Stardust

by Kanon, Joseph

  A man came out of the next office and crossed the hall to the restroom, looking at him. Ben took the knob, pretending to enter, until he heard the men’s room door close, then noticed Frank turning the corner down the hall. He jerked his hand away and went into the next office. Statewide Insurance. An outer room with three secretaries.

  “Yes? Are you here to see Mr. Herbert?”

  “No, I—I think I’ve made a mistake. Congressman Minot?”

  “Next door, on your right.”

  “Thanks,” he said, hesitating, listening for Frank, then saw that she was waiting and that he had to move. He opened the door, and looked down, hiding his face. But Frank had passed. He hurried back to Wilshire, the files still behind him.

  At the studio, people already knew Minot was going to make a move. The power of Hollywood gossip, Ben thought, impressed again, no warning flares needed.

  “Bunny’s been with lawyers all day,” Hal said.

  “But nothing’s happened.”

  “It’s going to. Polly’s got a column tomorrow. She says it’s about time.”

  “For what?”

  “Housecleaning. Makes you think of a duster. Joan Leslie doing a little tidying up.”

  Ben glanced at him, surprised at his tone. “But you’re all right. I mean—”

  Hal nodded, smiling a little. “But you had to ask, didn’t you? Take a walk around the lot. You can feel it, people just waiting to see.”

  Bunny came in without knocking.

  “Oh good, both of you. How’s your head?” he said to Ben and then, at his expression, “You made the papers. Well, the burglar did. Some building.”

  “Still a little sore.”

  “Can you work? We need to get this wrapped up.”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You think you’ve got a headache? Wait till the messengers get here with their little papers. Tomorrow? The next day? The suspense is killing us. Except it’s not going to. We stay on schedule.” He turned to Hal. “Two things. The overrun was not authorized. It’s an Army film, let Fort Roach do the processing.” He stopped, taking in Ben, too. “We bring it in on budget or we bail. I mean it. Second, I need to see you. In the office.” This to Hal, his voice lower.

  “Me?”

  “I want you to talk to the lawyers.”

  Hal took a step back, his whole body a question mark.

  “What’s going on?” Ben asked for him.

  “You know Schaeffer, over at Fox?”

  “We made a picture together,” Hal said, suddenly hoarse.

  “Well, they’re going to want to know everything he ever said to you. The lawyers need to prep you.”

  “Slow down a minute,” Ben said. “What’s going on?”

  “A run-through,” Bunny said. “Rehearsal for taking on the majors. Minot wants to show them how disruptive this can be, what it can do to your business. Encourage them to be friendly. Just like we’re going to be,” he said, looking now at Hal. “All friendly witnesses. We understand the gravity of the situation. And he goes away and we close the door and we’re still here. Then it’s Jack’s turn and Zanuck’s and—and they won’t even have to be told. They watched him do it to us. Now, okay? My office. They’re waiting.”

  Hal left without saying a word.

  “Who else is going to be called?” Ben said.

  “We’re not sure. We’re trying to anticipate.”

  “Talk to him. I thought you were pals.”

  “And what would I offer him? You? I gather you annoyed him. Even wounded.” He pointed to Ben’s head.

  “I don’t want to make trouble for the studio. Do you need me to take a walk?”

  “You’re not making trouble, he’s making trouble. We’re easy, the first bite. Small enough to chew and spit out. He thinks. You notice he’s not taking on Warners. Or Metro. Yet. Just somebody he can push around.” He looked up at Ben. “He wants to tear this industry apart. To make himself a star. So we help him. And then we help him move on.”

  “You’re going to cooperate.”

  Bunny glanced at his watch. “Now look at the time.” He raised his head, Ben’s eyes still on him. “I’m going to keep things going. Call Liesl, by the way, and get her in here. Sick day. We send somebody over there, and she’s off on some joyride with you. Don’t bother.” He held up his hand. “It wouldn’t even be good. The point is that we have to move up the picture. Tick, tock. We may have a hole in the schedule. We can’t go into Christmas without an A.”

  “Why would you? Have a hole?”

