She could feel the ammonia burn down into her sinuses when she inhaled. Matthew said, polite as ever, still running their own personal talk show, “You were with him that night?”
“Course I was with him, he’d been showing up nearly every night for at least a coupla weeks. I couldn’t get away from him. All that time on set talkin’ to me and everybody else like we were dirt, and now we were pals. Bought my drinks, even. With what I don’t know, everybody knew he was broke. Brandy, that was his, and it’d better be a good one too. One after the other. He was always lit but that night he was really something.” Ceinwen put her hand on the table and Matthew covered it with his own as her fingers began to curl toward her palm. “Tellin’ me he was gonna get it turned around for our movie. Our movie. Chaplin was still gonna make silents, he said. People were still watching them in Europe. They’d understand it there if he could get it released. Then why didn’t he go the hell back, I wanted to ask him. Ha, that wasn’t going to happen. He was gonna get his due right where he was, if it took him forever. Arrogant bastard. Off he goes in that fancy car of his. Still had that, he wasn’t giving that up. So drunk he couldn’t hardly open the door, even if he hadn’ta had a busted hand. Told me he ran into a wall. Yeah, I believe that.”
“You let him go,” said Ceinwen.
He was surprised, nothing else. “Why shouldn’t I? I hated that Kraut sonofabitch. None of my business if he wraps himself around a tree. And then he did. Ran off the road, anyway. Only time in his whole stinkin’ life he ever did anything to oblige somebody else.” He began to laugh again. “Take it from an old man, honey. There’s some justice in this world.” The laugh got louder. “Even in Hollywood.”
“I’m afraid we’re keeping you,” said Matthew.
“Hell, I got all day. Not like there’s a lot of visitors here.”
“Hard to believe,” said Ceinwen, “with all the stories you have to tell.”
Matthew stood up. “We’d love to stay, but it’s a long way back to Manhattan.” He helped her into her coat.
Leon stayed seated. “Well, I’ve enjoyed the chat. Nobody’s ever come out here and wanted to talk about Hollywood. Gives an old guy something to do.” He held out his hand to Ceinwen. “Been a pleasure.”
Ceinwen plunged her hand in her pocket and fished out her gloves. “Thank you for talking to us,” she said. Matthew took Leon’s hand and shook it. “Yes, thank you very much.”
They were nearing the bus stop when Matthew spoke up. “Maybe Harry’s right. Andy really does own every silent film ever made.” She kept walking. He said, “I don’t want to go to New Jersey.” They were at the stop and Ceinwen took the last seat at the end of the bench. She pulled out a cigarette and lit up, and when the woman sitting next to her made a face she scowled right back.
Matthew squatted next to her. “I didn’t like the man either,” he said. “But he has a point. Nobody poured brandy down Arnheim’s throat and forced him to drive.”
She took a deep drag. Then she said, “I used to hide Daddy’s car keys.” She finished exhaling and the woman next to her waved her hand. “I always hated driving.” The woman got up and Matthew sat down. The bus was visible a block away. She threw down the cigarette and ground it out, barely smoked. “I guess you could say I’m not objective.”
They had to stand on the bus, and she looked out the window at Queens. When they got to the subway the train was there almost as soon as they hit the platform. They got on and found seats.
Matthew put his arm around her. “Aren’t you the least bit happy? Andy might have the film.”
She nodded. Then said, “Poor Miriam,” and buried her face in his neck.
4.
SOMEWHERE AROUND 42ND STREET SHE PICKED UP HER HEAD AND began to touch up her makeup. Matthew watched her run the edge of a tissue along her lashes, and said, “Better now?”
“Better,” she said. Then, “The movies in your head are always better.” She blew her nose. “Lost films fortify our romantic notions of the cinema,” she snarled. “In that sense, we need lost films.”
“I admit, it fits.”
That was the extent of the conversation to West Fourth Street. She charged up the subway stairs and shot across West Third.
