Stardust

by Kanon, Joseph

  “And if they do come across,” Riordan said, “you still have a shot at contempt.”

  Ben raised his eyebrow, waiting.

  “Nobody’s a Red alone,” Riordan said. “But they’re usually reluctant to say who their friends are. Even under oath.”

  “So either way,” Ben said.

  “Assuming we’ve got the goods on them in the first place.”

  “And that’s what Danny was doing for you? Giving you movie stars for show trials?”

  “No, we’re a little shy in the star department,” Minot said with a stage modesty, not catching the Moscow reference, something that had happened far away. “But any kind of friendly witness here can be something—you still get the press. There’s lots of ways you can use information. Your brother wasn’t going to testify, anything like that. I told you, he liked to play things close to the vest. Of course, if I’d really had to, I could have subpoenaed him, but why would I do that? He played fair with me. He gave me background. And you can use background in different ways. Sometimes, like I say, to set up a perjury charge. But sometimes to get people to cooperate, lead you somewhere else.”

  “Give you other names.”

  “That, or help in other ways. Be a friend to the committee. You know, we don’t want to hurt the industry. We want to help it protect itself.”

  His voice earnest, without a trace of irony. Was it possible he really believed this? Saw himself as a savior, not just another of the rich widow’s cynical suitors, borrowing her limelight?

  “So, are you going to be a friend to the committee?” he said casually, bringing his hands together, fingers touching, putting a question.

  But when he looked at Ben, not smiling, his whole body seemed to tense, expectant, as if he were waiting for the snap of the ball, and Ben saw that the rest of the lunch didn’t matter, just this moment. He sat fixed by Minot’s gaze, in a kind of quiet panic, feeling exposed, like the second before you leaned forward to a woman, crossing a line. He thought, wildly, of the first night with Liesl, being drawn in, no going back.

  “He was my brother,” he said finally, hoping his voice sounded steady, plausible. “I want to know who did it. I think we both owe him that.”

  Minot said nothing, assessing, then nodded, the bargain struck, that easy.

  “Everything goes through Dennis, understand? Not through my office. When we’re ready for subpoenas, we want them to come as a surprise.”

  “Like an ambush.”

  Minot hesitated for a second, then smiled. “That’s right. By the good guys this time.”

  “Ben, how nice. You’re everywhere.”

  Paulette Goddard on her way in. He stood up, taking her offered hand.

  “Paulette. You remember Congressman Minot?”

  “Of course, at the Lasners’. Nice to see you again.” An efficient smile, not overlong.

  “Dennis Riordan.”

  “Mr. Riordan,” she said. “Goodness, you all look so serious.”

  “That’s what happens with just Dennis to look at,” Minot joked, a compliment to her. She was wearing lunch jewels, a solitary drop and a diamond bracelet, everything about her shiny.

  “I’m here to eat humble pie with Polly,” she said. “Apparently I owed her a train interview and she’s been seething. Nice if they had told me. But I’m the one in the doghouse.”

  “Not for long, I’ll bet,” Minot said, smiling.

  “My god, is that chili? At this hour. Men.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t suppose you have anything I can give her,” she said to Ben. “Otherwise she’ll just go on about Charlie again, and what am I supposed to say?”

  “Just kiss and make up,” Ben said.

  She giggled. “In Chasen’s. Wouldn’t they be surprised. Well, I’ll let you get back to business. Three men, it’s always business. Don’t sign anything,” she said, putting a finger on Ben’s chest. “That’s my motto. Ken.” She nodded to Minot, remembering his name. When she left, there was a trace of perfume.

  “That’s some good-looking woman,” Riordan said.

  “Hard to believe she was married to him,” Minot said.

  “Chaplin?” Ben said. “That was a while ago.”

  “When he wanted to open a second front. Just a little earlier than Ike did. I’d like to get him in front of a microphone now. Tell us all about his Russian friends.”

  “I can’t help you there,” Ben said, moving him away from it. “Never met him. Anyway, I doubt they ever talked politics. Would you? With her?”

  “Not me,” Riordan said, grinning.

  “I don’t want you to expect too much,” Ben said to Minot. “I don’t know the people Danny knew.”

  “They’ll know you,” Minot said. “They’ll want to know if you’re sympathetic. His brother. They’ll come to you.”

  “But I’ll have no way of knowing whether they’re really— How far it goes.”

  “Leave that to Dennis. We’re just looking for background. Sympathies.”

  “It would help if I knew who he’d already—”

  Minot nodded. “Dennis can help you with that, too. Keep in mind, some of those people agreed to be friends. Protected friends. Even from you. We promised them that.”

  Ben looked at his smooth, untroubled face, the careful eyes. What had those conversations been like? No one will know if—not blackmail, just a sensible arrangement to keep information coming. A friend to the committee. What he’d promised now, too. He shifted in the booth, feeling suddenly hemmed in. You can do business with anyone, Otto had said. Until he couldn’t. Across the room, Paulette was ordering a drink. Don’t sign anything. He could still say no, go over to her table, stay in the bright world.

