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Show i The Fiction ALMOST A MISTAKE Corner AARON JORDAN had a swell job writing advertising for a Chicago agency. The night he came home and told Sally, his wife, that he was going to quit because he wanted to write movie scenarios, scenar-ios, she thought he'd been drinking. drink-ing. "Either that," she said, "or you're crazy." . "Correct," said Aaron. "Just crazy enough to be able to write good scenarios. You've got to be 3- Minute crazy to get by in Fiction i!oU,y7d-J,?e Neal told me. , "Are we going to live In HoDywood?" Sally asked. "Naturally. That's where movies are made." Sally was young and never had liked the idea of settling down too early in life. Besides, the idea of living in Hollywood was thrilling. They had a little money saved up, which was lucky, because after living three months in the cinema city they hadn't made a dime. Aaron had written four scripts, which had almost sold. Almost. aid, made a report, took down his name and address and told him an adjuster would be up the next day. When Aaron got home he told Sally about it. "It's a chain store. They're insured against accidents. I'll collect at least $100." "But your finger isn't seriously cut." "So what? Insurance companies have plenty of dough." The adjuster came early the next morning. They knew him to be an insurance man by the benign, ingratiating in-gratiating look on his face. "Cut your finger?" he asked. "And pretty badly, too," Aaron replied. He glanced at Sally. She was eyeing him severely. He knew she didn't approve of what he planned to do. "How'd it happen?" Aaron gave a detailed account of the accident. "Too bad. Bother you about working?" KARON HESITATED. This was " the crucial moment. He could say the wound practically incapacitated incapac-itated him. He could make it strong, and perhaps collect $50. Sally was regarding him steadily. stead-ily. He didn't like the look in her eyes. It made him feel small and cheap. He shrugged. "No. I can work all right. It isn't anything serious. Let's forget it." Their visitor looked relieved. "Good. I have a proposition to make. We didn't like your latest story especially." "Eh?" said Aaron. "Too farcical. But Jackson, he's our story man. Sent me up here to ask if you'd consider going to work for us. You see, we think you write pretty good dialogue. We need a dialogue writer." Aaron gulped. "Then you're not I mean " "At what salary?" Sally asked practically. "Well, I'm authorized to offer $250 to start," "Why," Sally exclaimed, "that's almost $300." "Almost!" yelled Aaron. "Don't mention that word again. We'll take the job. Wowl I'm almost crazy!" "Me, too," Sally agreed. That one word had become the bane of their existence. It was the one word in Hollywood that drove people peo-ple crazier than they were at the start. Two months passed and the Jor-dans Jor-dans had almost made a pile of money. The money that they had saved was almost gone. They began be-gan to wonder about the future a little. I Another fortnight passed and Aaron . and Sally decided they I couldn't evade facts any longer. ' Almost selling something didn't buy bread. Aaron's latest story, I 1 pwwspwwi "But your finger isn't seriously ser-iously cut." now in the hands of Pacific coast studios, would, they felt, be returned re-turned like all the others. Almost . good enough would be the comment. com-ment. They held a council of war. As soon as Pacific Coast returned the story they'd have to quit and go home. It gave them a sinking, frustrated frus-trated feeling The day after the council of war, Aaron cut his finger while examining a typewriter ribbon in a nearby stationery store. |