Stardust (60 page)

“The picture’s ready?”

“Just the prints. I can pull a booking at the Egyptian.”

“Not Rosemary’s.”

Bunny looked over. “No, not Rosemary’s. We haven’t booked that yet.”

“You can. There’s not going to be any trouble.”

“Is that what this is all about? The girlfriend? Not both of you. Double dunking? You don’t find that a little tawdry?”

“I just said—”

“Like one of those loops where they leave their socks on.”

Ben just looked, waiting.

“As a matter of fact, we haven’t booked it because we’re doing some retakes. I think we can fix it.”

“No other reason.”

“No other reason. Now that you’ve chased all the storm clouds away. What else are you going to do for us? Just so I’m ready.”

“Mr. Jenkins?” A secretary came up to them. “The union’s here. About the musicians.”

“Right there,” Bunny said.

“Musicians? I thought Continental didn’t do musicals.”

“We didn’t have Julie before. She’s good. And we signed her cheap. It’s worth a shot.” Already head of the studio.

“Sam’ll be happy.”

“Well, there’s that, too,” Bunny said, dismissive, moving away. He opened the paper again, then shook his head. “No more stunts? Please.”

“He lied to you.”

Bunny handed Ben the paper. “Everybody lies to me. Mr. L will be
pleased anyway. Like a one-two punch team, aren’t you?” He looked up at him. “Fay said you saved his life.”

“She’s exaggerating. I was just there.”

“He’ll be grateful,” Bunny said, his voice flat.

Henderson turned up an hour later.

“Everywhere I look, what do I see?” he said, tossing the paper on Ben’s desk. “You all over the page.”

The paper had landed with the bottom half faceup. A picture Ben hadn’t noticed before, pushed below the fold by the Minot story: Kaltenbach at a press conference in Berlin, surrounded by men in bulky suits.

“I didn’t know you guys read the papers,” Ben said.

“You’ve got a mouth for brains, anybody ever tell you? Let’s take a walk.”

“You can give me the lecture right here. Don’t worry, there isn’t any more. The Bureau isn’t going to come into it. If that’s what—”

“Give me a preview. Tomorrow’s edition.”

“This is it.”

“That’s not what it says.”

“We don’t need any more. Once they see this, they’ll come running. Look how fast you got here.”

Henderson stared at him. Ben picked up the paper, scanning the Kaltenbach piece.

“So he made it.”

“You didn’t see it? He denounced Ostermann. A real German would come back, build a new Germany. Ostermann’s a ‘cosmopolitan.’ Not even a German anymore.”

“They made him say it.”

“They’ll make him say a lot of things. Drove himself to Mexico. Funny, isn’t it, since he couldn’t drive.”

“Couldn’t he? Who told you that? Danny?”

Henderson motioned his head toward the door. “Show me the lot.”

Ben took him past the sound stages to the New York street, empty today, the brownstone fronts as silent as a ghost town.

“You’re trying to get yourself killed,” Henderson said.

“That was the idea, wasn’t it?”

“The idea was to find your brother’s mailman. Make him come after the list. Not after you.”

“When did you get all protective? They’ve already tried once. We both knew how this was going to work.”

“Not by going to the papers.”

“What are you worried about? That I’m going to embarrass the Bureau? Give away state secrets?”

“What state secrets.”

“That’s right. There is no list.”

“It’s classified,” Henderson said evenly. “It has to stay that way.”

“It will. You think I’d tell Polly? I’m that crazy?”

Henderson turned. “I’m not the one setting myself up as target practice.”

“Look, they know I have the letter. But nobody moves. Still safe. Even with you hanging around. But I go public, they’ve got to stop me. Come out where we can see them.” He opened his hand. “Then you go to work.”

“There’s talk of bringing you in,” Henderson said slowly. “Preventative custody.”

“To prevent what?”

“You talking out of turn.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“I just said it’s been discussed. People are nervous. Kind of thing, nobody ends up looking good.”

“You forget, I came to you,” Ben said. “Well, let’s just say you got to us anyway.”

“Give it one more day. They’ll bite now. We’re on the same side here, aren’t we?”

Henderson had stopped, looking at the street set. “There’s nothing behind that, right? You look at those windows, you think there’s a room there. It’s something, how they do that.”

