben was easy. He was very talented, and in a few weeks, we had completed an original story. We mailed it out to all the studios and eagerly waited for the offers to pour in.

They never came.

Ben and I went to work on another story with the same result. We decided the studios obviously did not recognize talent when they came across it.

A third story went un-bought and we were becoming discouraged.

One day, I said, “I have an idea for a mystery story. We’ll call it Dangerous Holiday.” I told Ben the idea and he liked it. We wrote a treatment and mailed copies to the studios. Again, there was no response.

A week after we had sent out the story, I arrived at the boardinghouse, and Ben was waiting for me, filled with excitement.

“I gave our story to a producer I know, Ted Richmond. He’s at PRC.”

That was one of the smallest studios, Producers Releasing Corporation.

“He loved Dangerous Holiday,” Ben said. “He’s offered us five hundred dollars for it. That includes us writing the screenplay. I told him I would talk to you and let him know.”

I was thrilled. Of course we were going to take it. The most important credit in Hollywood was always the first one. It reminded me of my experience in New York.

Have you had any songs published?

No.

Come back when you’ve had something published.

Now it was, “Do you have any screen credits?”

“No.”

“Come back when you have a screen credit.”

Well, now we had one. Dangerous Holiday.

A few months earlier, I had met Ray Crossett, who was in charge of the literary department at the Leland Hayward Agency, one of the top talent agencies in Hollywood. For some reason, Crossett had faith in me and had promised that one day he would represent me.

I telephoned Ray to tell him the good news about Ted Richmond.

“Ben and I just sold our first story,” I said. “Dangerous Holiday.”

“To whom?”

“PRC.”

“What’s a PRC?”

That set me back. Ray Crossett, one of the top agents in the business, had never even heard of PRC.

“It’s a studio called Producers Releasing Corporation. A producer there named Ted Richmond offered us five hundred dollars, including the screenplay we have to write.”

“Did you make a deal?”

“Well, we said we’d let him know, but—”

“I’ll call you back,” Ray said, and he hung up.

Two hours later, Ray was on the phone. “I just sold your story to Paramount. They’ll pay you a thousand dollars and you don’t have to write the screenplay.”

My first reaction was shock, but I knew what had happened. Every studio had a synopsis of every story submitted to it. When Ray called Paramount and told them Dangerous Holiday was being bought by another studio, they rose to the bait.

“Ray,” I said, “that’s—that’s great—but we can’t accept it.”

“What are you talking about? It’s twice the money and a major studio.”

“I can’t do it. I feel obligated to Ted Richmond and—”

“Look. Call him and tell him what happened. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

But I was sure that Ted Richmond would not understand.

I called his office. His secretary said, “Mr. Richmond is in the cutting room. He can’t be disturbed.”

“Will you have him call me? It’s very important.”

“I’ll give him the message.”

One hour later I called again.

“I need to talk to Mr. Richmond. It’s urgent.”

“I’m sorry. He can’t be disturbed. I gave him your message.”

I tried three times that afternoon and finally gave up.

I called Ray Crossett. “Richmond won’t return my calls. Go ahead and make the deal with Paramount.”

“I made it four hours ago.”

When Ben came in, I brought him up-to-date.

He was excited. “That’s fantastic,” he said. “Paramount is an important studio. But what do we tell Ted Richmond?”

Good question. What were we going to tell Ted Richmond?

That evening, I called Ted’s home and he answered the telephone.

Because I felt guilty, I went on the offensive. “I called you a half a dozen times today. Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I’m sorry. I was in the cutting room and—”

“Well, you should have called. Because of you, Ben and I almost lost a deal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Paramount just bought Dangerous Holiday. They made an offer, and when we couldn’t reach you, we finally sold it to them.”

“But I’ve already put it on our schedule and we—”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said reassuringly. “You’re in luck. Ben and I have a story for you that’s much more exciting than Dangerous Holiday. It’s called South of Panama. It’s a drama, with a love story, suspense, and a lot of action. It’s one of the best things we’ve ever written.”