Stardust (41 page)

“How long is this going to last?” Rosemary said to Ben.

“You have to stay for the speeches. After that—”

“All day, then.”

They had reached the buffet table of canapés, elaborately laid out, with ice sculpture centerpieces.

“They sneaked the picture,” she said suddenly. “You were there.”

“The cards were good.”

“So why is Al so nervous. Level with me.”

“They liked it. They didn’t love it.”

She flinched a little, a jab to the stomach.

“They liked you. It wasn’t you.”

“And that’ll make a difference.”

“Nobody’s saying—”

“Nobody’s saying anything. That’s the trouble. You think I don’t know how to read the tea leaves?”

“You’re overreacting.”

“You think so?” She touched her forehead. “You know what that is, what they call it in the theater? Flop sweat. In a refrigerator like this. Do they always keep it so cold? It’s like a banana boat.”

“Coconuts,” he said, smiling, looking up at the trees, then back at her. “Don’t worry. It’s one sneak. Kids in Glendale.”

“You haven’t been here very long, have you? Don’t worry. How? You stop worrying, you’re dead.”

“I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. My option gets picked up in January. So we have to talk now, and all they’re thinking about is the kids in Glendale.”

“You’re the biggest star on the lot.”

“After Dick. And nobody’s hiring Ben Hecht to do rewrites for me.” She looked across the room to where Liesl was standing with Marshall.

“One week.”

“So, one week. They just shot ours. Every lousy line. For her, Hecht.” She stopped, lowering her head. “They’re rushing her picture. She’s all they’re thinking about now. Funny, isn’t it? That it’s her. After everything.”

The early cocktail hour went on, but the waiters had begun to put out the fruit cups so people slowly gravitated to the tables. It was then that the bandleader announced a special treat and introduced Julie Sherman. She was dressed modestly, a blue jersey with a big pin, but the dress was
formfitting, clinging and folding, showing her off. Ben thought of her on the train, drawing eyes. But she’d done the voice-over in a day, professional, and the surprise now was that she was good, one of those performers who comes alive with music, warm and easy, comfortable with herself. They were doing “Let Me Off Uptown,” and while she wasn’t as throaty as Anita O’Day she had the same swinging assurance, fronting the band, too distinctive to be background. A few people turned to look as they made their way to the tables. Bunny, not expecting this, was watching her carefully, evaluating. The up tempo seemed designed to move people to their seats and the band kept it up with “Riding High,” the bright Porter lyrics an even better showcase for her voice.

“Do you believe this?” Lasner said, annoyed. He’d been coming back from the men’s room and stopped midway, next to Ben. “He has her at his kid’s Bar Mitzvah? A piece he’s banging? What the hell is he thinking? What’s Esther supposed to think?”

But Esther, oblivious, seemed happy, the entertainment just another benefit of being a studio wife.

“She knows?”

“It’s the idea of it. Where’s the sense? Anyway, who has a Bar Mitzvah in a nightclub?” He flung his arm to take in the room. “Downstairs in the temple. Some cakes, coffee, maybe lunch somewhere after. No, that’s not enough, he has to have a floor show. With her yet. It’s a question of respect. A nightclub.” He looked around the oasis room. “You know where they got the palms?
The Sheik
. Off the set. It was Valentino’s idea. Well, that was a while ago. Maybe they’re not the same ones anymore, who knows? Here he brings his kid. You know we go back. Sam, he was an extra, in the Gulch. Waiting around. I pick him one day and he tells me the picture’s a piece of shit. Oh yeah, so what would you do? And he tells me and you know what? He’s right. So I give him a shot. Fix it and we’ll do some business. That’s twenty-five, thirty years now. He never lost me a nickel, not once. Still, all this— You want to chase something, all right, but you don’t bring it home.”

There was applause as Julie finished, followed by a dinner gong, one of those handheld xylophones they used on ships.

“Let’s see where she goes,” Lasner said, his eyes following her off the stage. “She’s going to sit with the family? No, so at least he’s not that crazy. Look at Esther. She’s thanking her, like she’s the help.” He shook his head and turned to Ben. “Hal tells me you’re almost finished with the picture.”

“Almost.”

“So we should talk sometime. What you’re going to do next.”

“That’s up to the Army.”

