Stardust (63 page)

Dieter turned, taking a last look around the stage, and stopped. He began walking back slowly, coming directly toward Ben, shoes getting closer, not stopping until they were at the trestles. Close to the blood, but not yet touching it. Ben waited. Then he saw a finger reach down, swiping at the blood and moving up again. Was he tasting it or was the look enough? All he’d have to do now was shoot through the plaster, leaving Ben’s body to hang, unseen for days, until someone followed the smell.

Instead his face suddenly appeared, crouched down. “So. Come out now.”

Ben looked at him, gulping air. “Why?”

“As you wish,” Dieter said, raising the gun.

Every second a bargain, maybe a chance. Ben began to wriggle back, dropping his feet, moving down to the floor and out from under the map. The line of blood streaked as he pulled himself up, now facing Dieter.

“The preservation instinct,” Dieter said. “It’s wonderful, yes?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Then burn down the studio? Such a colorful ending.” He shook his head. “It’s a question of attention. Something quiet.” He motioned him toward the dividing wall, back to the nightclub. “A fire. Everyone wants to know. Questions.”

“They’re going to ask anyway. There are always questions.”

“Not always,” he said, nudging him with the gun into the nightclub. He swerved suddenly. “Who’s there?” He tilted his head, listening.

“You’re hearing things,” Ben said. “Conscience?”

A diversion. He reached down to nurse his hand, hurting again, then looked up and stopped. The wall phone, its receiver dangling. Someone here. He moved to his left so that Dieter would face away from it.

“Stay.”

A sound of movement, rustling, then a faint cling, something touching metal. Keep him talking.

“Hadn’t you better close the door? The whole studio will hear the shot.”

“Quiet,” Dieter said, listening.

“Security would come running.”

Dieter looked at him. “You’re right. There’s not much time.”

More footsteps somewhere, a whisper, then a hum of one of the studio carts passing outside. Night sounds. Air moving through the cottonwoods. Carpenters. No posse coming. Dieter held the gun out before him.

“They’ll hear it.”

“Yes, I heard it, too. Where do you think it came from? Shall I help them look? But not there.” He nodded to one of the camera cases.

A thump, unmistakable this time, inside the sound stage. Dieter swung toward the bar. “Come out!”

“I’m here,” Liesl said, coming up behind him.

He whirled around and froze, taking in the gun in her hand, the improbable gown, the whole moment inexplicable. “Liesl.”

“Stop. I can shoot.”

“Get out of here. You don’t know—”

“Yes. It was you. I know now. So you’d have to kill me, too.”

“Don’t talk crazy. Put down the gun. Where did you—?”

“By the door,” she said simply. “Someone dropped it.” She looked at Ben.

He started to move toward her, but Dieter stopped him with the gun. “No. We finish this.”

“What do you want?” Liesl said. “Everyone shoots?”

“You won’t.”

“Yes, I can do it. It’s loaded, I checked. I took the safety off. They taught me. For
War Bride
. I shoot a soldier who’s trying to rape me. It’s my secret. So I know how. Move away from him,” she said to Ben.

He took a hesitant step, but Dieter grabbed his upper arm, holding him, gun still raised.

“No,” Liesl said. “It’s enough, Dieter. It’s the end now. Not him, too.” She stepped forward to maneuver him away from Ben. “Not him, too.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yes. Now I do.” Her voice trembled a little, not as steely. “My god, do you know what I said to him? To Daniel. When he asked me? What to do? I said, ‘Go ask Dieter. He’ll know what to do.’ The sensible thing. I sent him to you.”

“And now what? You want to shoot me for that? A man who was unfaithful to you?”

She shook her head. “That? Little lies. But for you, big lies. To everyone. He didn’t betray me with her—with you.” She nodded at Ben. “Let him go.”

“I can’t do that,” Dieter said calmly. “What do you think this is? It’s real now, not acting.”

But for a second Ben felt, the gun still pointed at him, that they had merged. She was still moving, glancing up quickly as if she were hitting marks, positioning them for a take, under her key.

“Go. You don’t want to see this.” Dieter raised the gun higher, to Ben’s head.

“I’ll shoot,” she said, her voice not as steady, still moving.

“No. Shall I tell you what will happen? I have to shoot him. It’s not so nice, to see that. It’s better to leave now. You won’t shoot me.”

“My father was right. You never listen.”

