Stardust

by Kanon, Joseph

  “It worked with Dick. It was all right.”

  “Did I know I was hiring Commies? Jesus Christ, Milt Schaeffer. If that’s what the Russians got, we don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  “He’s not trying to make you look bad.”

  “I thought you knew something about pictures.” He raised his hands, framing. “You argue with him, you’re a Commie—sticking up for them, same thing. You don’t argue, yes sir, you’re an idiot for using Milt in the first place. Either way, he’s a smart guy and you’re a putz.”

  Ben said nothing.

  “So that’s what everybody thinks? Bunny. You. Keep your head down. Be a putz.”

  “He can make trouble for the studio.”

  Lasner nodded, conceding the point. “When did that happen? I’ve been thinking about that. When did we let that happen, he wins either way?”

  Ben looked at him, suddenly back with Ostermann. “A little bit at a time.”

  THE NEXT day a steady drizzle came with the morning fog, blurring visibility, everything beyond the next block only half-seen through a gray scrim. Bad weather anywhere else was just part of life. Here it became disturbing, a form of disillusion. Wet palm fronds drooped, pastel stucco walls streaked grime. Without the lighting effects of sunshine, the city was shabby, the realtors’ promises turned into streets of disappointment. Traffic barely moved. The hearings would start late.

  Ben turned on the radio to cover the dull squish of the windshield wipers and found Minot on the news, an interview from the federal building, predicting more revelations.

  “Where’s the front line in this war? Not some ditch, some atoll in the Pacific. It’s in everything we see and hear, the values our children are being taught. The Commies don’t fight where we can see them. They’d rather sneak something in with the popcorn.”

  Go to Berlin, Ben thought, there’s a front line there—machine guns and checkpoints, right out in the open. Talk to some of the DPs, the ones from the east, watch how they scuttle away from the Soviet soldiers, an animal fear. But Minot never brought up the genuine horrors, the show trials and mass executions. Communism was for him a purely domestic threat. The Russians, the visible menace, weren’t on trial— Milt Schaeffer was, who’d left the Party in ’39. Assuming anyone really left. Danny apparently hadn’t, working for them, according to Henderson, right up to the end. But doing what? Playing both sides against each other, or only deceiving one? Or had the loyalties become so tangled that he no longer knew? Ben grimaced, seeing Danny at the witness table, facing the committee, finally answering for whatever he’d done. Except that he had already answered.

  Minot started with Hal Jasper. At first Ben thought, Bunny’s lesson taken, that Minot was building his case, then realized there was a pettier motive—he wanted to make Lasner wait. He had been the big draw earlier in the hall, Fay on his arm, both smiling for reporters. Now, wedged in the Continental row with Bunny and the lawyers, he was just another witness, with Minot calling the shots.

  “Mr. Jasper, it’s our understanding that Mr. Schaeffer requested you for Convoy to Murmansk. Were you aware of this?”

  “No.”

  “In writing. There’s a memo to that effect.”

  Ben glanced over at Bunny. Something that could only have come from him, in more cooperative times.

  “Can you think of any reason why he would do that?”

  “No,” Hal said again, not giving him anything.

  “You’d never worked together before?”

  “No.”

  “Had you done any action pictures? Before Convoy?”

  “One or two.”

  “What were their names, do you remember?”

  Hal looked puzzled, wondering where this was going. “Apache Trail. One or two others.”

  “These were Westerns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not war movies. And yet Mr. Schaeffer requested you. Someone who had no experience with this kind of picture. Why do you think that was?”

  “The process is the same. You’re still cutting action scenes.”

  “I see. Posses, convoys, it makes no never mind.”

  Hal said nothing, waiting.

  “It couldn’t have been for your political sympathies, could it?”

  “No.”

  Minot smiled pleasantly. “Just your Western expertise. I’d like to show you a photograph. Put it up here on a screen so we can all see it.” Behind him, a slide was projected, Hal fighting in Gower Street. “Now that fellow there, center right, I think we can all agree that’s you?”