  “In case a picture’s in trouble,” Bunny said, turning away. “In case we had to shelve it.”

  “If someone were testifying.”

  Bunny looked at him, then put both hands to his temples. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s already starting. Why don’t you help and just save the questions?”

  “Want an aspirin? You’ll feel better.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Bunny said, heading for the door.

  “Bunny? Before you go?”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Studio have a locksmith?”

  Bunny stopped, surprised.

  “I’m having trouble with my door.”

  “That’s all? Lucky you. Rogers. Carpenter shop. Two hundred and forty-one.” No detail too small.

  Rogers, like everyone else, wanted to be in the movies.

  “What kind of lock?”

  “Like this,” Ben said, touching the doorknob, similar to Minot’s. “The scene calls for the guy to pick the lock. Trouble is nobody knows how it’s actually done. So I figured you—”

  “You don’t need a pro for that. Anybody could pick that. Get a Yale. Maybe a dead bolt. You can stretch the scene.”

  “But this is what we have.”

  “You only find these in buildings like this. Standard spring, the guards are the security. Hotels, sometimes. They’re cheaper. The door chain’s your real lock. This is a heist? They’d have to pick something a lot stronger.”

  “No, just an office. So maybe he’s not a pro. How easy is it?”

  Rogers took a slender rod from his tool belt and, holding the door ajar, inserted the rod, flicking it up in one quick motion that released the lock.

  “That’s it? Show me.”

  “This groove here. Put her in there, all the way to the right, then up. You’re going to do this in close-up? You’re better off with a Yale.”

  Ben tried it twice before it worked.

  “Can I borrow this?”

  “Sure. Smooth slice up. You could jiggle, have it slip or something, but that’s not going to fool anybody. You should change the lock.”

  BEN WAITED on the Wilshire side until just before closing.

  “The problem isn’t getting in,” he said to Liesl. “It’s getting out. After six, everybody goes out the back. That hour, they’re heading for the lot. So I’d have to get past Frank.”

  “Unless he’s not there. You’ve explained it.”

  “I just need a few minutes. Keep him with you. Your boss?”

  “Mr. Herbert. Who’s going to kill me if I don’t do those papers tonight. Why are you doing this?”

  “Because the Bureau’s never going to help. What names? The only thing they’re willing to do is let me get killed. Okay, let’s go. Park on the side street.”

  “And wait for the window shade. Then do my scene with Frank. Funny, now I’ll be you.”

  He looked at her, puzzled.

  “In the series. The one who helps. The good one.”

  He went in through the Wilshire door, moving quickly down the hall, late for an appointment. There were only a few people around, stragglers or assistants doing last-minute jobs, cleaning ladies collecting waste baskets. Lights still on in Minot’s office, probably a secretary with a letter to finish. Riordan, he knew, had already left. He went into the men’s room, took the last stall, and sat down to wait. The building was alive with sounds when you stopped to listen: a typewriter click, footsteps,
somebody laughing, then nothing for a while, just the creak of the building settling, the scrape of a chair. When someone came in, everything sounded loud, the splash of pee, the running water, a throat clearing. Ben imagined him—the insurance agent?—adjusting his tie. Then the thud of the door closing.

  It got darker earlier now, even in California, and Ben watched the window over the sinks get dimmer. He got up and switched off the overhead light, then peeked out. No lights at Statewide, but somebody was still in Minot’s office. What if she stayed late? They’d come to clean the restroom soon, mopping everywhere. But then Minot’s door swung open. One of the secretaries with fresh lipstick, locking it behind her, then checking it by twisting the knob. Ben ducked back behind his door, listening to her high heels going down the hall. Give it a few minutes, in case she forgot anything. The hall needed to be clear. There was nothing suspicious about being in the men’s room, not yet. Once it got dark, though, no story would work.

