“You hit the studio, you hit me. I built the studio.”
“He’s not hitting the studio, Sol,” the lawyer said patiently. “I told you. He’s making some noise. In a day or two, he’ll take it somewhere else.”
“Already we’re getting calls from the exhibitors. What’s going on? Why all these people from Continental? You know we depend—we don’t have our own theaters.”
“Well, neither will anybody else, the way things are going,” the lawyer said.
“They get nervous, we’re the first people they say no to. They’re going to fuck Mayer?”
“Some language. That’ll sound wonderful in there,” Fay said.
“He sends Eddie Mannix,” Sol said, ignoring her. “All the sudden they’re booking musicals again.” He paused. “You know how long I know Hal? His father was cutting for Sennett. Sennett, for chrissake, before that nose wipe was even thought of.”
“Well, they’re thinking of him now,” the lawyer said. “And listening, so let’s all just take it easy. You know what to do.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lasner said, still with a hint of defiance, but Ben could hear the nervous tremor under the bravado, as wary as anyone brought before a judge. “I never knew Milt Schaeffer was a Red. I’m as surprised as anybody. I would never have hired him. Continental doesn’t hire Reds. We’re certainly going to be more careful from now on. Thanks to you, Congressman. You want to see me hit my marks, too?”
They took studio cars the few blocks back.
“What’s with Bunny?” Lasner asked Ben.
“A little fire to put out. You know.”
“Everything’s a crisis with him. Sometimes you have to step back. See the whole thing.”
“That’s what you should do, step back,” Fay said. “You’re getting all excited.”
“You see Hal’s face?” he said quietly. “Why would you do that to him? Guy like that. You know him,” he said to Ben. “He try to sign you up for the Party? Labor agitator yet. Where? Fort Roach? You see the way he looked?”
The car pulled up to the curb.
“There’s Polly,” Ben said. “I’ll meet you inside.”
“That bitch,” Lasner said.
“Wonderful,” Fay said. “Be sure to say that when you’re on.”
Polly was surprised, then skeptical. “What kind of drink?”
“To talk. I have something for you.”
“What, something you tried to peddle to Ken? You’re not exactly flavor of the week there.”
“He didn’t level with me. He’s not leveling with you, either.”
She looked up at this, caught, suspicion part of the air she breathed. “What do you mean?”
“Six thirty?”
She hesitated for a minute, then started to turn. “Don’t waste my time. I’m not Ken. I’ve been doing this a lot of years. You have something for the column, call my assistant. It doesn’t check out, don’t call twice. I don’t just print things, they have to check out. Then we’ll see.”
“Not for the column. The news page.”
“Really. Just for me. And to what do I owe the favor?”
“I want something from you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’ll be worth it. One drink. You’ll want to hear it.”
“What did you mean about Ken?”
“That’s what we’re going to talk about.”
“He’s a friend of mine.”
“Polly.”
She looked at him. “What’s this all about?”
“Six thirty. You pick the place. You don’t want the story, at least you get the drink. I could give it to Kelly but I figure you could make a bigger noise. A hundred twenty-three papers.”
“A hundred twenty-seven.”
“On the other hand, he could use a break. He’s lucky he’s still got a job there, working for you on the sly. Not very nice of you.”
She narrowed her eyes, enjoying this. “Well, I’m not. Very nice.”
“That’s why I thought of you.”
Lasner was already seated at the witness table when Ben got to the hearing room. This time the lawyers sat behind, not flanking him, a subtle shift to suggest that he wasn’t on trial, as Schaeffer had been, just there for a friendly exchange. Minot started with a formal appreciation for Lasner’s giving up his valuable time to help the committee, implying that he’d offered to come, no subpoenas necessary. The approach was courteous, Minot’s way of signaling to the other studio heads what to expect, his conciliatory tone something their people would notice and report back. Nobody was out to get anybody—they were, after all, on the same side.
“Now, Mr. Lasner, you are the president of Continental Pictures. How long have you held that title?”
“Since nineteen fifteen. I started the company.”
“And before that it was Mesa Pictures?”
“That was one. There were a few others. We combined them to make Continental.”
“I see. So a mighty oak from several acorns, not just one.” He smiled, either at the line itself or Lasner’s obvious confusion over it.
“You could say that.”
“And how long have you lived in this country?”
“How long? All my life.”
“Well, not quite all your life.”
“Since I was a kid.”
“And before that? Where were you born?”
“Poland.”
Minot looked at a paper. “Yes, except then it wasn’t Poland, was it, where you were. It was part of Russia. From what I hear in Washington, it’s going that way again. Hard to keep them out.” This as an aside to the committee, but pitched to the audience. “So you were born in Russia.”
Lasner sat up straighter, his eyes now fixed on Minot. “We thought of it as Poland.”
“But not officially. And after you left Russia you came here and became a U.S. citizen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And worked your way to the position you have now. A great American story.”
“It’s a great country,” Lasner said.
“And may I ask your religion?”
Lasner glared back at one of the lawyers, a can-he-ask-this? expression. “I don’t practice a religion,” he said.
“But you believe in God, I hope. Your parents, then. What religion were they?”
