Stardust (18 page)

“Well, the cutter is. Now all I have to do is listen to him.”

“You think you’re kidding, but I’ve seen it happen. So maybe you are as smart as he says.” She smiled, rolling her eyes toward Lasner. “Hello,” she said, extending her hand to Liesl.

“I’m sorry. Fay, Liesl Kohler.”

“Talk about smart,” Sol said quickly, missing the introduction but taking Liesl’s hand. “One week in town, already a beautiful woman.”

“Sol,” Fay said, then to Liesl, “Pay no attention, he thinks he’s a comedian.”

“No, Jack thinks he’s a comedian. He tells jokes to Jessel. The same jokes. You meet Jack?” he said to Ben. “When we were over in Europe? He was with the group.”

“Jack Warner? Just to shake hands.”

“You’re lucky. He tells one tonight, it’ll sound like the first time to you. Maybe even funny.”

“Sol,” Fay said, but with a glint, agreeing. She looked at Liesl. “Your pearls are lovely. I couldn’t help noticing.”

“My mother’s.”

“I knew it. The old ones have that rich tone. They say it comes from being worn next to the skin. All those years.”

“Do me a favor,” Lasner said to Ben. “I want to introduce you later. Fay’s cousin. We just got her out. Over there. All along, we’re thinking she must be dead and then the Red Cross calls and says she gave them
our name, she’s alive, would we send for her? So, we’re crying, thinking, what are the odds? And now she’s here, she just smokes.”

“Sol, she has
been
through something.”

“Did I say no? It’s a miracle. She’ll be interested—your picture.”

“Sometimes, you know, it’s the last thing they want to talk about. Where was she?”

“Poland. Not at first. They shipped her around. She doesn’t say much.”

“She told you, Sol. Oranienburg, then Poland.” She turned to Ben. “She’s getting used to things, that’s all. She’s only here two days. Big shot here wants— I don’t know, what, she should be dancing.”

“I’d like to meet her,” Ben said politely.

“I figured,” Lasner said. “You’ll have something to talk about.”

Is that why he’d been invited? To entertain survivors? But she’d only just arrived. Lasner was drawing him aside, keeping his hand on his arm.

“Listen,” he said, low as a secret, “I just want you to know. I didn’t want to say at the studio, but I appreciate—you know, on the train—”

“You feeling okay?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Sol, it’s Jack and Ann,” Fay said, drawing him away.

The Warners were all smiles, Jack with a jaunty mustache and a tan so dark that it seemed to have shriveled his face, like a walnut. Ben remembered him from the Army tour, paler and in uniform, telling stories about Errol Flynn. They’d been on Hitler’s boat, a brief day’s outing on the Rhine, which reminded Warner of his own yacht, moored next to Flynn’s at the marina, so close you could hear what happened in the master bedroom. “Not just every night, two, three
times
a night. Maybe different ones, I don’t know. I said to him, you keep it up, it’s going to fall off.” Laughter from the others, watching the banks stream by. Now he shook Ben’s hand without any hint of recognition, just a new face at Lasner’s.

“So all I hear is Rosemary Miller,” he said to Sol. “It’s going to happen for her?”

“Your lips,” Lasner said, raising his eyes.

“Get it in the can before the goddam union closes everybody down,” Warner said, prompting a huddle, cutting Ben and Liesl loose to drift.

Waiters were still passing rich canapés—caviar and asparagus tips in puff pastry—so it would be a while before they sat down. Liesl had told him Hollywood ate early to get up early, but Saturday must be the exception. No one made any move to the several tables set up in the next room. Ben wondered how dinner would be announced. A gong? Meanwhile, more champagne was poured and the man at the grand piano in the corner, probably someone from Continental, kept playing show tunes.

All the talk, overheard in snippets as they walked around the room, was about pictures. An option picked up. Sturges’s fight with Paramount. Disappointing grosses on
Wilson
. De Havilland taking Jack to court over her suspension. Would there be a strike? Paramount having a record year. But so was everybody. Knock wood. There seemed to be no one from the outside at all. The aircraft factories in Northridge, the oil companies downtown, shipping offices in Long Beach—all the rest of the new, rich city was somewhere else, at gentile dinners in Pasadena, maybe, or out at the movies. Rosemary Miller had just arrived, giving Sol a showy hug, careful not to muss her lipstick, then a broad smile to the rest of the group. Because it seemed to be her time—even Jack Warner had heard—and people were coming over to her, after all those parties where nobody had even noticed her.