“I have just the thing. Nice bottle of wine.” For once Matthew was struggling to keep up with her. “Better than our usual plonk. It’s early yet but I think we could use it.” At the corner of the park she crossed against the light and barely stopped in time for a van. “You could use it, let’s put it that way.”
They turned into the lobby at Washington Square Village and she pounded the elevator button. They got on and Matthew gently pressed for the sixth floor. As soon as the elevator began to move, she punched three.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing.” As it opened on the third floor he whirled and half-pushed, half-backed her into the elevator.
“You can’t charge in there and accuse him of hiding the movie.” The doors shut behind him.
“Watch me.” They got out on the sixth floor, Ceinwen moved for the stairwell, and he slipped in front of her, eyes glued to hers like he was trying to coax a horse into the stable. She kept eye contact, stretched out an arm and pushed the down button.
“He’ll deny it and you can’t prove he’s lying. He might not even be lying. It’s completely stupid.”
“And I’ll threaten to … to …”
“To what?” The elevator sprang open and she found her feet dangling. He’d picked her up by the waist and was holding on tight until the doors shut. “Will you please stop a bloody minute and think for once.” He set her down. “You have nothing to threaten him with. Nothellllooo, Jessica.” A woman had emerged from a nearby apartment and checked herself dead in front of her door. There was no telling how long she’d been there. Matthew was trying for an ingratiating smile, but the effort was undermined by the fact that he was still panting.
“How are you, Matthew.” She was clutching her purse and keeping her eyes away from Ceinwen.
He flapped his arms to indicate a happy-go-lucky attitude and said, “Fine. Thanks. We’re just going in.” He stuck his key in the lock. Ceinwen didn’t budge. “Going to relax. And talk.” Neither did Jessica. “And sit. Relax while we’re sitting.”
The woman nodded uneasily and began to move toward the elevator. “Enjoy yourselves,” she said. Matthew was holding open his door. Ceinwen walked past him and sat on the couch, still wearing her coat. He paused, hands out to avert a sudden bolt.
“Are you going to stay there?”
“For now.”
He backed slowly to the kitchen, opened the wine and poured two glasses straight to the rim. She took a glass from him and stared at the carpet. He sat beside her, poised on the edge of the couch, legs positioned to carry him forward at a moment’s notice.
“Ah. This is more like it.” She slurped the top down to a less precarious level. “Not bad, yes?”
“It’s smashing.”
“Cute. Keep at it until you’re ready to discuss matters in a nice, rational manner.”
She took a mighty gulp. “I’m rational. I’ve never felt more rational in my life. Don’t I look rational?”
“You look like Miss Havisham ten seconds after she’s left at the altar.”
She pushed her hair off her face and drawled, “You always know just what to say to a lady.”
“It’s my charm.” He hammered back a couple of swallows and said, “Right. How does one approach a madman about his film collection. Let’s think this through, shall we?”
“All I want to think about is where he’s got it. He told me he doesn’t keep his films in his apartment.”
“He could have the lost continent of Atlantis in there. And you didn’t see the bedrooms. So it could be there. Or I suppose he could have it downstairs in the storage. It doesn’t matter, does it? We have to think of a way to persuade him—”
“There’s storage in
the basement?”
He didn’t answer. She got up and he sprang to block her again. “Now where are you going?”
“To the basement.”
“What for?” She darted around him and dashed for the elevator. He followed. “What’s the point? It’s all locked.”
“You never know,” she said. The elevator opened. They got in and Matthew put his hand over the third floor button. She glared at him and jabbed the button for the basement. He kept his hand there as a man got on at the fourth floor, gave a cough and said, “Excuse me.” Matthew lifted his hand and moved an inch or two, his whole body still between her and the panel. The man paused, then slid his arm past Matthew to push the lobby button. When the elevator stopped at the lobby, he gave Matthew one short glance and was out before the doors finished opening.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to see, I really don’t.” The basement’s three cinder-block halls spread away from the elevator.
“How do I find his space?”
