The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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who had come up the hard way and was now a celebrity in the literary world. He had 
come out to Hollywood expecting to be treated like a wheel and, like most authors, had 
been treated like shit. Johnny had seen the humiliation of the author one night at the 
Brown Derby. The writer had been fixed up with a well-known bosomy starlet for a date 
on the town and a sure shack-up later. But while they were at dinner the starlet had 
deserted the famous author because a ratty-looking movie comic had waggled his finger 
at her. That had given the writer the right slant on just who was who in the Hollywood 
pecking order. It didn’t matter that his book had made him world famous. A starlet would 
prefer the crummiest, the rattiest, the phoniest movie wheel. 
Now Johnny called the author at his New York home to thank him for the great part he 
had written in his book for him. He flattered the shit out of the guy. Then casually he 
asked him how he was doing on his next novel and what it was all about. He lit a cigar 
while the author told him about a specially interesting chapter and then finally said, 
“Gee, I’d like to read it when you’re finished. How about sending me a copy? Maybe I 
can get you a good deal for it, better than you got with Woltz.” 
The eagerness in the author’s voice told him that he had guessed right. Woltz had 
chiseled the guy, given him peanuts for the book. Johnny mentioned that he might be in 
New York right after the holidays and would the author want to come and have dinner 
with some of his friends. “I know a few good-looking broads,” Johnny said jokingly. The 
author laughed and said OK. 
Next Johnny called up the director and cameraman on the film he had just finished to 
thank them for having helped him in the film. He told them confidentially that he knew 
Woltz had been against him and he doubly appreciated their help and that if there was 
ever anything he could do for them they should just call. 
Then he made the hardest call of all, the one to Jack Woltz. He thanked him for the part 
in the picture and told him how happy he would be to work for him anytime. He did this 
merely to throw Woltz off the track. He had always been very square, very straight. In a 
few days Woltz would find out about his maneuvering and be astounded by the 
treachery of this call, which was exactly what Johnny Fontane wanted him to feel. 
After that he sat at the desk and puffed at his cigar. There was whiskey on a side table 
but he had made some sort of promise to himself and Hagen that he wouldn’t drink. He 
shouldn’t even be smoking. It was foolish; whatever was wrong with his voice probably 
wouldn’t be helped by knocking off drinking and smoking. Not too much, but what the 

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