  He waited for what seemed like hours but was probably ten minutes, then opened the door again. No one, the only sound the clang of a pail near the Wilshire end, the cleaning ladies starting. He palmed the rod and crossed over to Minot’s door. Act as if you’re using a key. He inserted the rod, jagged right and up, but nothing happened. Again. Why did he assume they were all alike? It must be a different mechanism. He tried left, a variation, his hand tense, then stopped, taking a breath, feeling a bead of sweat on his upper lip. But it had been so easy at the studio. Don’t overwork it. Think of Rogers’s hand, the deft flick right, then upward. He tried it again, almost making a sound of relief when he heard the click.

  Inside, there was barely enough light to see, the shades half-drawn. Liesl would be outside, watching. Minot’s personal office was in the next room, but all the files were out here, where the staff worked. For a second he was tempted, now that he was in, to go through Minot’s desk, but that would be actual theft, not just collecting something of his own. He crossed over to the file cases. What if Riordan had already taken it out? Something he didn’t want Minot to find? But it was still there, in Heinrich’s now useless file. Ben folded it quickly and put it in his jacket pocket. Now get out before the cleaning staff started working its way down the hall. He returned the file and went over to the window, pulling the shade, then raising it back into position, and waited by the door. It would take at least a few minutes for Liesl to talk to Frank, helpless and panicky.

  Ben jumped, his skin tingling, when the phone rang. Was someone supposed to be here? For one terrible second he expected it to be picked up in the inner office, but it kept ringing, so shrill that everyone must hear, and then finally stopped. He breathed out, his ears still filled with sound, listening now to the hall. Why so worried? Everything was fine, what he’d expected. There were even footsteps now, a woman’s voice, Liesl on time. He put his ear near the edge of the door to hear better. Liesl was thanking Frank, slightly scatterbrained, someone likely to have forgotten her work. They were now at Statewide, Liesl thanking him again as he used his passkey. Take him inside. Two, three minutes and Ben would be out. He opened the door a crack. They were going in, Liesl still talking, keeping him busy. Now. He opened the door.

  He saw them before he heard them, two shadows followed by the sound of footsteps, clunky, not furtive. He pulled back in, banging his shoulder, and listened. Closer. Then Frank was back in the hallway, alert.

  “Congressman,” he said.

  “Thought you were catching forty winks somewhere,” Minot said, genial.

  “No, just helping next door. Little lady forgot something.”

  Could Liesl hear or would she blunder out into the hall?

  Ben slid his hand toward the knob, turning the lock quietly, hoping the sound would disappear under Frank’s voice. If it were open, Minot would wonder. He looked toward the window, frantic. Too late to fiddle with the sash lock. Under a desk? Did Liesl think he was already gone? But what choice would she have, once she’d got her papers? A new voice now, Minot’s guest. The shadows were larger against the glass. Another look around the office. Nobody hid under desks, something out of Mack Sennett. Minot was taking out his key. Ben tiptoed away from the door. Next to the filing cabinets there was a supply closet, not a real closet with a door you could close, just shelves covered by an accordion screen. He wedged himself behind, his back flush against the shelves, trying not to move anything.

  “This won’t take a minute,” Minot said, opening the door. He flicked on the overhead light.

  Ben glanced to his left—did he make a shadow?

  “But I did promise. And you know people—think nobody’s busy but them.”

  “I can imagine,” Bunny said.

  Ben went still, his mind racing, almost jumping again when the phone rang.

  “That’ll be him,” Minot said, picking up and talking, the words bunching together, slipping past Ben, just business.

  A meeting with Bunny arranged by whom? Minot just another union, another negotiation? Bunny was walking around the room, politely distancing himself from Minot’s call. Maybe looking out toward the hall, where Liesl would be any minute. But she’d see the lights, realize people were here. Ben imagined her in the hall, being swept down toward the back door by her own story—she had the papers, why stay? Her voice now, to Frank. Don’t say any more. If he could hear it, Bunny could.

  “You’re a peach,” she said. “You saved my life.”

  Distinct to him, or was he the only one listening, Bunny preoccupied? Then the sound of her heels.

  “Everything okay, Congressman?” Frank said, his head in the door.

  Minot nodded and waved him off. Now he’d follow, let her out, and she’d go to her car, expecting to find Ben, alarmed when she didn’t. Don’t come back.

