“It was a hotel.” He held up another lobby card. “Ten Commandments. Didn’t realize there was a silent version.” She pulled out a few books to see if they were doubled-shelved; amazingly, they weren’t. He spoke quietly. “I called at least three times. Don’t tell me you didn’t get the messages.” She gave him the meanest look she could muster and put back the books. “I must say, last time Talmadge outdid himself. He said, ‘Ceinwen’s presence is required at work. She is the jewel in the navel of Vintage Visions.’”
She dropped to the floor and tried to get a look behind a stack of papers. “They told me you called. I just couldn’t figure out why. What did you have to say? ‘Oh Ceinwen, please, let me explain.’”
“I’ve nothing to explain. I haven’t lied to you.” There was too much to see in here, yet oddly there wasn’t a single thing that even resembled film. Too bad. She could use a reel or two, if only to wrap them around his head.
He’d moved to stand nearby, and she refused to meet his eyes looking down at her on the floor. “I wanted to hear how you are,” he said. She fixed her eyes over his head, made a big here-I-am gesture, then crawled over to look behind another row. He squatted next to her and said, even lower, “I wanted to hear your voice.”
She stood up, kept her eyes on the floor and walked to the couch. Andy was coming back in with a mug. He looked at the spot where Matthew had been sitting and paused.
“Over here. Thanks,” said Matthew, standing up. “I was giving Ceinwen some space.”
Andy seemed to accept giving Ceinwen some space as normal practice. He handed over the mug and perched again on the edge of his chair. “I could hear you two chattering away in here,” he said, with a note of reproach.
“We were talking about a movie,” said Ceinwen. Not exactly an inspired response, but she was having trouble concentrating.
“Sound movie,” continued Matthew, checking the bookshelf behind him, then carefully resting his shoulders against it. “Hope you don’t mind. Maybe you know it. The Collector? Used to pop up on the box all the time.”
Screw it. She was going to focus, she was going to get something out of this lunch, and then she was going to leave, and when she did, he could take his friendship and stick it on his office door along with his bugger-off-students note.
She had to say one thing for Andy, abrupt subject changes didn’t faze him one bit. “Eh. Late-period William Wyler. I didn’t bother with it. His Ben-Hur wasn’t very good. Absolutely travestied the chariot race. In the Fred Niblo—”
“Actually, Andy,” she said, “I have a confession to make. We were looking in that top folder over there. My curiosity got the better of me.” He swiveled around to look at the stacks as though she’d told him somebody had a hand on his wallet. “I really hope you don’t mind.”
“The lobby cards. You were looking at the lobby cards.” Like she’d said they were rifling his underwear drawer.
“Yes, and do you know what was the first thing we saw?”
“Top folder? Queen of Sheba.” Of course he knew.
“Yes, and I was telling Matthew it was lost.”
“Heartbreaking,” said Matthew, pulling on the string of the teabag as though trying to determine how it got there. “Looked like my sort of thing.”
Andy wasn’t buying it. “How so?”
“The two-piece costumes, for one …”
“It’s so sad,” sliced in Ceinwen, “that it’s gone. And it reminded me of another lost movie I was curious about. The Mysteries of Udolpho.”
“Emil Arnheim!” Andy exclaimed. “I must say, Ceinwen, your knowledge just becomes more and more impressive to me. That one’s known mostly to scholars. May I ask how you happened to hear of it?”
“In a book.” For once Andy appeared to be waiting for her next thought. She could sense Matthew’s eyes on her reddening chest; he’d figured out where she blushed, and when, some time back. “A big book.”
“Big as in, famous?” asked Matthew. “Or big as in, large and hard to carry?” Andy had gotten up and walked over to a stack of folders.
“It had a lot of pages and I don’t remember the title.” She better not sound too crabby, Andy might notice. She turned up the accent a bit. “That’s the thing about me. I remember movies better than books.” Andy slipped his hand inside one of the tallest stacks, about one-quarter of the way down. She put a hand up to her neck, then forced herself to drop it in her lap.