“As far as I know, they’re numbered like the flats.”
They trailed down one hall, then the other, and she noticed Matthew still had his wine. In the back of the center hall was the door marked 3B. It had a combination padlock on it, like a locker. She yanked on the lock and it didn’t budge. Matthew groaned and took a swallow.
“What now? Do we wait for the movie spirits to sense our presence?” She held out her hand, he passed her the glass, and she drank too.
“Does this look like a big space?” she asked.
He stood back, checking out the next door. “Bigger than mine, definitely. In this section the doors are spaced much further apart.”
She took another sip, bent at the waist and looked to see if there was a light under the door. “It’s pretty chilly down here. Is it like this during the summer?”
“It isn’t warm, as I recall.” She handed him the wine and pressed her face up to the crack of the door, trying to see inside. “If anyone spots you, they’ll think you’re bonkers. You realize that.”
She kept her face where it was. “You’ll look crazier,” she told him, “standing there drinking a glass of wine and watching me.”
He took another swig. “You’re right. Let’s go.” She inhaled. “Ceinwen. You’re worrying me. Come upstairs. We can make a list.” She breathed deep. “A nice list of options. Nothing like a list for ordering the mind.” She pulled her head away.
“Take a whiff.”
“A what?”
“Put your face right where mine was,” she said, “and smell.” He handed her the wine and did as she asked. “What do you smell?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Vinegar, maybe?”
“Try again.” He put his face back and breathed in with a loud, theatrical snort. “Now what?” she asked.
He sniffed once more, leaned his back on the door and took his wine out of her hand. “Vinegar, and nuts.”
“Not just nuts. Almonds.”
“Lovely. Now we’re Miss Marple.” He pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Cyanide! The scent of bitter almonds!”
“This time I know what I’m talking about, and you don’t. Almonds. That’s the smell of nitrate. And the vinegar is the smell of the safety film, getting old.” She took the glass out of his hand and drained it in one go. “Now we can go back upstairs and have that rational little chat.”
Once they were back in his apartment, she took off her coat and a visibly relieved Matthew did the same. She picked up her glass and he refilled his own. Side by side they sat on the couch in silence.
“Talmadge told me once,” she said, “that those combination locks aren’t very secure. Practically anybody can pick them.”
He set down his glass and put his hands behind his head. “That’s intriguing. But I think we can do much better. Here’s a thought. You lure Andy to my apartment.”
She didn’t think she liked where this was going. “How do I do that?”
“I shouldn’t think that would be any problem at all, do you? You say to him, ‘Hello, Andy. Come up and see me sometime.’ There you are. Instant Andy. You crook your finger”—he demonstrated—“and beckon him out to the terrace, right there. I’m hiding behind a potted plant we’ve purchased for the occasion, and POW! I hurl him over the rail.”
“Very—”
“Then, with a bit of luck, he screams out the precise location of Mysteries of Udolpho before he hits the ground.”
“Very funny.”
“No funnier than nicking it from his storage.” He leaned forward. “By the way. Since we’re on the topic. Does that flatmate of yours have any ethics at all?”
She sprang to her feet, yelling. “What are we supposed to do? Let him hog the movie where nobody can ever see it? Keep it down there till it’s a pile of dust?”
“Calm down, I didn’t say that.” He put a hand on her arm and she sat and put her head on her knees. He left his hand where it was. Then he took it away.
“Didn’t you tell me nitrate film is dangerous?”
She sat up and shrugged. “Oh, you know. Kind of an exaggeration.”
“An exaggeration? You told me they quit using it, it was so dangerous.”
Now was not to the time for him to get all fussy about the nitrate. “In theory. They used nitrate for years and years. All the way up through the forties. If it was all that bad, going to the movies would have been like the climax of White Heat.”
“Well damnit, it was like White Heat a few times, wasn’t it? You said there were cinema fires.” No, she didn’t like this at all. He poked her chest. “That is exactly what you said. Fires that killed hundreds of people.”