“Don’t be a schmuck. I talked to Arnold. They’re doing the papers. Maybe a week, two.”

Ben nodded a thank-you.

“My only question is, are you tough enough for this business.”

“How tough do you have to be?”

Lasner smiled, pleased with this, then put a finger on Ben’s chest. “We’ll talk. There’s Fay. Go keep an eye on your sister. Dick’s all over her.”

“He’s supposed to be. That’s the idea. It builds her. For the picture.”

“Yeah, I know all about that. I still say, somebody tell Dick. He’s god’s gift—he likes to be reminded. Any chance he gets. I know. I’m the one had to pay off the paternity suit. So keep an eye.” He tapped Ben’s chest again. “I tell Bunny, these things get out of hand, you’ve got a mess to deal with, but he doesn’t listen. Like he knows. Dames always think it’s real. Besides she’s supposed to be
fresh
. Right off the boat. Not another chippie. Look at that.” He nodded to the table, where Dick had put his arm around Liesl.

“They’re talking to Polly. It’s for her.”

“Five bucks it’s for him, too.”

Ben joined them after Polly had gone, sitting between Liesl and Julie, Dick still drawing a blank as they were introduced again. Wine was served with lunch, but instead of feeling logy he was more alert than before, Lasner’s bet planted in his head now, watching Dick touch her, all the usual little moves, claiming territory. She smiled back at him, a public smile, but Ben suddenly saw them on pillows, talking lazily about
nothing, smoking. He turned his head, cutting away from it. Julie, who’d been talking to Hal, turned at the same time.

“That was terrific before,” he said.

“You’re nice.”

“No, you were good. You should do a musical.”

“From your lips,” she said, laughing, rolling her eyes upward. “Mr. Pilcer’s trying to fix something.”

“At Continental?”

“I know, no musicals. But maybe a first time. If he can get Mr. Lasner to go for it.”

Ben looked at her, lips glistening, her pretty face still young, going places. Did she really believe this?

“But that’s probably not going to happen,” she said, sensible after all. “I mean, the studio’s not really set up for musicals. At Fox—I was there for about five minutes—they had a whole building, all these rooms with pianos. Arrangers. Voice coaches. You know, the whole thing. Maybe I should have done a party, like this. Sang for Zanuck. Anyway, now I’m here.”

“Where they don’t do musicals.”

“But here’s the thing—a loan-out? Mr. Pilcer knows people at Metro. He can get a test over to the Freed Unit. You never know. It could happen that way.” Her voice had got faster, a little breathy. “That would be my dream.” Said plainly, too important for irony.

Ben smiled at her, trying not to look dismayed. The hunger that moved everything here. Did Liesl feel it now, too? Pretending not to care, a European reserve, but there every day at dawn. Maybe, like Julie, doing whatever it took.

“I hope it works out,” he said blandly. What else did one say?

“Something will. Mr. Pilcer’s helped lots of people,” she said, looking at him directly, without embarrassment.

Sam and Esther had got up to dance, a signal to everyone else, and now Liesl and Dick followed, as much an attraction as Julie had been on the bandstand. Wardrobe had done a good job. Beneath the military padded shoulders her dress was soft and flowing, swaying against her
long legs. Dick held her in the small of her back, just close enough to brush against her but far enough away to talk. About what? Evening after evening.

When Sam made a welcoming toast during the first course, Esther at his side, Ben glanced at Julie, curious to see her reaction, but her face gave nothing away, a polite guest. He looked around the rest of the table, imagining for a minute all the invisible ties between them, and it occurred to him that Julie might be the only one who knew exactly where she stood, not measuring love, somebody else’s real feelings, not even wondering. Mr. Pilcer helped people, a simple transaction. But was it ever? What did she feel when she saw him beaming with Jonathan and Esther? People came with strings attached. When you touched someone’s skin, you always touched something else.

He looked at Liesl, who was skittish, aware of him, aware of Dick, and he thought of that first night, how easy it had been, unplanned. Not calculated, not for a chance at a song, just because it happened. Dick was standing now and leading the woman on his right to the dance floor.

“Careful with that,” Al Shulman said, joking, apparently his wife.

“Back in one piece,” Dick said pleasantly.