“I’m happy to tell you,” said Andy, “that I do have two stills from that one. Would you like to see them?” His hand had emerged with one of the folders.
“By all means,” said Matthew, before she could get out a word, and he set down his mug and settled on the couch. Andy paused slightly, slid his eyes to Matthew, then took out a still by the merest sliver of an edge.
“Because of the rarity of these photos, I’m going to hold them up for you. Fingerprints can be terribly damaging.” Matthew scooted to within a few inches of her thigh. She crossed her legs away from him and folded her arms.
It was a master shot of the castle, tall and towered, with a carriage in front of it. No Miriam, no actors at all, but exactly the sort of thing she’d have taken to her room and pored over just a few years ago, imagining herself in the castle. Maybe she’d do that even now.
“Well done,” said Matthew. “Looks real.”
“I do not consider ‘looks real’ to be a compliment,” said Andy, “but yes, it’s very well done. A matte shot. This was a big production for Civitas, but they didn’t build the exterior castle set, to save money.”
He put it back and held up the other. Jackpot.
A medium shot of Miriam, in another Empire-waist dress like the one in her publicity photo. She was sitting next to a handsome actor, her head slightly down, eyes looking up at him with shy yearning. They were on a bench in a garden. He was holding her left hand, looking down at her upraised palm as though he were reading it, his eyes seeming to care for nothing but the skin in front of him. Miriam hadn’t liked Edward Kenny, but that didn’t show in the still, not at all. It was as erotic as a kiss. She found herself checking Matthew’s reaction. His expression was the one he wore at the chalkboard in his office when he was working out another equation. “She looks familiar.”
She put her eyes back on the still.
“Here,” said Andy, “of course, are the two leads, Miriam Clare as Madeleine and Edward Kenny as Valancourt. Although I very much doubt, Matthew, that you have seen Clare in anything else. This was her sole substantive role. Kenny, on the other hand …”
“You’d be surprised,” said Matthew. “I’m good with faces. For a mathematician.” His eyes moved to Ceinwen. “Miriam,” he said. “Not what you’d call a common name these days.”
“I’m afraid your supposed memory is all but impossible,” said Andy, with lordly finality, “unless you remember every face you’ve ever seen in a crowd scene.” He pulled the still away and replaced it in the folder; it was like watching someone snatch away your dinner. “According to Professor David Gundlach, who wrote a monograph on this film, Clare’s other credits amount to bit parts.”
She knew this lunch was a good idea. “There’s a whole book on this film?”
“A monograph, as I said. Not a long one, due to the film’s lost status, but Gundlach reconstructs some of the shoot, speculates about the look of it, gives as many names as possible for the cast and crew, and tries to place it within the context of Bazin’s theory of the spectator and the ways in which people watched silent films made on the cusp of sound. Which, of course, was a very sad era—”
“Have you read it?” She shouldn’t cut him off, but how else was she going to get anywhere?
“Why yes. I have a copy.” She reminded herself to breathe out. Doing that reignited her awareness of Matthew and she used the excuse to jump up.
“Would you mind showing me?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, then, “I don’t see why not,” he said, standing up with
his hands clasped together, gracious as a cardinal giving an audience. “I’m curious about your interest. Arnheim made two movies at Ufa, is that the hook for you, so to speak?” He walked to the shelves and she followed as close behind him as she could stand to get.
“I’m afraid you’ll think I’m silly,” she said, “but the truth is, I just love that novel.” A kind of throat noise near her shoulder. Matthew was right behind her.
“How marvelous. Shows what an unusual sort of intellect you have,” said Andy, scanning the shelves.
“I read it too,” said Matthew. “What I remember is a catastrophic number of commas.”
Andy pulled out a slim volume, the cover creased, frayed and darkened, and held it for her to see. In Search of the Mysteries,” by Professor David Gundlach, University of … oh come on, fingerprints weren’t going to damage this.
