Stardust

by Kanon, Joseph

  Minot covered his microphone and said something to the other committee members, a quarterback running through plays.

  “Mr. Lasner, I’m not going to debate this with you. The event we were discussing is part of a much larger web of association.”

  “What, like that letter in the paper?”

  “Among other things.”

  “I was wondering about that. I wanted to ask you—”

  “Mr. Lasner, we’re asking the questions here.”

  “I’m sitting here all morning, I don’t even get one?” he said, facing away from Minot to the rest of the committee, one of whom leaned over and whispered to Minot.

  “Ask me what, Mr. Lasner?”

  “That letter in the paper, for the European Relief Fund. You say Milt signed it. And Hal. Gus Pollock.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And you think that means something.”

  “Red Channels has listed the Fund as a suspected Communist front organization.”

  “What’s Red Channels?”

  “It’s a publication that— Mr. Lasner, this is all beside the point.”

  “Not to me. Who are they to accuse me—”

  “Nobody’s accusing you of anything.”

  “No? You’re pretty quick telling us Hal signed that letter. So they’re all in it together, Hal and Milt and— But you don’t say who else signed it. Take a look. Jack Warner, I remember. Selznick for sure. Even Mayer, I think, but I can’t swear to that. I know they asked. How? Because I signed it, too. And gave them money. Is that why you got me down here? With a subpoena. Under oath. Because I gave money to save some Jews before they were killed? Are you calling me a Communist, too?” All the cameras had now swiveled toward him, the entire room pitched forward, waiting. “Who’s Red Channels? Bring them here, so we can take a look. Let them call me that to my face.” His voice kept rising, then dropped. “Or is that what you’re doing? Calling me a Communist?”

  “Mr. Lasner, this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “No? Where are we going? I thought you got me down here to tell me there were Commies in the industry. Making trouble. And all you’ve got is Milt giving parties? Who’s paying for all this, by the way?” He threw his arm out, expansive. “You got a budget on this thing or do the taxpayers just keep forking it over till you dig something up? All right, I’m under oath?” He raised his hand. “I am not a Communist. I don’t even know any Communists. Milt wants to think it’s a paradise over there in Minsk, let him, I don’t care. I make pictures, that’s all.”

  “That tell the American people what to think,” Minot leaped in, visibly angry now, finally drawn out of public politeness. “Nobody here has accused you of anything except possibly a political naïveté so profound—”

  “Naïveté, what’s that?”

  Minot stopped, flummoxed. “Innocence,” he said. “A political innocence, or indifference, that allows people, clever people, to exploit—”

  “Now you’re calling me stupid?”

  “To exploit an industry without your being aware of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I guess that makes two of us because you don’t know what you’re talking about, either. Are we finished here?” He scraped back his seat, getting ready to go, startling the lawyers behind him. “Because I am.”

  “Mr. Lasner, with all due respect, you are testifying before a committee of the United States government. This kind of—grandstanding will not be tolerated. This is not a theater.”

  “No, a circus. A congressman. I expected better from you.”

  Minot flushed, as if he’d been slapped. “You are out of order, Mr. Lasner,” he said, furious, his face twisting. “This is not Continental Pictures where you can strut around, make people jump just because you say so. This committee doesn’t work for you.”

  Lasner looked at him, then stood up, a move so abrupt that the committee started with alarm. Two lawyers jumped up to hold him, but Lasner brushed them away, swatting flies, all the calculated restraint gone now, jabbing his finger into the air at Minot.

  “That’s just where you’re wrong. You do work for me. I learned that in civics. That’s a class you take when you first get here. From Poland. Maybe you ought to take it. You work for us. We pay you. We elect you. Once, anyway. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re off the lot.”

  “Sit down,” Minot said, rising himself, both glaring at each other.

  “Or what? You going to put me in jail? Is that what happens when somebody stands up to you?” He turned to the room. “We should all watch this. What happens when you stand up to these people. Maybe you’ll be next. Any of us. Anybody in pictures.” He looked back at Minot, a beat while the room waited. Even Polly had stopped writing, looking around the room, disturbed. “What happens? Or do you think everyone will be too scared to stand up?”

