The Last Tycoon / Последний магнат. Книга для чтения на английском языке

He was an ignoramus, and Stahr often caught him making the same scenes over and over – one scene about a rich young girl occurred in all his pictures with the same action, the same business. A bunch of large dogs entered the room and jumped around the girl. Later the girl went to a stable and slapped a horse on the rump. The explanation was probably not Freudian; more likely that at a drab moment in youth he had looked through a fence and seen a beautiful girl with dogs and horses. As a trademark for glamor it was stamped on his brain forever.

Reinmund was a handsome young opportunist, with a fairly good education. Originally a man of some character, he was being daily forced by his anomalous position into devious ways of acting and thinking. He was a bad man now, as men go. At thirty he had none of the virtues which either gentile Americans or Jews are taught to think admirable. But he got his pictures out in time, and by manifesting an almost homosexual fixation on Stahr, seemed to have dulled Stahr’s usual acuteness.

Stahr liked him – considered him a good all-around man[62 - considered him a good all-around man – (разг.) считал его отличным бойцом].

Wylie White, of course, in any country would have been recognizable as an intellectual of the second order. He was civilized and voluble, both simple and acute, half dazed and half saturnine. His jealousy of Stahr showed only in unguarded flashes, and was mingled with admiration and even affection.

“The production date for this picture is two weeks from Saturday,” said Stahr. “I think basically it’s all right – much improved.”

Reinmund and the two writers exchanged a glance of congratulation.

“Except for one thing,” said Stahr, thoughtfully. “I don’t see why it should be produced at all, and I’ve decided to put it away.”

There was a moment of shocked silence – and then murmurs of protest, stricken queries.

“It’s not your fault,” Stahr said.

“I thought there was something there that wasn’t there – that was all.” He hesitated, looking regretfully at Reinmund: “It’s too bad – it was a good play. We paid fifty thousand for it.”

“What’s the matter with it, Monroe?” asked Broaca bluntly.

“Well, it hardly seems worth while to go into it,” said Stahr.

Reinmund and Wylie White were both thinking of the professional effect on them.