Lasner looked at him steadily for a minute, an assessment. “Hebrew.”
“Hebrew.”
“That’s right. Why do you ask?”
Minot leaned forward, as if he hadn’t heard. “What?”
“Why do you ask? Is this strictly a curiosity question or are you saying—”
“I’m not saying anything, Mr. Lasner, just trying to establish your background for the committee.
“I thought we were here to discuss Communists.”
One of the lawyers touched his back, the way you pat a horse to slow down.
“Indeed we are. Now if you don’t mind, let me ask the questions.”
“I don’t mind. That’s what you’re here for. But maybe I can save us both some time. You’re a busy man. So am I. I didn’t know Milt Schaeffer was a Communist when we hired him for Convoy. As a matter of fact, from what we heard here yesterday, he wasn’t, so I’m not sure what this is about.”
“He had been, Mr. Lasner. I’m sure you remember that testimony, too.”
“You mean it’s like having diabetes—once you get it, it never goes away?”
There was some laughter at this and Minot tried to ride with it.
“Mr. Lasner is known for being a colorful figure in the industry,” he said to the audience, then looked back to the witness table. “But I know he agrees these are serious matters. You say you didn’t know Mr. Schaeffer had been a member of the Communist Party. But you did hire him to direct a Russian-themed picture, is that correct?”
“It wasn’t about Russia when we hired him. That came later.”
“Why did you hire him, then?”
“He was availa
ble and he works fast. We had a deadline. You hire somebody like Wyler, we’d still be on the convoy.”
This brought enough laughter to make Minot bang his gavel.
“Mr. Lasner,” he said, wearily.
“All right. Why? He knows his way around a set. I liked his work. And I like him.” He turned his head slightly toward the row where Schaeffer was still sitting. Behind Lasner, the lawyers huddled.
“There were no political considerations, then?”
“What political considerations? It was a picture.”
“Now, Mr. Lasner,” Minot said, switching tack, “you may not think about politics, but Continental’s a big place. I don’t imagine you do everything yourself. Who exactly decided to hire Mr. Schaeffer? The line producer, wouldn’t it be?”
“A thing like that, it stops with me. It doesn’t matter who the line producer was. You think I wouldn’t know? You’re just trying to get me to say—”
“Mr. Lasner, I’m not trying to get you to do anything but answer the question.”
“No, you’re saying I didn’t know what was going on in my own studio. A bunch of Commies come in and pull a fast one, that’s where you’re going with this. Well, nobody pulled anything. Nobody was a Communist. Not that I knew of. Milt, I don’t know, he says ‘no’ under oath, I believe him. You make a big deal he requests Hal. Everybody requests Hal. He’s the best cutter in the business, something you’d know if—” He stopped, hearing himself, but only for a second, rushing now. “And Gus Pollock, you try to bring him in, make it seem—”
“Mr. Lasner.”
“Wait a minute.” He took up one of his papers with notes. “Passed away, you said. I hope it was just a mistake, your staff didn’t tell you how. Gus came home in a box. A Silver Star. You think he was working against this country? But you don’t mention that. And what’s all this business with Hal’s sister? We’re after the steno pool now?”
Minot banged his gavel again. “Mr. Lasner, you’re out of order.”
“I’m out of order?”
One of the lawyers rushed up to Lasner’s table, signaling at the same time to Minot, whose head had swiveled upward, as if he were literally scenting a change in the air. One of the cameras had moved closer, its motor drowned by the buzzing in the public section. Minot nodded to the lawyer.
“The witness’s counsel is requesting a recess.”
“We don’t need a recess,” Lasner said, his voice louder. “Let’s get this over with.”
Minot banged again. “We’ll recess for ten minutes.” He turned to the rest of the committee, who looked disoriented by the unexpected outburst, and shuffled some papers for the camera.
Sol’s table was now surrounded by lawyers, blocking him from sight. “Are you crazy?” one lawyer said.
“He’s an anti-Semite,” Lasner said, still boiling. “You think I don’t know when I see it? I know it like air.”
“So what?”
“So what?” He stared at the lawyer.
“You never met an anti-Semite before? Had to deal with one?”
“All my life. I never elected one.”
“You didn’t elect this one, either. Now listen to me—”
Sol held up his hand. “I’m listening to you. Are you listening to him? You don’t want to put a stop to this?”
“That’s not up to us.”
“Who is it up to, then?”
“Fay, talk to him.”
Fay put a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”
“I’m great.”
She made a half smile. “I know. You’re enjoying yourself.”
“Gus Pollock, for chrissake. Comes home in a box.”
“Fay,” the lawyer said again.
“What can I tell you? He’s a grown man. Am I his mother? If you ask me, they’re with him,” she said, pointing to the public section.
“There’s a way to do this,” the lawyer said.
“What way?” Lasner said. “Wait for somebody else?” He looked at Ben. “You’re the one who showed me. What happened. We’re making a goddam picture, what happens everybody waits. Who did he bring down here? The country club? No, a Jew business. I know,” he said, catching Ben’s expression, “it’s not the same. But how different? You tell me. What? Wait for somebody else?”