“Do you mind if I take a look? I’ll be careful.” Andy placed it gently in her hands, as though passing along a gardenia. She immediately opened it to the middle. No photos. “Who was Professor Gundlach?”
“Cinema studies at USC. He died a few years ago,” said Andy. “I was fortunate to acquire this copy shortly after it was published.”
“So this is all the information that exists,” she said. An annotated complete cast and crew in the back.
“Oh no, there’s also the fragment at the Brody Institute.”
Breathe, breathe. “A fragment? Of the film?”
“Yes, just over two minutes. Saw it a few years ago, during a day in which I was catching up with some of the rarer acquisitions. Most intriguing.”
“Which part is it?”
Andy paused a fraction longer than usual. “Been a while, you realize, and I saw it with a number of other things. I believe the heroine was being menaced by someone.”
“That could be any point in the plot,” said Matthew.
Miriam. A scene with Miriam. “How can I see it?”
“Goodness, I had no idea Mrs. Radcliffe still had this sort of fan club. I’m afraid I’m not sure. The Brody Institute for Cinephilia and Preservation is a rather, I’d say, sinister organization with a great many rules. And the Mysteries fragment isn’t available to the general public. You need academic credentials to have it screened.”
Ceinwen began to read the abstract at the front of the monograph. “In December 1927, German director Emil Arnheim was brought to Civitas Studios by Frank Gregory, who was …”
Academic credentials. There was no way in hell she was going to look at Matthew, because she knew his face would be a monument to smug. Wellington at Waterloo. Olivier picking up his Oscar. That would be Matthew, and she wanted no part of it.
He was reading over her shoulder, so close she couldn’t move without brushing him. She tried to compose a question. Much as she wanted to take them and look at them for hours, Andy would never let the stills out of the apartment. But this book was about busted to pieces. He couldn’t be all that attached to it.
“I would really love to read all of this,” she began.
“Might I have a look?” Matthew plucked the book before she realized he’d reached for it. She’d seen mothers hand over newborns with less anxiety than Andy showed at seeing the monograph in Matthew’s hands.
“It’s long out of print,” said Andy. “And there weren’t that many copies published in the first place. I’d be terribly upset if something happened to it. Maybe you could come here and read it in stages.”
“Nothing like a cozy room and a good book.” Matthew licked his finger to flip a page. Andy reached out a hand and Matthew peered more closely at the type.
“It’s kind of hard for me to get away from work.” She gave Andy her sweetest smile. “Retail hours are irregular. But I understand your wanting to take good care of it, considering how valuable it is.” Matthew snapped the book shut and ran a finger down the chipped, broken spine. If she concentrated hard enough on his throat, maybe she could make him start to choke.
“I try to take care of things,” began Andy, taking the book from Matthew and tucking it under his arm.
“And so you should,” she said. “I know Harry feels the same way. That’s why I was so grateful when he lent me all those books. Some of them had been out of print for ages, and great photos, too. Things I had never seen anywhere else. I tell you, I was almost afraid to open them. But Harry was so sweet. You know how generous he is. Said he trusted me completely. I brought them back as soon as he wanted. Went right up to his office and we had a great talk.” Matthew’s eyes had shot toward the ceiling three different times during this speech, so she added for good measure, “He got me coffee.”
Andy was chewing on the side of his cheek. “Could you have it back tomorrow?”
“I don’t really read that fast. I’m not like you professors.” Make all the faces you want, Mr. Hill, I’m getting this book. “It would probably take me at least two or three days.”
“Thursday?”
“I might be going to work early …”
“Friday then?”
She better quit now. “Friday, sure, Friday should be fine. Thank you so much! I could bring it by your office in the morning before work.”
“You two could have coffee,” suggested Matthew. “I’d join again but I have a class to teach.”
“Unless you put up a sign,” said Ceinwen.
“You can’t do that too often, they seem to find it irritating,” said Andy.