“Now,” he said, then clicked back the hammer on his gun.

“Go!” she yelled to Ben, but all he heard was the explosion in his ear as his body jerked. For a second he wasn’t sure whether he had ducked or whether this is what it felt like to be shot, pushed away by the blast. But it was Dieter who was staggering, the gun no longer at Ben’s head, his hand clutching his chest. “Get away!” Liesl yelled. Ben dived to the floor, rolling to the side.

Dieter stood holding himself, his eyes disbelieving, and turned the gun toward Ben again, determined to finish. Ben saw the hand come up, the red patch on the chest, a sheen of sweat, still not dead. They stared at each other, the only people there. Then suddenly, with a
whoosh
of air, Dieter was crumpling, one of the overhead lights smashing down on him, a terrible thud as the heavy weight hit his body, pinning it to the floor. Ben heard footsteps running on the catwalk, Liesl’s name being shouted, but his eyes were fixed on Dieter, gun hand sprawling on the floor, the heavy block of metal sliding halfway off his chest, his head already open, leaking blood. He bent over and took the gun from Dieter’s hand, not yet trusting death, then looked up at Liesl. She was still holding the gun, her hand shaking now, eyes blinking. Behind her, someone was climbing down the catwalk ladder.

“Is he—?”

Ben said nothing, his head still pounding, everything around him slow.

She looked up to the empty spot in the rigging. “I tried to move him faster,” she said vaguely, to no one in particular.

“Darling, you got there,” Bunny said, visible now, a soft reassurance. “Are you all right?”

She handed him the gun. “So now I’ve done this.”

Bunny took the gun, looking at it, suddenly queasy. He put one
hand to his mouth, collecting himself, seeing Dieter’s head in the pool of blood, then the gun again, his eyes darting. He breathed out. “Whose?” he said to Ben. “Yours?”

Ben nodded. “From the Bureau.”

Bunny began wiping it with a handkerchief. “So it’ll want explaining. You must have left it lying around. On your desk. So he—” He turned to Liesl. “Go and change. Before anyone comes. You were doing lines in your trailer, waiting for him. You know how people wander. When they visit.” He held her arms. “All right? I’m sorry you had to—”

She was staring at Dieter’s body. “We were fond of each other,” she said quietly. “All my life.”

Bunny glanced at her, alarmed at the trance quality of her voice, then held her arms tighter, almost a shake. “Well, that’s what makes it worse, isn’t it? These accidents—”

“Accidents?” Ben said.

“Darling, now,” Bunny said to her. “Before the Keystones. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just stay calm. It’s over.” He looked at Ben. “Giving orders to the gate. Nobody gives the gate orders. Was that supposed to be a
signal
? Never mind. Off you go,” he said to Liesl. “It’ll hit you now, so be careful.” He looked at her gown. “Something simple. A blouse and a skirt. All right?” He was moving to Dieter, placing Liesl’s gun in his hand.

She came over to Ben, touching his bloody hand, then moving hers up to his forehead, brushing it. “So,” she said, a whole conversation.

“Please,” Bunny said.

“Come with him. I can’t do this alone,” she said to Ben, then left, slipping out onto the dark lot.

“Get rid of that,” Bunny said, nodding to Dieter’s gun, still in Ben’s hand. He looked down at Dieter’s body. “Are you finished now?”

Ben didn’t answer, staring, seeing the police photo again. The same twisted body, same dark blood around the head, soon even a crowd
around it. Finished. What had he expected to feel? This void? I found him. I know. But now there was not even that to keep Danny with him, no hold.

Bunny twisted something on the metal frame, his hand still wrapped in a handkerchief. “I had a hell of a time with these bolts.”

“Accident,” Ben said.

“Just what we’re always afraid of,” Bunny said coolly, arranging Dieter’s body. “You should see the insurance premiums.” He looked up, gauging the fall’s trajectory. “People don’t know. They think the equipment— Of course, visitors.”

“He’s shot. He has a bullet in him.”

“Freakish, wasn’t it? The crash, setting that off. People who carry guns should keep the safety on.”

“You think they’ll believe that?”

“Why not?” Bunny said. “It’s what happened.” He looked at Ben. “Isn’t it?”