“I’d better say something to Marion,” Liesl said. “Who’s that looking at you?”

Ben followed her gaze. “Bunny, the one I told you about. He runs things.”

She patted his arm. “Then be nice. I won’t be long.”

She moved away before Bunny reached him.

“Who was that?” he said, his eyes following her, intrigued.

“Liesl Kohler.”

“His wife?” he said, slightly addled. “You brought her? You might have said.”

“She’s allowed to go out. Why? Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just that all the seating’s been—well, never mind,” he said, stopping. “I’ve put you next to Paulette. Since you’re such old pals.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, that’s your left. Right you’ve got a relative of Sol’s. Fay’s actually. Genia, hard g. Markowitz. Polish. But lived in Berlin. Sol asked. She doesn’t speak much English, and I gather you can speak German,” he said, his voice rising at the end, a question.

“I was brought up there. Partly, anyway.”

“That’s right, the father. Quite a life. More interesting by the day.”

“And that’s just my childhood.”

Bunny smiled, enjoying the play, a kind of volley.

“Often the most interesting part,” he said. “
Mine
was.”

“God. Rex Morgan?” Ben said, distracted by a tall man near the corner. “I haven’t seen him since I was a kid. He’s not still a cowboy. He must be—”

“Real estate. Glendale. You’d be surprised how many people want to live there.”

“His pictures were Continental?” Ben said, still trying to explain his being here.

“Every one. Locations out in Simi Valley. His ranch now. He bought it eventually.”

“So he and Lasner are old friends.”

“Well, that. And he owns a piece. Of the company. He came through in ’thirty when the banks wouldn’t. Mr. L got through the crunch and Rex got eight percent,” he said simply, the details of the business like a file at his fingertips.

There was a burst of laughter near the door.

“Wonderful. Jack’s here. Telling jokes.”

“You often have the competition over?”

“He’s the reason for the party.”

“It’s not just dinner?”

“It’s never just dinner.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“The Honorable Kenneth T. Minot.” He looked at Ben. “Our congressman. He and Jack need to meet.”

“Why?”

“His district takes in Burbank. Jack’s in Burbank. They should know each other. Mr. L thinks he might be useful with the consent decree.” He caught Ben’s puzzled expression. “The Justice Department issued a consent decree, before the war, to separate the studios and the theaters. Force separate ownership. A disaster for us. Nobody wanted to do anything while the war was on—kick us while we were being so helpful— but now it’s over, they’re acting up again so we’re trying to put a stop to it. Minot’s been friendly.”

“But Continental doesn’t own theaters, does it?”

“But Jack
does
. And we have a distribution agreement with him. This goes through, everybody suffers.”

“Warner doesn’t know his own congressman?” Ben said. “A studio that size—”

“Wrong party. Jack’s funny that way. After
Yankee Doodle,
he thought Roosevelt was a personal friend. But it’s time he met more people.”

“Across the aisle.”

“We don’t care where they sit as long as they get the decree squashed.”

“And he gets?”

Bunny raised his eyebrows. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Ben looked around the room again. All this extravagance to arrange a meeting. Rosemary was near the piano now, chatting with Alexis Smith. Ann Sheridan had gone over to greet the Warners. It occurred to Ben suddenly that the stars had been brought in to dress the room, like eye-catching centerpieces. They were all under contract to Continental or Warners—maybe Lasner and Jack had simply ordered them up. He wondered if there were a studio pecking order, Bette Davis having earned the right to pass, Cagney beyond this kind of thing. Only Paulette was with another studio, but she was a friend, happy to sparkle for old times’ sake.

“Well, he’s here,” Bunny said, looking toward the door. “The Honorable. Ken to his friends.”

Minot was sandy-haired, younger than Ben had expected, with an athlete’s build already filling in, about to turn soft. There was a pleasant-looking woman on his arm, a little dismayed at the dazzle of the party about to swallow her up.

“His first term?” Ben said.

“War hero. Took out a Jap machine gun emplacement. Then caught shrapnel in the leg, enough to get him out. Just in time to start passing out flyers in Van Nuys. Well—oh god, the wife. Marie, I think. Marie?”