  Minot banged the gavel again, even though the room was quiet, mesmerized.

  “You are still under oath.”

  “You want to know about Convoy to Murmansk?” Lasner said, almost shouting, so worked up now that the committee seemed to draw back, out of the way. “I’ll tell you. Want to know who changed it? What Commie? Me. I asked them to change it. Want to know why? I got a phone call. From the president. We need your help. We’ve got an ally doesn’t think we’re pulling our weight. We’d like to show them we know what they’re going through. A picture would be a big help. Is there anything we can do? Asking me. I had tears in my eyes. He’s calling me. It was the proudest day of my life.” He looked around, emotional, shaking a little. “The proudest day. And this? What’s the opposite? I feel—shame here. Not of this country. I’ll never feel ashamed of this country. I’m ashamed of you in it,” he said directly to Minot. “I’m ashamed anyone listens to you. I’m going to work. You want to arrest me, do it here, because you won’t get on the lot. That’s me at the gate stopping you.” He pointed to his chest and it was then that Ben noticed the film of sweat on his forehead, a white fleck of spittle in the corner of his mouth. Lasner leaned on the table with both hands, under the heat of the camera lights, almost vibrating with emotion, the same sweat and tremor Ben remembered from the train. “You want to make fun of me, go ahead. You think I ‘strut’ around? I do. I’m proud of Continental. And I’m not letting you have it. You think I don’t know what you want?” He turned to the audience. “What he wants from all of us? He wants to take over. Tell us what to make. Who to hire. Who to fire. Well, I run the studio. Me. You don’t tell me who works there. Milt,” he said, turning to him, “you looking for a job? If he doesn’t lock you up, give me a call.” He turned back to Minot. “I run Continental, not you. Go tell Warner what to do. If he has any sense, he’ll throw you out, too. You’re finished here. If I can see it, with my— what’s it? naïveté?—they can all see it. I thought this was about politics. About the good of the country. And what is it? Just another pisher wants my job. Not my studio. Not my—”

  His hand went to his chest so fast that the room saw only the body slump forward, but Ben had been watching for it, waiting, so as he leaped out of his seat, pushing past the lawyers, he saw the hand clench, grabbing suit cloth, as if it could stop the pain by squeezing, then the head hitting the edge of the table as he fell over. There was a frozen moment of shock, then screams, gasps, everyone standing, beginning to surge toward him, but Ben was already there, turning Lasner over on his back, reaching into his pocket.

  “Oh my god,” one of the lawyers said.

  “Where are his pills?” Ben said, searching, not even aware he’d said it aloud.

  “Here.” Fay, dropping to her knees next to him, clawing at her purse, behind them a roar of noise.

  “Give him air! Call an ambulance,” Ben yelled to the circle around them, grabbing the pills and shoving two into Lasner’s mouth. “Water.”

  A glass appeared out of the air and Ben forced water between Lasner’s lips, waiting to hear him choke, afraid the white, sweaty face was beyon
d responding. But there was a kind of hiccup, a faint sign of life, not yet gone. Ben undid the tie, tearing the collar open, as if the problem were air, not his heart. Lasner had cut his head in the fall, so now there was blood, too, seeping in a small stream, inching toward Fay’s nylons. She was clutching Lasner’s hand, watching Ben as he undid the collar, then massaged Lasner’s chest, the rhythm a makeshift substitute for the heart, a pretense that you could keep life going from the outside. He bent down to Lasner’s mouth, listening for air.

  “Give him room.”

  Behind them the crowd tried to back up without really moving, pressing against each other. Polly had wedged her way to the front.

  “Oh,” she said, distressed, her hand at her mouth. “Is he dead?”

  “Give him air,” Ben said.

  Lasner’s eyelids fluttered open for a second, taking in Ben and Fay, the circle of faces, then closed again.

  “Did you get them down?” Ben said to him. “Try one more.” He pushed the pill between Lasner’s lips. “Swallow. Try.”

