Free The Dream Merchants by Harold Robbins Page B

a little railing. Just inside the railing was the desk of William Borden. It was a big roll-top desk that completely hid the little man who sat behind it. Only the top of his bald head could be seen over it as he occasionally moved or spoke into the telephone perched on the side of it.
    Johnny led Peter through the railing up to the desk. The little man looked up.
    “Mr. Borden,” Johnny said, “I’d like you to meet my boss, Peter Kessler.”
    The little man sprang to his feet. Peter and he looked at each other for a few startled moments. Then Borden smiled and thrust out his hand. “Peter Kessler,” he said in a thin high-pitched voice. “Of course. Don’t you remember me?”
    Peter took his hand and shook it. He looked puzzled. Suddenly a light of recognition came into his eyes. “Willie—Willie Bordanov.” He nodded his head excitedly, his face smiling. “Sure, your father had—”
    “That’s right”—Borden was grinning—“the pushcart on Rivington Street in front of Greenberg’s hardware store. You married his daughter, Esther, I remember. How is she?”
    The two men were talking excitedly when Johnny left them and went back to see Joe. He had a hunch that something would come of it. Something had to come of it. Bill Borden was the best salesman the picture business had ever had. He felt more sure of it than ever when Peter told him they were going to have dinner with Borden at his home that night.
    ***
    It was after dinner, while they were sitting in the kitchen of the Borden apartment, that the talk got around to the picture business. The evening had gone by and, much to Johnny’s disgust, the two men had done nothing but talk of their friends and their youth. It was Johnny who brought the talk around to the subject. He had started Borden talking about the combine, which was Borden’s pet anathema. Then gradually he led him around to making the statement that if there were more independent producers in the field, the combine would have to fold.
    Johnny nodded his head in agreement. “I been telling Peter that, but Peter thinks the hardware business is safer.”
    Borden looked at Peter, then at Johnny. “Maybe Peter is right, the hardware business is safer. But the picture business has more opportunity. It offers greater rewards for those who are willing to pioneer. Look at me. I started in three years ago with fifteen hundred dollars capital. In another few weeks I will have finished building a studio in Brooklyn that cost me fifteen thousand dollars, with equipment extra. My pictures are selling all over the country and I’m doing eight-thousand-a-week business. Next year this time, with my new plant, I’ll be doing twice that.”
    The figures impressed Peter. “How much would it cost to start in the business today?” he asked.
    Borden looked closely at him. “Are you serious?”
    Peter nodded his head and pointed to Johnny. “My young friend here has been plaguing me for the last six months I should be going in with him to the picture business. So I’m serious. If there’s money in it, why should I make jokes?”
    Borden looked at Johnny with a new respect. “So that’s why you didn’t take the job I wanted to give you,” he said to him. “You had plans of your own.” He turned back to Peter. “A dozen times I wanted Johnny to come to work for me and each time he said no. Now I know why.”
    For some reason Peter was touched. To think that Johnny had turned down jobs offered him and never even mentioned it. “Johnny’s a good boy,” he said. “He’s like one of the family.”
    Johnny was embarrassed. “How much would it take, Mr. Borden?”
    The two older men smiled understandingly at each other. Borden leaned back in his chair. “You should be able to go into business with ten thousand dollars.”
    “Then it’s out of the question for me,” Peter said. He lit a cigar. “I ain’t got that much.”
    “But—” Borden leaned forward, his voice grew a little excited.