“I have to go now,” she said, picking up her coat and scarf. “Although maybe Matthew can stay. I know he’s dying to pick your brain about the silent Ben-Hur.”
“I should walk out with you,” said Matthew. “Work to do, I’m afraid.”
He moved to help her and she sidestepped him. She threw on her coat, swung the scarf around her neck and grabbed her purse. “We can say goodbye at the elevator, since you’re going back upstairs.”
“I’m going back to Courant, actually.” She took a step toward the door when she realized Matthew had her so angry she’d nearly behaved like Anna. She turned to Andy. “Thanks so much for the delicious lunch and everything else. I’ve had a lovely time.”
“My pleasure,” said Andy, both hands still fastened on the monograph. She reached out. Andy put it in her hand, but it wasn’t coming away. She gave the gentlest tug possible and at last he let go. She cradled it with both arms and gave him the same smile as earlier. “I promise to return it just as I found it.”
He looked borderline distraught, but managed to say, “Eleven okay for Friday?”
“Perfect.”
She opened the door wide and fast, but the doors in the building weren’t automatic, so it didn’t swing back into Matthew’s face. He came up behind her as she was pushing the elevator button repeatedly, a very New York habit she’d always promised herself she wouldn’t pick up.
“Are you familiar with the Brody Institute?” he asked pleasantly.
She threw her head back and strode toward the stairwell. She opened the exit door, turned, said, “You’re a prick,” and charged in.
“That was good and loud,” he said, following. “With any luck Andy heard that.” She was going down the stairs as fast as her damp Doc Martens would permit, but he was right behind her.
“The fact that you’re a prick is no news to Andy.”
“And now it’s no news to the second floor either. Shall we inform the lobby?”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” They’d reached the lobby, and she was practically running for the door.
“You should, if you want to see that clip. With Miriam.” She stopped. Smug, all right. “She makes an impression, that neighbor of yours.”
She said triumphantly, “I’ll get Harry to take me.”
“Harry’s leaving for Paris in forty-eight hours. Plan to wait until he gets back?”
“I will if I have to.”
“No, you won’t. You can hardly bear to wait for your next cigarette.” They were both breathing hard. “You’re here
anyway. Come up and talk, this is just stalling.”
The doorman was concentrating hard on his New York Post. She walked to the elevator and pressed the button once. Matthew followed and glanced at the monograph in her hands. “If you’re going to keep borrowing books,” he said, “you should get a larger handbag.”
Ceinwen was about ten feet into his apartment when she felt a hand on her back. She whipped around for her best New York “watch it, buddy” and found herself turning straight into a kiss. Her purse and the monograph fell to the floor and she yanked her head back.
“Oh, so you’re worried about Andy. Andy’s a weirdo, Andy’s going to make a pass at me. Meanwhile you ask me up here to talk and now you think—”
“Later,” he pleaded, and tried to pull her back.
“Later? Like nothing happened? You left me here—”
“Later,” he repeated, talking over her, following every step back that she took. “Please, can’t we have the fight later? Shh, no, listen, we’re just flipping the equation, that’s all.” She was keeping her mouth away and he was trying for her neck. “Basic maths. If it works one way, it has to work the other. First we make love, then we have the fight.”
“You leave me here to go skiing with Ah-nuh …”
“The whole fight. I promise. Only later.”
“—and then you come back and here you are, trying—”
“Please, please. I’ve missed you so much.” He’d unfastened all three buttons on her coat and she was hanging onto both lapels to keep him from pushing it off. “No, wait, let me finish. We can reverse everything. After we won’t have the fight right away, we’ll go to Theatre 80—no, listen, and we’ll sit through both features, both, even if they’re Westerns, and I promise, I swear, you can start the fight as soon as the lights come up. Even before that, if you want. You can start calling me names during the credits.” His voice was shaking; they were both trying not to laugh. “Or the fadeout. Music, ‘The End,’ ‘Matthew, you insect …’”
Missing Reels Page 17