“Time to go to work.”

“You think you’re kidding. Sorry about the cousin, but I did give you Paulette. I just wish you’d told me— By the way, I talked to the boys in Publicity. And Security. Nobody made any calls about your brother. Nobody knew him, in fact. So I’d check your sources. They might have got mixed up. Another studio. That happens. Sometimes on purpose. A little game they play.”

Taking the time to close the door on it. Ben started to say something, then let it go. Bunny was already moving away, on to more important things.

He made another circuit of the room, another glassful, then noticed Liesl listening to some man, her expression polite but a little pained, trapped. There had been a shift in the crowd, the people near her moving away, leaving her standing in a circle of space, like a fawn in a clearing, and he felt a sudden urge to wrap a coat around her shoulders. When he went over she smiled, a flicker of relief in her eyes. Marion had been replaced by a director who’d known Danny at Metro and was now offering his condolences. He took Ben as a convenient excuse to escape.

“Having fun?”

“I would be if I didn’t have to talk. Be like her,” she said, nodding toward a middle-aged woman staring out the picture window, smoking. “Just watch everybody.”

“She’s looking the other way.”

“They all want to know what picture I’m working on. When I’m not, they walk away.”

Ben’s eye wandered back to the woman at the window, now moving to a coffee table to put out a cigarette and light another. She looked up, taking in the room, but blankly, as if she couldn’t really see anything. A skeletal thinness, gray hair in short bangs, a velvet dress that seemed too big for her, borrowed. She turned back to the window, staring down at Los Angeles.

“I have a feeling that’s my dinner partner,” Ben said.

“No, it isn’t,” Paulette Goddard said, suddenly at his side. “I am. Hello again.”

He introduced her to Liesl.

“Bunny told me,” she said to Ben. “I don’t suppose you brought any cards.” Her smile and eyes bright, still carrying their own key light. Ben thought of her cross-legged on the Pullman bed, letting Sol win. A good sport.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said.

“Mind? I usually get
Rex
. He likes me or something. I don’t know why. He starts on his horses and I just nod off. Do you ride?” she said to Liesl, drawing her in.

“No.”

“I can’t imagine. The only ranch I’ve ever been to was the divorce ranch in
The Women.
At Metro.” She glanced around. “Fay certainly knows how to go all out,” she said, half-laughing. “I remember when it was soup and crackers.” She reached for a canapé on a tray, showing a green flash of emerald bracelet.

“You’re friends?” Liesl said, polite.

“Mm, from the good old days, and thank God they’re over. Are you in pictures or—?”

“I translate books. From German,” she said, with a sly glance to Ben, waiting for Paulette to bolt.

But Paulette was impressed. “Do you really? I wish I could. Anything like that. They say you’re not supposed to regret anything, but when you don’t have school— I started work so early, I don’t know anything. You never catch up, really.”

“Well, translation, it’s not so brainy,” Liesl said easily. “Just work. And they’re my father’s books, so I can always ask him what he meant. Then find the words.”

“Your father?”

“Hans Ostermann. He’s not so well known here—”

“
Central Station,
” Paulette said immediately. “I read it. Warners made it. God, what a mess. Mary Astor. He must have hated it. But I read it in English, so that was you? I’d love to meet him sometime. Just coffee or something, if he sees people. Oh, there’s Rosemary. Have you met? Rosemary,” she said, drawing her to them, “come meet some people. Liesl Kohler,” she said, remembering it, something they didn’t teach in school. “My old friend Ben—we were on the Chief together.”

Rosemary hesitated, staring at Liesl, that first appraisal women make at parties, seeing everything, then shook hands with them both.

“Are your ears burning?” Paulette said. “Everybody’s talking about you.”

“The picture isn’t even finished yet,” Rosemary said, glancing again at Liesl, then facing Paulette, a subtle ranking.

“That’s the best time. When everybody still thinks it’s wonderful. But I hear you
are
.”

“Well, you know, everybody likes dailies and then it comes out and—”

“Just hit your marks and cross your fingers—that’s all any of us can do.”

Rosemary flushed, clearly pleased to be included in “us.” In person, without the glow of backlighting, her features seemed sharper, everything less soft. She looked around, slightly nervous, perhaps still self-conscious about being the center of attention.