  Ben saw Lasner shift in his seat, restless.

  “Like to tell us where this is?”

  “Outside Continental.”

  “And what were you doing there?”

  “Trying to get to work.”

  “That’s quite a commute you have there from the looks of it,” Minot said, getting a laugh. “Now isn’t it a fact, Mr. Jasper, that the police were called in to break up a union riot? Isn’t it a fact, unless there’s something wrong with my eyes, the photograph shows you in that same riot? Fighting with a policeman, in fact. And isn’t it a fact you were later treated for injuries at Continental with Howard Stein—practically brought in together is my understanding? That’s the Howard Stein whose affiliation with the Communist Party has been under investigation for years. That Howard Stein. And that’s his union outside in the picture and you in it, throwing punches with the rest of them. Now,” he said, pausing for effect, “I don’t doubt that Milton Schaeffer, a self-confessed Communist, confessed right in this room, in fact, admired your skills with Western movies. But isn’t it just possible—I can’t help feeling there’s a chance of this—that he also liked to have people around who agreed with him politically? Requested people like that. Especially when he was about to make a few changes to the picture. Changes to make us feel a little better about the Russians. I’d just have to say this was possible. Now I’m not asking you to tell us which union you support or how you voted—that’s your business. I’m just saying things like this,” he said, pointing back to the screen, “might give somebody the impression you lean—” He broke off, covering the mike with his hand as an aide whispered in his ear. “Excuse me,” he said after the aide left. “Now let’s talk about Convoy. Yesterday we heard how all those Bundles for Britain ended up going to the Soviets instead. Was that already settled when you came on the picture or did Mr. Schaeffer discuss it with you?”

  “No.”

  “No, he didn’t discuss it with you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, now, that’s interesting, because we have testimony, and we’ll get it sworn in later, that Mr. Schaeffer actually reshot scenes—a pretty expensive proposition I’m told—after consulting with you. Do you recall that?”

  “We didn’t have enough reaction shots. He took a few more, that’s all.”

  “Reaction shots of who?”

  “Brian Hill.”

  “That’s the fellow playing the Russian. Make his part bigger, that the idea?”

  “In that scene, yes.”

  “Quite a bit bigger, in fact. That’s where he talks about the Russian people, isn’t it. How they’re hungry because the Nazis took over their farms. Now some of us were under the impression that all started a little earlier, when the Soviets did it, forced them into collectives, but we’re not here to give history lessons and neither was Convoy to Murmansk, I guess. Just make the Russians look like all-around good guys. That was more the point, wouldn’t you say?”

  Hal said nothing.

  “Wouldn’t you say?” Minot repeated.

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “Well, not so much a question. More a general impression.”

  “Of the picture? I thought Schaeffer did a good job, considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “He had to shoot it in a tank. Technically, it’s a headache, Navy pictures.”

  “I meant your over
all impression of the story line. What the movie was saying.”

  Hal shrugged. “It was a U-boat picture. A war picture.”

  “Did Mr. Schaeffer ask you to feature the Russians, when you edited scenes?”

  “No.”

  “But you did in this scene.”

  “You cut to whoever has the dramatic moment. Who the audience would want to see.”

  “And in this case, they’d want to see Lieutenant Malinkov, our friend from Murmansk?”

  “What the hell is this about?” Lasner said, his voice low, but loud enough to be heard in the row. Fay put a hand on his arm, shushing him.

  “Were you aware at the time of Mr. Schaeffer’s political affiliations?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve been told that the editor is the unsung hero on a picture, the one who makes the real decisions. What we see up there, that’s pretty much what you want us to see. How you want us to feel about it. You agree with that?”

  “You can only work with what they shoot.”