Ben looked at him, then glanced quickly over to the press section, everyone standing and talking but Ostermann, who sat still, his eyes on the witness table, seeing something new.
“Not if you can do it,” Ben said finally.
“Ha.”
“Why do you say that?” the lawyer said.
“You don’t have to ask me,” Ben said to Lasner. “You’re going to do it anyway.” He paused. “He can hurt the studio.”
“More?” Lasner said. He turned to Fay. “How many times I worried about that before? It doesn’t change.”
“Neither do you. You think it’s still Gower Gulch.”
“Where do you think he gets all this from,” Lasner said, sweeping his hand to take in the room. “Pictures. He doesn’t even know where he gets it, but it’s pictures.” He looked at Ben. “I know pictures.”
“Then fight him with that,” Ben said.
When they resumed Minot was sitting up straight, the papers in front of him stacked, everything back in control.
“Mr. Lasner, have you had enough time with counsel?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Minot looked up at this, but played along. “Good. Now if we can continue.”
“Certainly. But first I’d like to apologize if I expressed myself—”
“No apologies necessary, Mr. Lasner.”
“It’s just that I appreciate the importance of these hearings and I didn’t want you to waste your time on—”
“We’re not wasting time, Mr. Lasner.”
“On Convoy. I mean, for all the people saw it, it wouldn’t have done the Russians much good anyway.”
“It was my understanding the movie was a success.”
“Well, that depends on whose accountants you talk to.”
There was an amused murmur, everyone in the press section now following closely.
Minot referred to a paper. “Mine said fifty thousand net.”
“With second release,” Lasner said smoothly. “Yeah, we made our costs back, I’m not saying that, but wartime that’s not hard to do. Everything gets an audience.”
“The military audience, you mean,” Minot said, not even aware he was following Lasner.
“Overseas? They get it free. Part of the war effort. The industry paid for the prints, those pictures you used to see,” he said, Minot suddenly a GI again, young. “The boys, we didn’t make a dime on them. Wouldn’t. Your gross was in the home market.”
“And not enough of them wanted to convoy to Murmansk,” Minot said, trying to be light, but sounding forced.
“Not until second release.”
“And yet you’re full of praise for Mr. Schaeffer—everybody who made it, in fact.”
“It was a good picture.”
“You say that even though—”
“There were timing problems,” Lasner said, going somewhere else. “They put out a Bogart early so all the sudden we’re up against that in the first run. Plus Cover Girl was still—you know, you’re going to do tremendous business with a Hayworth.”
Ben noticed that the names made the audience more attentive, as if the stars themselves had entered the room.
“Mr. Lasner,” Minot interrupted, sensing this, “the fact remains that millions of people saw Convoy to Murmansk. We’re not interested in the studio’s account books. We’re interested in what the movie had to say, how it was changed to say it. Now I can appreciate you want to make money, I guess most of us do, but we’re here to see how these people work, how they get their message out when the rest of us are just going about our business—you up there counting your money—” He broke off, seeing Lasner’s face grow tighter. “Now I also appreciate that as head
of the studio, you want to take responsibility for everything that happens there, but one man can’t do it all. These are people who know how to play on sympathies. It’s not just what happens in the front office, who decides this or that, it’s what happens on the ground—I guess we’d say on the sound stage. And what happens off.”
“What happens off.”
“Social life’s an important part of the business, wouldn’t you say? Sometimes you want to know about a person, you can tell by who he knows.”
“You mean like you coming to my house?”
Minot said nothing, blindsided, barely noticing the ripple of interest in the press section, a new detour.
“I know what you mean,” Lasner said. “People listen to us a while ago—” He raised his hand slightly, deflecting an argument. “My temper, I know. But they wouldn’t think you’d been to my house. Had dinner. But maybe we have more in common than they think. This country, how we feel about it. Of course, I don’t know what it says about you and Milt Schaeffer. I mean, both of you being there, at the same party.”
“Mr. Lasner, we’re not here to discuss my social—”
“Just Milt’s, huh? I thought maybe the two of you had talked. You were the guest of honor. The point was to meet you. But there were a lot of people. Sometimes it’s like that, you don’t get to talk. At least this time it wasn’t a fund-raiser, unless you were raising funds I didn’t know about,” Lasner said playfully, the scene his now, as if the tables themselves had changed places.
“Mr. Lasner,” Minot said stiffly, “can we get back to—”
“I was just making a point. You said you can tell a lot, who people know, but, see, we can’t really tell anything about you by the fact that you and Milt were both there.”
“Your point being?”
“So Hal and Milt were at the Fund party. Does it mean anything, they were both there?”
“Those were very different occasions,” Minot said, defensive now.
“I’ll bet. I’ve been to Milt’s parties. You’re lucky, you get cream cheese on a Ritz cracker.”
Everyone laughed, even Schaeffer, a little color now in his cheeks. Minot waited it out.
“Mr. Lasner.”
“I’m just saying, we don’t even know if they talked. You just said they were there, is all.”
Minot stared at him, trying to close down the volley with silence. “Because if you don’t know anything more than that, there’s no reason to bring it up, is there? It’s just like you and Milt at the house.”
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