  “Sorry about that,” Minot was saying. “Now where— Ginny was supposed to leave— Here it is.” Ben heard the ruffle of paper. “We can talk more in the car.”

  “I think I know what you need. You understand, our records aren’t anything like this.” Ben imagined him waving to the cabinets.

  “No, these are the best anybody has, thanks to Jack Tenney.”

  “It’s understood that Mr. L won’t be called,” Bunny said.

  “I see no reason for that at this juncture,” Minot said, oddly formal.

  “He’s not Mayer. No real press value for you. And the studio heads might see it as an attack, close ranks.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “Besides, I’m not sure he really understands what this is about.” He dropped his voice. “He’s out of it. That’s understood.”

  “He hired Schaeffer,” Minot said.

  “So did Zanuck. Anyway,” he said, switching tack, “who talks to writers? People on the set, not the front office. We can help you there. What kind of charges are you going to bring?”

  “Charges? This isn’t a criminal trial. I’m not looking to send anybody to jail. Takes time and then you make martyrs out of them. Of course, if he perjures himself—but I doubt that, don’t you? Especially with all the corroborating testimony. Schaeffer’s a Commie and he knows we know. I don’t want to put him away, I just want everybody to know he’s there. Anyway, the public isn’t going to care about Schaeffer. They’ll want—” He stopped, evidently aware that he was saying more than he needed.

  “Actors,” Bunny finished. “Stars.”

  “Well, let’s just say people they know. Not necessarily Reds. Maybe just people who are as concerned as we are. Friends.”

  “I understand,” Bunny said, interrupting him. “Faces for the newsreels.”

  “Well, just so we do understand each other,” Minot said, annoyed. “How mutual interests work. The studios. The committee. We want to be on the same side here. As I say, I’m not looking to put people in jail. I’m expecting the studios to do their own police work. You wouldn’t want one working for you, would you?”

  There was a pause. “Not even a suspected one,” Bunny said quietly, taking this
in.

  “That’s right. And once people know the studios feel this way, that it’s about their jobs, I think we’ll have a whole different situation. You fire one, everybody sits up. They’ll know it’s not going to be tolerated. Not in American movies. You don’t want to employ people who are against everything you stand for. You get together on this, hell, you could put the committee out of business.”

  “Their jobs,” Bunny said. “Then why not give us names. We can take care of it before you have to call them. Saves expense.”

  “Maybe in time. But right now—I don’t have to tell you about the value of publicity to get things rolling. That’s mother’s milk to you people.”

  “Preview of coming attractions.”

  “That’s right. We understand each other?”

  For a minute Ben heard only the clock ticking.

  “Mr. L is out of it,” Bunny said. “And the union contract?”

  “That’s not in my gift. But I can promise that Mr. Stein will be otherwise occupied. That should help things along. Funny how they’re always Jews, isn’t it? Well, I have to get going. Do me a favor, will you, and reach behind? Get me an envelope for this? There should be a box of manilas in there.”

  Ben fixed his eyes on the edge of the screen. What an animal must feel, he thought, finally outrun, trapped, a rush of blood to the head, then an eerie stillness, everything stopped, waiting. A hand, then a body blocking the light, Bunny turning. Ben reared back, flattening himself against the shelves, as if he could disappear, out of Bunny’s startled gaze. He expected Bunny to jump but instead he put his hand to the shelf, maybe to steady himself, still staring. A second passed, then another, neither of them making a sound, so that of all the things racing through Ben’s mind, what stuck was Bunny’s control, a will stronger than shock. And then it was too late for him to say anything, the moment over, both thinking, not breathing, trapped by each other.

  “The door slides,” Minot said. “They’re back there somewhere.”

  Maybe coming to help. Ben made his eyes go to the shelf beside him, a direction, then repeated it, like a flashing light.

  “I see it,” Bunny said, reaching to the box on the shelf, his hand grazing Ben’s shoulder, complicit now by his silence, suddenly Ben’s protector. They looked at each other, a whole exchange without words, beyond the obvious question.