  “A modest man. But Mr. Schaeffer put a lot of trust in you. From what I hear, he gave you pretty much a free hand. Easier when somebody knows what you’re after. Heart in the right place, so to speak. I’d like to return for a minute, if I may, to Mr. Stein. Your comrade, if I can use the word, in that little dustup on Gower Street. Was that the first time you’d met him?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, you knew him, then.”

  “I’ve met him, I wouldn’t say I knew him.”

  “Where’d you meet?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. Somebody’s house. Socially.”

  “Come now, Mr. Jasper, it was a little closer to home than that, wasn’t it? Would you like to identify the name Elaine Seitzman for the committee?”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “Seitzman’s her married name?”

  “Yes.”

  “A housewife. And a secretary. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “A paralegal secretary. Howard Stein’s secretary for a while, isn’t that so?”

  “Her firm did some work for him once. That’s a lot of years ago.”

  “Got arrested with him, in fact. A public disturbance. Or maybe she was just on her way to work, too,” he said, smiling to the audience. “It seems to be an unlucky family that way. She introduce you to Howard Stein?”

  “She may have. I don’t remember. I only met him to shake hands.”

  “Even though she was working for him.”

  “Her firm worked for him.”

  “All right, I’m not here to contradict you. Her firm. She stay with them?”

  “No, she left after she got married.”

  “But she kept working. This time for the government. Care to tell us in what capacity?”

  “As a paralegal.”

  “I meant which branch of the government. Turns out it was the NLRB,” Minot said, picking up a note. “That’s the National Labor Relations Board, for anyone here doesn’t know. Is that where they’re recruiting now? Howard Stein’s office?”

  Ben noticed Ostermann raising his head at this, interested.

  “This was eight years ago,” Hal said.

  “All right, we’ll bring things closer to the present day, if you prefer. You know the public record’s a useful thing. Memory can play tricks on us, but when you’ve got something down in black and white—I’m thinking now about a paid ad in the Los Angeles Times. Open letter to President Roosevelt with your name on it. Ring a bell? Organization called the Motion Picture European Relief Fund. Decent size, I guess. Whole bunch of names on the letter. Would you like to tell the committee what the fund was for?”

  “To help refugees get out of Europe.”

  “Get them here, in other words.”

  “Here, Cuba, Mexico, whoever would take them.”

  “These were Jewish refugees?”

  “Not all.”

  “Not all. What were you asking the president to do?”

  “Change INS regulations. To allow more refugees in.”

  “And did he do this?”

  “No. There was congressional opposition,” Hal said, looking directly at Minot.

  “Maybe they were a little uneasy, seeing who was making the request.”

  “Those people died,” Hal said simply.

  Even Minot paused. “Well, now I doubt that was Congress’s intention.”

  “They still died.”

  Minot nodded. “I think everybody here knows that, Mr. Jasper. We fought a war to stop it. All of us. But right now I’d like to look at that letter you were sending the president. Remember who was on the steering committee?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t. Well, like I said, have something in black and white and it comes in handy. Let me refresh your memory.” He picked up a piece of paper. “Quite a list, but I’d like to draw your attention to the S’s. Milton Schaeffer. Howard Stein.” He looked up. “Maybe this is where you met him. To shake hands.”

  “What, Hal’s a Red?” Lasner said to Bunny. “Jesus Christ, this is the guy you said was going to help us?”

  “Was.”

  Minot was reading more of the names. “Gus Pollock. Passed away, sadly, but I’m sure you know Mr. Pollock wrote more than letters. In fact, he got a cowriter credit on Convoy.” He paused for effect. “It’s a small world, isn’t it? Mr. Schaeffer. Mr. Stein. Mr. Pollock. And of course yourself. All in the same letter. We could go on with this,” he said, raising the paper, “but I think you get the point. A small world. But you and Mr. Schaeffer never discussed any changes. A small world. But you didn’t know Mr. Stein from Adam in that street brawl.” He shook his head. “It’s quite a memory lapse we’re talking about here.” He glanced at the aide. “Why don’t we recess now for a few minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Say, fifteen. Give it some thought, Mr. Jasper. Maybe something will come back to you.”

