Nor was it important that a week from now he would be as impatient to leave Italy as he was, at this moment, to depart from New Orleans. There were plenty of places within his own empire - the Taj Mahal O'Keefe, O'Keefe Lisbon, Adelaide O'Keefe, O'Keefe Copenhagen, and others - where a visit from the panjandrum, although nowadays not essential to the chain's efficient running, would stimulate business as a cathedral's might quicken from the sojourn of a pope.
Later, of course, he would return to New Orleans, probably in a month or two when the St. Gregory - by then the O'Keefe-St. Gregory - was overhauled and molded to the conformity of an O'Keefe hotel. His arrival for the inaugural ceremonies would be triumphal, with fanfare, a civic welcome and coverage by press, radio, and television. As usual on such occasions, he would bring a retinue of celebrities, including Hollywood stars, not difficult to recruit for a lavish free-loading junket.
Thinking about it, Curtis O'Keefe was impatient for these things to happen soon. He was also mildly frustrated at not having received, so far, Warren Trent's official acceptance of the proffered terms of two nights earlier.
It was now mid-morning of Thursday. The noon deadline agreed to was less than ninety minutes away. Obviously, for reasons of his own, the St. Gregory's proprietor intended to wait until the last possible moment before acceptance.
O'Keefe prowled restlessly around the suite. Half an hour earlier Dodo had left on a shopping expedition for which he had given her several hundred dollars in large bills. Her purchases, he suggested, should include some lightweight clothes since Naples was likely to be even hotter than New Orleans, and there would be no time for shopping in New York. Dodo thanked him appreciatively, as she always did, though strangely without the glowing enthusiasm she had shown yesterday during their boat trip around the harbor which cost a mere six dollars. Women, he thought, were perplexing creatures.
He stopped at a window, looking out, when across the living room the telephone rang. He reached it in half a dozen strides.
"Yes?"
He expected to hear the voice of Warren Trent. Instead, an operator announced that the call was long distance. A moment later the nasal Californian drawl of Hank Lemnitzer came on the line.
"That you, Mr. O'Keefe?"
"Yes, it is." Irrationally, Curtis O'Keefe wished that his West Coast representative had not found it necessary to telephone twice within twenty-four hours.
"Got some great news for you."
"What kind of news?"
"I inked a deal for Dodo."
"I thought I made it clear yesterday that I insist on something special for Miss Lash."
"How special can you get, Mr. O'Keefe? This is the greatest; a real break. Dodo's a lucky kid."
"Tell me."
"Walt Curzon's shooting a remake of You Can't Take It With You.
Remember? - we put money in his pot."
"I remember."
"Yesterday I found out Walt needed a girl to play the old Ann Miller role. It's a good supporting part. Fits Dodo like a tight brassiere."
Curtis O'Keefe wished peevishly once again that Lemnitzer would be subtler in his choice of words.
"I assume there'll be a screen test."
"Sure will."
"Then how do we know Curzon will agree to the casting?"
"Are you kidding? Don't underrate your influence, Mr. O'Keefe. Dodo's in.
Besides, I've lined up Sandra Straughan to work with her. You know Sandra?"
"Yes." O'Keefe was well aware of Sandra Straughan. She had a reputation as one of filmdom's most accomplished dramatic coaches. Among other achievements, she possessed a remarkable record of accepting unknown girls with influential sponsors and shaping them into box office princesses.
"I'm real glad for Dodo," Lemnitzer said. "She's a kid I've always liked.
Only thing is, we have to move fast."
"How fast?"
"They need her yesterday, Mr. O'Keefe. It all fits, though, with the rest I've arranged."
"The rest of what?"
"Jenny LaMarsh." Hank Lemnitzer sounded puzzled. "You hadn't forgotten?"
"No." O'Keefe had certainly not forgotten the witty and beautiful Vassar brunette who had so impressed him a month or two ago. But after yesterday's talk with Lemnitzer he had shelved thoughts of Jenny LaMarsh for the time being.
"Everything's fixed, Mr. O'Keefe. Jenny flies to New York tonight, she'll join you there tomorrow. We'll switch Dodo's Naples reservations to Jenny, then Dodo can fly here direct from New Orleans. Simple, eh?"
It was indeed simple. So simple, in fact, that O'Keefe could find no flaw in the plan. He wondered why he wanted to.
"You assure me positively that Miss Lash will get the part?"
"Mr. O'Keefe, I swear it on my mother's grave."
"Your mother isn't dead."
"Then my grandmother's." There was a pause, then, as if with sudden perception, Lemnitzer said, "If you're worried about telling Dodo, why don't I do it? You just go out for a couple of hours. I'll call her, fix everything. That way - no fuss, no farewells."
"Thank you. I'm quite capable of handling the matter personally."