Ben waited.

“You know, it’s a funny thing, people in the field, I’ve seen it happen.
They work so many sides, it gets confusing. They don’t know which side they’re on anymore. I think something like that happened to your brother.”

Ben shook his head. “You didn’t know him. We’re alike.”

Henderson raised an eyebrow.

“He knew. It just wasn’t the right side. That was the hard part, figuring that out.”

Henderson took this in, thinking, then started back. “I’m going to put a tail on you.”

“Somebody could pick us off right now, if he wanted. What good would that do?”

“Might make him work a little harder for it. Find a better spot.”

Ben glanced up at the set. “Unless he’s already found it.”

After Henderson left, Ben drifted back toward the Western set. Some workers were trimming branches off the giant cottonwood, the whine of their buzz saw drowning out the carpenters in the partial saloon, all the noises a comfort now, safety in other people. Beyond the cottonwood there was a stand of live oaks, where posses tied up horses for the night, and then the raised wooden sidewalk in front of the general store and the sheriff’s office, lined with hitching rails. Had the real towns been any more substantial? Thrown together in a few weeks, the same dusty clapboard fronts and fading paint. He was standing now in the street where gunfighters faced off, hands hovering near their holsters. He looked down to the corner, half-expecting someone to appear. But it was too soon. There’d be some better plan. From the top of the building, someone with a rifle could take him with a single bullet. One shot, then glide away in the confusion as the carpenters raced out to the street. But it wouldn’t happen that way, either. A hired
pachuco
at the Cherokee wasn’t enough anymore. How much did Ben know, what had he already told Polly, how far had the stain spread? What Henderson didn’t seem to understand, one reason Ben had set it up this way—first they’d have to talk to him.

He was still at his desk, waiting for the phone to ring, as the production units closed down for the day. He could hear people outside heading
for their cars, the line of idling motors at the gate, the lot thinning out. He tried to imagine the call, wondered where the meeting would be set. Why not Paseo Miramar, a sentimental choice. But too public at this hour. When the door opened, no knock, he jerked his head up, every part of him alert.

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” he said.

Liesl hesitated, still holding the doorknob. “I didn’t think I was going to come at all.” She walked in and put the newspaper on his desk, a presentation gesture, Exhibit A.

“You got all dressed up.”

She glanced down at the bare-shouldered evening gown. “Publicity,” she said, offhand, distracted.

“For
War Bride
? In that? More like Dick Marshall’s bride. How’s that going? Or isn’t it?”

She stared at him, thrown, not expecting this.

“I told you. It didn’t mean anything,” she said finally.

“Well, neither did I.”

She looked surprised again, slightly lost. “Is that what you think?”

He met her eyes, not moving. “Go on, say it.”

“What?”

“What you were going to say. When you didn’t think you’d come.”

“Bastard. I was going to say what a bastard you are,” she said, emotionless, repeating lines. “To do this to him.”

“He’s dead.”

“And this is the memory you want for him? An informer? So everyone knows,” she said, pointing to the paper, her voice stronger. “And now you’re the good one. It means so much? To be better than him?”

“It’s true. He was an informer.”

“That’s not everything he was.”

“No. Worse.”

She stopped, dropping her hand to her side. “What do you mean, worse?”

“Treason? What every Russian wants to know. What did Henderson call it? Our new order of battle.”

“The list,” she said, ignoring his tone. “You found out who they are?”

He nodded. “It took a few calls. Of course some of them don’t have phones. They’re nowhere. New Mexico, I guess. Like in the newsreel. That’s when it clicked. I remembered Friedman. The Livermore lab. Berkeley. Bingo. In Danny’s newsreel. At home. Maybe you watched it together.”

“What are you talking about? What treason? You’re going to put this in the paper? Make it worse?”

“That depends on how you read it. The Communists will think he’s quite a guy. You do. Except for his love life. But maybe that was just a get-even screw. He didn’t take her there, you know. The Cherokee love nest. That was your idea. That’s not what it was for. Party business.”

“Party business.”

“You remember the Party.”

“Remember what?” she said, confused.

“You were in it, too.”

She said nothing.