“You have to account for human error.”
He was on his feet. “I like that. Oh, that’s brilliant, that is.” He grabbed his wine and knocked back some more. “When I moved in here, I decided I wanted to cook like an American. And I got one of those gas grills, propane. For the balcony. I wanted to put a couple of tanks down in my little space, which is probably about one-tenth the size of Andy’s by the way, and when I was taking them in, the super spotted me.”
“I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.”
“And the super said, ‘I’m sorry Mr. Hill, but you can’t store propane down here. It’s a fire hazard. Regulations.’ So my two little tanks of propane are going to engulf the building in flames.” He waved the glass to mime an inferno and wine splashed on his hand. “But a entire room full of nitrate film, that’s perfectly all right.” He stalked to the kitchen and wiped off his hand.
“There’s obviously some safety stuff in there, too.”
He grabbed the wine bottle. “It’s true. It’s really true. Once you have tenure, you can do what the fuck you like.”
She rolled her eyes and opened her purse to look for her cigarettes. Matthew planted himself in front of her, wine bottle in one hand and glass in the other.
“You want a real idea, Miss Reilly? Here you are. We shop him.”
“Shop him for what?”
“For having a fire hazard in a block of flats, that’s what.” He banged down the glass and the bottle and charged for the bedroom.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m writing to the management,” he called, “to report the little bastard.”
She rushed to the bedroom. “How’s that going to help?”
“They’ll tell him it has to go, and then we’ll talk him into selling it. Or donating it. Doesn’t much matter which. We can see if Harry wants The Crowd back. With a bonus.” He was rolling a sheet of paper into his typewriter.
“What do we say?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m writing this. Not you. And then, if you don’t mind, we’re spending the night at your place.”
5.
EMPTY BED AND A DEAD-SILENT APARTMENT. WHEN SHE WALKED into the kitchen she jumped and gave a little shriek. Matthew, wearing yesterday’s shirt and cords, was drinking coffee with Talmadge and Jim. Talmadge was giving her a 1
0,000-kilowatt smile. He knew. They’d been discussing her. They couldn’t have looked more guilty if she’d caught them having a three-way on top of the stove.
“Morning,” trilled Talmadge in his Auntie Mame voice. “Lovely day for a hunt.” Jim pursed his mouth and Matthew gazed deep into his coffee cup.
“Is there any coffee left?” she asked, and her voice came out in a croak.
Matthew said he had something to take care of first thing, and he had to work all day too. “I’ll see you at the end of the week. We’ll see what happens.” He made her promise, several times and with the most explicit phrasing possible, that she wasn’t going to confront Andy while they waited. They’d slipped Matthew’s anonymous note under the super’s door before they left.
She spent the day cleaning the apartment, scrubbing so thoroughly that Jim and Talmadge gave her a round of applause when they got home. That night she pulled out a second-hand video of Stella Maris. A minute or two in, Jim spoke up.
“When was this made?”
“1918.”
They watched for a few more minutes. Talmadge shifted his legs around and Jim lit a cigarette.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked Jim. “Pickford was great.”
“It’s a little slow …”
She changed the tape to Johnny Eager with Lana Turner.
The next morning she decided to call Fred before she went to work. Matthew hadn’t said word one about contacting Fred. She thought she could prepare the Brody for the possibility of another Vermont-type stash, only right here in New York. Easier commute, she wanted to tell him. Kelly didn’t make her spell her name. But Ceinwen was informed very firmly that Fred was in the laboratory, and they didn’t take calls there.
At Vintage Visions she thought she was doing well, and she even sold a hat, but then a snippy customer handed her the receipt and pointed out that she’d moved a whole decimal point in the price. She had to void the transaction and endure Lily’s interrogation, since Lily always assumed a void meant you had your hand in the till.
That night she bought a pizza and beer for the house, and Jim picked the movie, Cat People. A remake, but all right, considering that she watched it with her ears tuning in and out like a radio. She really wanted to finish Stella Maris.
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