  “You understand,” Minot said.

  “What you want to do,” Riordan said, “now that we think it’s like this, is go through everything again, calendars, things like that, who he was seeing. He’s not going to pick a name out of the blue. What you want are the contacts. Who’d he take to that room, anyway? Any idea?”

  Ben shook his head, surprised at how easy it was to lie. Just another move on the board, protecting your pawn.

  “You take a room, it’s somebody to you. You’d talk.”

  “You know,” Minot said, slowing them down, “to kill someone, you’d have to have an awful lot at stake. Something important to protect. The people we know about—they’re writers, studio people who wrote a few checks to send an ambulance to Spain, people like that. So who else?” His voice more excited now. “Who had a reputation so big you’d kill to protect it?”

  A reputation, Ben thought, you could showcase in a hearing room, newsreel cameras turning while you pounded a gavel.

  “You mean a star,” Ben said.

  “It’s possible.”

  “But everyone thinks his reputation’s important. If somebody’s threatening you, everything you have. Something like this, exposing people—you set up conditions.” He looked at Minot. “You have to be careful.”

  “Do you mean me?”

  “I meant Danny. But let’s face it, Congressman, you keep going, a few people might think they had a reason to kill you.”

  “What kind of talk is this?” Riordan said.

  “Just making a point.”

  Minot reached over to sign the check, a house account. “Some point. Are we done here, gentlemen?”

  They made their way out the door, through another round of nods and waves, and almost collided with Polly rushing in. She was tottering in her heels, the way she had been that morning at Union Station, but came to a dead stop when she saw Minot.

  “Congressman,” she said, flustered, a hesitation Ben took as a sign of respect.

  “Polly, I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  “Me?” she said, almost girlish.

  “That piece Sunday. I just hope everybody reads it. Stars still in the service. You know my office gets calls every day—the war’s over, when is he coming home? Now we can say, look at this. Did you read Polly M
arks? Is Bob Montgomery home yet? Movie stars. But they’re not bellyaching. They’re doing what we all need to do, hang in there till the job’s done.”

  Ben watched, fascinated, as this rolled out in what seemed to be one breath, effortless.

  “Congressman—”

  “I take my hat off to you. What’s Winchell say? Orchids? An orchid for that one. You know Dennis, I think. My friend Ben Collier here? He’s still in the service, come to think of it. Still working for Uncle Sam. Making one of those great pictures the WAC’s been putting out this year. It’s not over for them.”

  “Yes, at Continental. Of course. Good to see you again,” she said, her eyes almost doing a double take. Someone she hadn’t quite got the measure of before, a friend of Minot’s. “I hear Sol Lasner thinks the world of you.”

  Ben shrugged, not knowing how to respond.

  “Awful about Fay’s cousin, isn’t it? I heard you were there.”

  “Terrible,” he agreed, noncommittal, avoiding her eyes.

  “You’d think they could’ve met at Sol’s, not have her drive way out there. Road like that. Probably feels terrible about it now.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever she was meeting. The one who called.”

  “What?” he said, everything stopping for a second, his whole body rooted.

  “Somebody called her, that afternoon. They think that’s why she went out.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.”

  How had she? Fay? Lorna? The Hollywood switchboard.

  “And in the rain. You’d think—but you never know about people, do you?”

  “Well, you do,” Minot said, “that’s for sure. There’s not much Polly misses, or so they tell me.” A wrapping-up voice, ready to leave. Riordan, hearing it, handed a stub to the parking attendant.

  “I get paid not to miss anything,” Polly said, smiling again, flattered.

  “Well, you keep writing pieces like Sunday’s, they’d better give you a raise. You can tell them I said so, too,” he said, a verbal wink. “That was fine work. Nice to run into you.” Moving her through the door before she could say anything else.

  Ben stood still, only vaguely aware of them. Who would she have been meeting? Not Feuchtwanger. Had she been peering through the rain, looking for house numbers? But the houses stopped and she had gone on. But not necessarily lost, or alone.

  “That’s a powerful lady,” Minot was saying. “Do you know how many people—first thing they do in the morning, turn to Polly? Millions.”

  “One hundred twenty-three newspapers,” Ben said dully, still preoccupied.

  Minot looked at him, surprised, then let it pass. “And the radio,” he said. “A good friend to have.” His car was being brought up. “I’m glad we could do this,” he said to Ben. “I think we can do some good work. You know the MPC?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Motion Picture Council. For the First Amendment.”

  “Pinks,” Riordan said.

  “But not a front group. Legitimate. You might think about joining it. Show them where your heart is. What you might be ready for. Let them approach you.” He paused, an interior debate. “How well do you know Kaltenbach?”

  “I’ve met him. He’s close to Ostermann. I thought you weren’t interested in the Germans.”

  “Only if they’re in the industry.”

  “He had a lifesaver contract at Warners in ’forty-one. One year. He hasn’t worked since.”

  “At a hundred dollars a week. That still sounds like a lot of money to some people. Hollywood money.”