“You’re covering up a—”

“Now you listen to me. Liesl’s not going to be explaining anything. Is that understood? I mean really understood this time? She was never here. You came looking. People get lost on the lot at night. When they don’t know where they’re going.” He paused. “You might thank me. The gun was pointing at you. And here we are—”

“I have to tell the Bureau. About Dieter. It can lead them to the next.”

“I don’t care what you tell them as long as nothing leads here. It’s an accident in tomorrow’s papers. They’ll have to live with that. Make them,” he said, looking at Ben, then away. “She’s valuable to the studio. Anything else here needs taking care of?”

“Some blood under the Japan map. A camera got loose down the ramp.”

“I saw. Naturally one of the new ones.”

“Did she come to find you? Liesl? She was worried?”

“We found each other. Carl called. To check on the orders.” He gave
Ben another look. “Your hand,” he said noticing it. “You better get over to the infirmary. Patch it up. Think how you got it, will you? That makes sense? Maybe you cut it trying to get the light off him. In your haste.”

“It’s got a bullet in it. How do we explain that? The doctor—”

“It’s the studio infirmary,” Bunny said, then held his look. “I’ll fix it.”

T
HEY HAD SET
up bleachers for fans down one side of the long temple entrance to the Egyptian and put the cameras and reporters behind a rope down the other, the red carpet between. The line of studio cars seemed to stretch all the way back to Highland, the spillover crowd craning necks to look into back windows, hoping for glimpses. There were searchlights and live radio feeds and an a party scheduled at the Grove, signs that the premiere itself marked a shift at Continental, the old modest openings something now out of the Gower Gulch era.

Ben looked at the giant posters behind the floodlit palms—Liesl with her head tilted up, her eyes fixed on the GI who was taking her home. The real Liesl was in a soft off-white gown and a fox cape, and her appearance had drawn
oohs
from the kids on the sidewalk. He watched her on the red carpet, surrounded by studio people, first greeting the audience, waving, then turning to tell the reporters how thrilling it all was. And wasn’t it? The air was bright with flashing lights, something new, the rhythm built up, car after car, gown after gown, heady just to be part of it. Her escorts were in uniform to represent all the
forces—everyone’s dream war bride. Dick would follow later, another squealing entrance and another interview.

“The soldiers were a nice touch,” Bunny said as they watched from the side. “You can feel it, can’t you? It’s going to happen. Look at them.”

He nodded to the reporters, surging around her but keeping a distance, some invisible royal line, not pushing microphones in her face. Even Polly, speaking to her now on the radio, seemed respectful, paying court. Ben thought of Rosemary at Lasner’s party, surrounded, everyone smiling. Her moment.

“What’s it costing you?” Ben said.

“Don’t keep books. How much is air time worth? Mr. L never understood that, either. These people haven’t even seen the picture and look at them,” he said, still fixed on the reception. “It just comes to her. They all have it, that instinct.”

“Did you?”

Bunny didn’t answer.

“You don’t know her. She could walk away from it tomorrow.”

“No one ever does,” Bunny said, turning. “No one.” He took out a cigarette. “You’ve been scarce. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Come have a smoke.” He drew them away from the temple courtyard into the lobby, waving away some ushers who darted over. “I wanted you to hear it from me. We’re not picking up Rosemary’s option.”

“Why?”

“The picture’s doing nothing.”

“You dumped it.”

“Now you’re an expert on distribution, too. We didn’t dump it. It’s last year.”

“So put her in something this year.”

Bunny took a drag on his cigarette. “Look, I don’t know what she is to you. But you’re a big boy now. That’s the way it is.”

“You know what this is all about. You’re going to let him tell you who to hire? He’s finished.”

“He’s embarrassed. He’s calling off the hearings. For now. He may
even be in a little trouble next election. But he’s still in office. He’ll regroup. When this starts up again, Continental’s going to be absolutely clean. No associations, not even relatives.”

“Or close friends. If they’re alive.”

Bunny said nothing at first, squinting through the smoke, reluctant to cross a line. “That’s right. If they’re alive.”

They looked at each other for a minute with the weary familiarity of an old couple, stuck together by everything that had happened, too tired to untangle it.

“Hal tells me the picture’s finished.”

“Some dubbing.”

“You’ll be thinking, what next? They were wondering at Fort Roach.”

“They called you all by themselves.”

Bunny stuck the cigarette into the sand of the standing ashtray. “They’re winding down. The exhibitors don’t want any more information films. The training films—”