“Stop staring at him,” Liesl said in a low voice, even though they were alone. “He’ll think you’re angry with him. Something.”

“Why would I be? When everybody’s so happy.”

“Do you think I’m enjoying this? I didn’t make up the tables.”

“Come and dance.”

“No.”

“For old times’ sake.” He looked at her. “Otherwise Al Shulman’ll think he has to. Come on, before he gets up.”

On the dance floor, only half-crowded, he put his hand on her waist, then moved it slowly to her back, drawing her to him with the music. “Easy to Love.” She put her hand in his, making contact, their heads still far apart.

“I’ve never danced with you before,” she said.

“No,” he said, feeling her.

“We never did normal things.”

“Like what?”

“Go dancing. Meet in a café. Well, that was all before the war.” She looked up at him. “I wonder. If it had been you. In France. If I’d met you. How different everything would have been.”

They moved together, easier, his hand resting higher now on her back. She came nearer, lowering her head. He touched the back of her neck, just one finger, stroking it gently.

“Can anyone see?” she said, shivering a little.

“No.”

“Don’t,” she said, pulling away a little. “Like dancing class.” She looked at him.
“Schicklich.”

Another minute, just moving.

“What do I say to you? I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. We already did that.”

“And now what? My father was asking about you. Why he never sees you anymore.”

“What did you tell him?”

She shrugged. “You’re busy. Both of us. Anyway, he’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“At the Observatory. With Dieter. You forgot it’s tonight? But you’re coming, yes? He planned it for you.”

“All of us?”

“Yes, all. You want me to stay home? What would I say? That it’s awkward now? Just to be in the same room. We have to learn how to do this.” She looked away. “What a mess we’ve made for ourselves. If we’d never started this.”

“But we did,” he said. “Why did we?” Not really a question, then looking at her, wanting to know. “Why did you?”

The words hung there for a second, waiting, and he saw something change in her eyes, a flicker of hesitation, then a softening, familiar, the way they’d known each other before.

“Because I wanted to,” she said, her voice low, like a hook, drawing him closer. “And you. We wanted to.”

He drew a breath, remembering the dress slipping off her shoulders, his mouth on her back, excited, both of them wanting it. He felt his lower body now against hers. The same. Not the same. But still drawn in.

He leaned forward, whispering. “Come with me. Now. Just come.”

She pulled her head back. “Are you crazy?” she said, barely audible. “We can’t.” A little breathless, panicky, everything happening on the dance floor, people around them.

“Just for a minute. Come outside.”

“How can—?”

“Go to the ladies’ room. Take the door out to the courts. Just for a minute.”

Her eyes were shining, excited now too, catching his eagerness, stealing just a minute.

“Now. I’ll tell him. A minute.”

“My purse. I can’t go to the ladies’ without my purse.” Complicit.

She drew him by the hand, hurrying to the table before the others, picking up her bag.

“The door out to the courts. Down the hall,” he said, but she had already gone, both of them caught up in a rush, not caring, as if they were throwing off clothes.

Dick returned with Mrs. Shulman.

“Liesl’s gone to the ladies’,” Ben said casually. “Can I bring you something from the bar?”

When Dick said no, Ben started across. You always ran into somebody at the bar, it was bound to take a while to pick up a drink. Minutes, longer. He disappeared behind the crowd and out of the Grove.

The Ambassador had courts and a pool behind the main wing, country club grounds. As he went through the side door he saw, in a blink, the studio cars grouped near the driveway, their drivers smoking in the shade, prepared to wait all day, like coachmen in a period picture, but then he saw her waiting for him, there first, and he took her arm without thinking, pressing her against the wall, and kissed her, his mouth already open.

“We can’t. Not here,” she said.

Without leaving her mouth, he moved her away against the adjoining wall behind a tree.

“Jonathan has to light candles,” he said into her neck, moving back to another kiss. “Name all the relatives.” His mouth on hers again. “It’ll take hours.”

“How do you know?”

“It always does. Ssh.” An open kiss now, no time for talking, excited by the wet, by knowing she was here, wanting to. He leaned closer, pressing against her breasts.

“Oh,” she said, finally breaking the kiss, gulping air. “I hate this.”

“No you don’t,” he said, sure now, nuzzling her, feeling her respond.