  “He’s nobody.”

  “The Germans don’t seem to think so. The East Germans.”

  “He’s a famous writer there. Nobody’s heard of him here.”

  “Maybe he’ll be better known.”

  Ben watched him hand some money to the attendant.

  “How?” he said, apprehensive.

  “Be a help to us if you could let us know what his plans are.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “The State Department’s unreliable. People write them—influential people—and they do things they shouldn’t. If it were me, there wouldn’t be a hope in hell he could go anywhere, but it’s not up to me. So we need to keep an eye on him. I don’t want him taking any trips. Not before the hearings.”

  “You’re going to call him? He’s a Communist?”

  Minot shook his head. “No, just two meetings. A little window shopping. But we can put him at the meetings. That means he can tell us who else was there.”

  “I don’t think he’ll do that.”

  “He’ll have a lot of incentive under oath.”

  “Who put him at the meetings?” Ben said, queasy, already knowing.

  Minot looked at him, not saying anything.

  “Danny saved his life, in France.”

  “I’m trying to save this country,” Minot said. He put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, about to move to his car. “Nice to have you with us.”

  FAY ASSUMED it was a condolence call and insisted they have coffee on the back patio. The day was mild but overcast, fall on Summit Drive, and she put a light cardigan over her shoulders as they went out. After Lorna brought the tray, Fay poured from the silver pot, fluttering like Billie Burke, then sat back and lit a cigarette, crossing her still-good Goldwyn Girl legs.

  “It was nice of you to come. There’s no one to talk to—who knew her, I mean.”

  “It was only the once. But I liked her.”

  “The language was a problem. People don’t make the effort.”

  “The friend who called—he was German?”

  “Well, Lorna didn’t think so at first. She thought it was Bunny, somebody from the studio, you know. But then Genia spoke German to him, so it must have been.”

  “A man, then?”

  “Mm hmm. Why?”

  “I just wondered. He never called again?”

  “No, isn’t it the strangest thing? Maybe he doesn’t know. Thinks he was stood up or something. The notice in the papers—if you blinked, you missed it. I can’t imagine who it was. She never talked to anybody.”

  “Maybe someone she knew before. Over there.”

  “But she never went out. Where would she—?”

  “At the party, maybe. She met people then.”

  “You, mostly. Of course, Bunny can talk to a stone, so she knew him. Maybe somebody through the Red Cross. I don’t know. None of it makes sense to me. I mean, you call to meet somebody, it’s usually a hotel, a bar, someplace like that.”

  “Maybe she was going to his house.”

  “And never got there. Or maybe she did. I never thought of that. Maybe it was after.” She frowned, turning this over. “Well, he has the number.”

  “Let me know if he calls, will you?”

  She looked at him, surprised, her cigarette in midair.

  “Just curious. It’s like a mystery.”

  “Everything about her was a mystery.” She inhaled some smoke. “Look, we don’t have to pretend. She didn’t slide off the road, did she?”

  Ben said nothing.

  “I thought it would help, all this,” she said, stretching her hand toward the sloping lawn. “Well, you do what you can. She liked the garden. So that’s one thing.”

  “You’ve put a lot of work into it,” he said, taking in the lush rose beds, the perennial borders.

  “Me? I wouldn’t know a weed from—well, whatever the opposite is. Miguel does everything. Filipino, but with a Mex name, don’t ask me why.”

  “It was a Spanish colony. So lots of Spanish names.”

  “Is that right? Ha. Wait till I tell Sol.” She looked over at him. “That’s something everybody knows, right? About it being a colony?”

  “No. It was a while ago.”

  “But people know.” She laughed. “Who am I kidding? Sitting here with a teapot, la-di-da, like I ever made it past ninth grade. Bunny likes me with all this high-tone stuff, and fine, I like it, too, bec
ause Sol likes it, but I know. I like the roses, though, to look at. Sometimes I look at this place and I think, who would have imagined? All those years on the road, washing out things in the sink, and now you’ve got your own roses, not just what some guy brings backstage. A gardener with a fancy name.” She stopped and looked away. “But I guess she didn’t see it that way.”

  “You ever miss it?” he said, steering them away. “The business?”

  “That life? Not for two seconds. What’s to miss? One town after another with nothing to do—someplace in the sticks, you couldn’t wait to get back to New York. It’s the same here, you ask me, but don’t, because Sol loves it. At least it’s not the road, schlepping around, worrying are you losing your looks. What kind of life is that? Oh, at first, you’re young, you think there isn’t anything else. I never saw myself like this. Married. Mrs. Lasner. And all right, he’s a handful, but you know what? He’s crazy about me. The rest,” she said, waving her hand, “it’s nothing.” She put out the cigarette, looking straight at him. “Would you tell me something? He almost died on the train, didn’t he? Don’t worry, I didn’t get it from you.”

  “He had an attack. I don’t know how serious. I’m not a doctor.”

  “He almost died,” she said flatly. “He thinks I don’t know. How can you live with somebody and not know these things?”