“You came here to talk, didn’t you? Let’s talk. Don’t worry, I’m not running to Minot with it. And Bunny will keep you miles away. Not even a hint of red. No idea what Danny was up to. Somebody else he duped,” he said, looking at the paper. “But not over there. You’d have been a lot closer. Somebody he could trust. Doing what he was doing. You’d have to be one of them. I should have got that right away. Anyone from the outside would have been too risky. A death warrant. You’d have to be. Is that how you met?”

She looked down, shaking her head. “It was for him. A card even,” she said, her mouth suddenly crooked, almost in a smile. “He couldn’t. Too incriminating. They weren’t so worried for me.” She looked up at him. “I threw it away. A little ceremony. A new place, new start. For both of us. I thought it was anyway. He lied about that, too.”

“And not you? ‘Everybody was a little like that.’ Isn’t that what you said? The first night we went to bed, come to think of it. The first lie. One of them.”

“You think there were so many. It was—in the past. Why bring it up again?”

“And I bought it. And went around in circles for a while. I didn’t see a lot of things.”

She stared at him.

“Something gets in your eye, a little speck, and you miss things. I kept seeing you at Genia’s table, it kept coming back to you, and I’d look somewhere else. And then there we were drinking brandy— brandy—and I saw the glass and started seeing other things. The Paseo. Just visiting Uncle Lion if anyone had asked. The balcony. I remembered that in a clip. Girl your size. You just need leverage. The hospital. He said, don’t leave me, but I did. I saw you there, too.”

“Stop it,” she said, her voice edgy, upset.

“Even then I thought I was just—seeing things. What could I prove? If I wanted to. It wasn’t going to bring him back anyway. But not after the list. Not after I saw that. You should never have let me leave the house. I suppose you didn’t think I’d move to the Cherokee. Right to the mail drop. That must have been—” He stopped. “You should have kept me close.” He looked at her. “It would have been easy to do.”

She met his eyes for a moment, then looked away, picking at the newspaper, something to do. “So now it’s this. I’m a—what? A murderer? That’s what you think?” She held her arms out. “Do you want to look? Maybe there’s a gun in my dress.”

“No, you just came to find out how much I told Polly. How far it’s gone. And I’d tell you, wouldn’t I?” He nodded. “The dress helps.”

“Stop.”

“Give me a name.”

“A name?”

“I don’t think you hired the kid at the Cherokee. A
pachuco
? That had to be someone else. Give me the next guy, who had the key. I can tell Henderson I got to him through Kelly, keep you out of it. They have him, they can roll up the rest. You retire. Unless they turn on you, but I’m betting they won’t. But you retire. For good.”

“Why would you do this? If I’m—”

“It’s enough damage,” he said, indicating the paper. “Right now Danny’s a Communist who made a fool out of Minot. Some places that even makes him a hero. But this is something else. I’m not going to do it to him. Make him carry that mark around. So let it stop here. Let the Bureau have the others. And there’s your career to consider.”

She raised her head, about to speak, but he cut her off.

“No one else knew I had it. And didn’t know what it meant. You saw that with Henderson at the border. Why didn’t anyone come after me? Even Henderson was surprised. One try at the Cherokee and then— nothing. But by that time you knew it could stop there—Henderson didn’t know where to go with it. You were safe. No one else knew, Liesl.”

Her eyes opened wider at this, unsettled. “No one else,” she repeated, a little breathless, catching up with it.

“Give me a name.”

“How can you believe this?”

“What? Because of us? Let’s not do that again. I thought—” He broke off. “Tell me something, though.” He waited for her to turn to him. “Was any of it real? A few lines?”

She shaded her eyes with her hand. “A few.”

He said nothing for a second, letting it settle. “Give me a name. Then let’s talk about why.”

The phone rang and her hand jerked away from her face, a startled reflex. They both went still, looking down, the second ring louder.

“Yes?” he said, grabbing the receiver, just to stop the noise.

The night operator, sounding bored. “A message from Miss Eastman. She wants to see you on Sound Stage Four.”

For a second he didn’t respond, as if he were still waiting to hear, the sound out of synch.

“Miss Eastman,” he said, jarred, looking across at Liesl.

“That’s right. Sound Stage Four.”

Now he heard it, still looking at Liesl, his stomach beginning to slide. The floor itself seemed to move. He placed the fingers of one hand on the desk to steady himself.