  There was a rush for the phone booths in the hall, the sound of matches being struck.

  “We can go in here,” Bunny said, indicating a large room that had been set aside for witnesses and lawyers.

  “I’m not going to sit around here all day,” Lasner said.

  “Take it easy,” Fay said. “It’s one day.”

  “If he gets around to it. We’re looking at lunch next. Then what? Forget it. I’ll be at the studio. Tell him to call me when he’s ready.”

  “You can’t,” Bunny said.

  “What, I’m under arrest?”

  “You could be, if you leave.”

  “Sit,” Fay said. “I know you like this. Sit down before you break something.”

  “They have coffee,” Bunny said.

  “I’m awake,” Lasner said. “So we just wait till he’s good and ready? To ask me what? Is Milt Schaeffer a Commie? He already said so. So what’s the news? And what the hell’s this about Hal’s sister? Who’s she supposed to be?”

  “Rosa Luxemburg.”

  “Who?”

  “Nobody. He wants to play sheriff, that’s all.”

  Lasner looked at him. “Sheriffs are the good guys. This isn’t right. A cutter, for chrissake. We’re supposed to protect our people.”

  “He’s got four lawyers, Sol. Ours. All he has to do is be polite. Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you. And it’s over.”

  “That’s our legal strategy.”

  “Sol.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Ben watched him go over to Hal, Lasner consoling and blustery, Hal’s shoulders sagging.

  “Keep an eye on him, will you?” Bunny said to Fay. “He’s not happy.”

  “Because he has to roll over and play dead? He’s not good at that.”

  “Just don’t let him pick a fight. What do we win?”

  “I have so much influence.”

  “Minot wants to embarrass the studio. If Sol doesn’t—”

  But now he was distracted by one of the publicists with a small stack of phone messages, Continental not y
et running by itself.

  “He listens to you,” Fay said to Ben.

  “Sometimes.”

  She patted his upper arm, a kind of reply, then went to join Lasner.

  Bunny was looking at the top message. “Now Breimer in casting. He’s going right through the studio. Everybody who worked on Convoy.”

  “You gave him Schaeffer,” Ben said quietly.

  “Schaeffer’s at Fox,” Bunny said, an automatic reply, then looked up. “I didn’t ‘give’ him Schaeffer. They already had him as a Party member. Your wonderful brother probably. If you want to be technical about it.”

  “You gave him the paperwork to set it up. And now he’s using it against the studio.”

  “He wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t—” He broke off. “Isn’t it a little late in the day to be splitting hairs like this? Or is it all supposed to be my fault? Funny how things go missing. Maybe next time they should check the closet.”

  Ben said nothing.

  “I still don’t understand what she is to you.”

  “Who?”

  “Who.”

  “Does it matter? She doesn’t deserve this.”

  “Who does? Hal? My god, reaction shots.” He stopped, as if his train of thought had run out. “All right, I thought Schaeffer would buy us a little peace in our time and now it’s biting us in the ass. And now I’m the one putting out fires.” He held up the messages.

  “I’m just saying, don’t give him any more.”

  “I don’t have any more. Do you actually think there are Communists at Continental? Or did you find someone else on your brother’s list?”

  “His list?” Ben said, looking up.

  “Whatever he was feeding Minot. If there are, let’s not keep our cards too close to the vest. I’ve had enough surprises. Oh god, Liesl’s father,” he said, spotting Ostermann over Ben’s shoulder. “Down here with the field hands. He thinks I’m ruining her. Her Von Sternberg or something. Imagine. Run interference—I’ve got to call Breimer before he throws a fit.” He paused. “Look, blame who you like. There’s plenty enough to go around,” he said, looking pointedly at Ben. “But right now we’re circling the wagons. I could use some help. Go keep an eye on Mr. L, will you? He trusts you. I can’t think why.”

  Ostermann had been talking to Polly, his improbable new friend.