  Lasner opened his mouth a little, obedient, and Ben watched his throat move, his face tightening with the strain.

  The committee had now reached them, Minot pushing his way through. He stood for a second looking down, appalled and confused, then stepped back when he felt the flashbulbs go off, catching him looming over Lasner, an unintended boxing ring pose.

  Ben took out a handkerchief and wiped Lasner’s forehead, then held it against the cut to stanch the bleeding. “They need a minute to kick in,” he said to Fay, then grabbed a folded paper and started fanning Lasner’s face, forcing air toward him.

  “Breathe,” she said to Lasner. “Sol, can you hear me? The ambulance is coming.” She tightened her hand on his.

  Now that Lasner had responded, the crowd grew louder with talk. “All of the sudden, like that,” someone said, snapping his fingers. Ben opened another button on Lasner’s shirt.

  Fay glanced up at one of the studio people. “Did anybody call Rosen? Dr. Rosen. Bunny knows the number.” She turned to Ben. “You knew about the pills. What, on the train?”

  He nodded. “It’s worse this time. We have to get him to the hospital.” He felt Lasner’s wrist. “It’s weak.”

  “I’m not dead,” Lasner said, then winced.

  The ambulance was there in a few minutes. As the crew lifted Lasner onto a stretcher, more flashbulbs went off. Fay grabbed Ben’s hand, drawing him along with her. Lasner opened his eyes, aware of the movement.

  “They’re here,” Fay said. “Just hold on.”

  Lasner struggled to say something, but managed only an indistinct sound.

  “Don’t try to talk,” Fay said. “You’ve said enough.”

  Lasner glanced at her and started to smile.

  In the ambulance, Fay and Ben in the back with him, Lasner began breathing more regularly, his color better.

  “That’s twice you’re there,” he said to Ben, his voice scratchy but intelligible.

  “Shh. Don’t excite yourself,” Fay said.

  “You see his face?” Lasner said.

  “Quite a finish,” Ben said.

  “I told you. He didn’t know how to play it. He’s done.”

  “Don’t talk crazy,” Fay said.

  “He should fucking go out and shoot himself. Like Claude Rains.”

  Ben laughed. Fay shot him a look, but Lasner, pleased, smiled and closed his eyes again.

  “What did you give him?” the doctor said as they brought the gurney into the emergency room.

  Ben handed him the pills. “Two, three.”

  The doctor nodded then said something to a nurse, ordering an IV, and after that nothing made sense, medicine its own foreign language. Ben and Fay were shunted aside into a waiting room, the air stale with smoke. Ben opened a window. Fay sat down, covering her eyes with her hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then neither of them spoke, trying to slow things down, all the urgency of the last half hour finally wheeled away somewhere else.

  Ben glanced around the room: a pastel seascape on the wall and a stack of Reader’s Digests on a coffee table. No wonder people paced.

  “How bad was it on the train?” Fay said finally.

  Ben shrugged. “Not great. But he got through it.”

  “How many times can you do that?” She started to cry quietly and Ben looked away, giving her room. “What am I supposed to do? A house that size?”

  After they moved Lasner to a room, Ben and Fay were allowed to sit with him, a vigil, until Dr. Rosen arrived and put them in the hall while he conferred with the hospital doctors.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Fay said, when he came back out to them.

  “That depends what you mean by all right.”

  “He’s going to live?”

  “Not like now.” He looked at her. “No studio.”

  “He won’t.”

  “He’ll have to. This time it went off,” he said, pointing to Lasner’s chest. “It goes again, he’s gone. I’m sorry, Fay. I don’t mean to—”

  She waved this away. “And that would buy him what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Odds?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “He’ll ask. A few months sitting around? Is that all he’s going to get anyway?”

  “A month is a lot, if it’s your last. A year—? What’s numbers? Don’t go soft on me, Fay,” he said, seeing her face begin to tremble. “You’re the only one can talk to him.”

  She flicked the corner of her eye, drying it. “Wonderful.”

  Bunny arrived when they were sitting with Lasner, awake now but not talking much, preoccupied.

