It was an impressive group. My date that evening was a young actress who was staying at a motel across the street. After dinner, we all gathered in the living room. I decided to entertain them. I sat down at the little spinet piano and I announced to the group, “I’m taking piano lessons by mail. It’s a new system—learning to play by the numbers.”
I began to play, and behind me I sensed a respectful silence.
In the middle of my playing, my date whispered, “Sidney, I hate to interrupt, but I have an early call tomorrow.”
I rose. “I’ll take you across to the motel, Janet.” Turning to my guests, I said, “I’ll be right back.”
I took my date back to her motel and was gone no more than five minutes. When I returned, I started to sit down at the piano to finish the song. There was no piano. My guests had moved it into the den.
I looked around at their grinning faces and I felt sorry for them.
Jealousy is a terrible thing.
CHAPTER 22
Now that I was a producer, literary material started coming into my office—plays, screenplays, and original stories. But there was nothing that excited me. I was resolved that the first picture I produced would be something I could be proud of. Three weeks after I had been made a producer, Dore Schary’s secretary called me. “Mr. Schary would like to see you in his office.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, I was facing Dore.
He hesitated a moment, and then said, “Harry Cohn called.”
“Oh?”
“He asked for permission to negotiate a deal with you to become head of production at Columbia.”
I was stunned. “I had no idea he was—”
“I talked to Mr. Mayer and we decided that we would say no. There are two reasons. First of all, we’re very happy with what you’re doing here. Secondly, we feel Harry Cohn would destroy you. He’s a very difficult man to work with. I called Cohn back and told him our decision.” He looked at me expectantly. “It’s up to you.”
I had a lot to think about. Running a major studio was the most prestigious job in Hollywood. On the other hand, Schary and Mayer were probably right about my working for Cohn. I remembered the scene in Cohn’s office. Harry, I have Donna Reed on the line. Tony’s regiment is being sent overseas and Donna wants to be with him in San Francisco until he leaves.
She can’t go.
Did I want to spend my days working for a man like that? I made a decision. I said, “I’m happy here, Dore.”
He smiled. “Good. We don’t want to lose you.”
When I got back to my office, Harris Katleman, an agent at MCA, the top agency in Hollywood, was waiting for me. “I hear that Harry Cohn wants you to run Columbia.”
News travels fast, I thought. “That’s right. Dore just told me.”
“Our agency would like to represent you, Sidney. We can make a hell of a deal for you and—”
I shook my head. “I appreciate it, Harris, but I’ve decided not to accept his offer.”
He looked surprised. “I’ve never heard of anyone turning down a chance to run a studio.”
“You have now.”
He stood there, trying to think of something to say. There was nothing.
I could not help but wonder what my life would have been like if I had accepted Harry Cohn’s offer, and I was thinking about how far I had come. I thought about the guard at the entrance to Columbia Studios. I want to be a writer. Who do I see?
Do you have an appointment?
No, but—
Then you don’t see anybody.
There must be someone I—
Not without an appointment . . .
Harry Cohn wants you to run Columbia.
Shortly after my conversation with Dore, I was having lunch in the studio commissary, when I saw Zsa Zsa Gabor at a nearby table, with a lovely-looking young brunette. I had met Zsa Zsa several months earlier and I found her amusing. She and her sisters, Eva and Magda, were already Hollywood legends, famous for being famous. They had come from Hungary and quickly established themselves in Hollywood as eccentric, talented women. At the moment, it was Zsa Zsa’s companion I was interested in. When I finished lunch, I went over to Zsa Zsa’s table.
“Darling—” That was her usual greeting to everyone, including strangers.
“Hi, Zsa Zsa.” We did the Hollywood air kiss.
She turned to the young woman with her. “I would like you to meet Jorja Curtright. She’s a wonderful actress. This is Sidney Sheldon.”
Jorja nodded. “Hello.”
“Sit down, darling.”
I sat. I turned to Jorja. “So, you’re an actress. What have you done?”
She said, vaguely, “Different things.”
I was taken aback by her response. Actresses usually could not wait to tell producers their credits.
I looked at her more closely. There was something magnetic about her. She was a beauty, with classical features and deep, intelligent brown eyes, filled with promise. Her voice was husky and distinctive.
“Why don’t you two come up to my office when you’re through with lunch?” I suggested.
“We’d love to, darling.”
Jorja said nothing.
On the way to my office, I stopped to see Jerry Davis, my close friend who was a writer on the lot.
“Jerry, I just met the woman I’m going to marry.”
“Who is she? I’d like to meet her.”
“Oh, no, not yet. I don’t need the competition.”
Fifteen minutes later, Zsa Zsa and Jorja came to my office.