  “Now he gets here,” Lasner said, but patted his hand, affectionate.

  “Sol, I—” He didn’t finish, turning instead to Fay, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m going to be out a few days,” Lasner said.

  Bunny nodded, playing along, but his eyes were examining Lasner, appraising without the pyramid fingers, and Ben watched him grow paler, shaken, and knew that Lasner was dying, the doctor’s assessment just something to comfort Fay.

  “He didn’t call Rosemary like we thought,” Lasner said, talking business.

  “He might.”

  “Let’s release the picture anyway. Fuck him.”

  “Let’s talk about it when—”

  “We’re talking about it now.”

  “No, you’re not,” Fay said, playing nurse. “Doctor’s orders. Look at you. It’s not enough for one day?”

  “What do the doctors say?” Bunny said, but Fay didn’t answer, instead rolling her eyes toward the door.

  “What do they always say?” Lasner said. “Listen to them, everybody should go live in Laguna.”

  “Watch I don’t take you there,” Fay said. “You look tired. Close your eyes for a while.”

  “Don’t leave,” he said, a child’s voice.

  She put her hand on his forehead. “Never,” she said softly.

  Ben stared at Lasner, hearing his words again, an echo effect. But not the way Danny had said them, meaning something else.

  “I’ll come out with you,” Fay said, dismissing them, and for a second Ben saw a twitch in Bunny’s face, annoyed at their being lumped together.

  Lasner managed a half wave from the bed. “Don’t be scarce,” he said.

  In the hall, Bunny huddled for a minute with Fay, presumably getting a medical report, then joined Ben at the elevators. “I turn my back for two hours,” he said.

  “There was nothing anybody could do. Even you. He knew what he was doing.”

  “Mm. Putting himself in here. And Minot’s back tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “With a grudge. A little tantrum from Mr. L and you think he’s all taken care of.”

  “He will be.”

  Bunny looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “Read the papers tomorrow.”


  POLLY HAD suggested the Formosa, and when Ben got there she was already settled in a red leather booth, nursing a Gibson.

  “I went ahead,” she said after he ordered. “Talk about a day for it. Gives you a turn, seeing that. I’ve known Sol a lot of years.” She looked up, narrowing her eyes. Her hat, the mesh veil thrown back for drinking, was tilted slightly. “You were at the hospital. How is he?”

  Ben shrugged, noncommittal.

  “They said stable. Stable could be dead. I should probably be there, in case. But they just stick you in the waiting room. Anyway,” she said, switching, “I have this meeting. Where you’re going to give me a story and I’m going to do you a favor. Surprise me. Tell me you’re not trying to get into somebody’s pants.” She finished off the drink and raised her finger for another. “So what do you want?”

  “Want to hear the story first?”

  “No. First tell me what it’s going to cost.”

  “Minot fed you some material on Rosemary. I want you to kill it. For good.”

  “Christ,” Polly said, picking up her fresh drink. “Her pants. That’s not even a surprise.”

  “It would be to her.”

  “So why— Anyway, how do you know he fed me anything?”

  “Because he did. Jump page stuff, I’ve seen the file. You can do better.”

  “With you.” She looked at him. “Now why is that? You don’t even like me, do you?”

  “I think you’re a cunt.”

  She stopped sipping her drink, then laughed into it, almost spitting. “Well, that puts it right out there, doesn’t it?”

  “It got your attention.”

  “No, I think you mean it. So why are we here?”

  “To do a little business.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t throw this drink in your face.” She stared at him for a second. “All right. What have you got?”

  “You kill the Rosemary story.”

  “You going to tell me or just sit there and play with yourself?”

  “My brother worked for Minot. A supplier. Trouble is, his supplies were tainted. He was also a Communist. A real one, Party member. Still active. The Communists have been setting Minot up. A lot of the stuff he’s using he got from them. Some of the stuff he gave you, too, probably, but you don’t have to mention that. Minot had a Commie working for him and didn’t know it. To undermine the hearings, make him use bad information. Which could blow up in his face. Will. Unless somebody blows the whistle first.”