twenty-two. Just go to the end and holler. Lovely to meet you,” she said to Ben, grazing his hand with the tops of her fingers. And then, to Katz, “Give my best to Abe,” and she was off, turning heads again.
“That’s a nice girl,” Lasner said.
Ben looked at him, surprised at the word.
“Paramount signed her to seven years. Seven years, Sol,” Katz said.
“So let Freeman buy the bracelets.”
“I’m just saying-”
“Besides, she’s a friend. Who hires friends?”
“Everybody.”
“I don’t mean relatives. She and Fay started out together, for chrissake.”
“Another round?” Katz said, letting it drop. A porter had started the first dinner chimes. “One for the road,” he said, beating the rush to the bar.
“Your wife was an actress?” Ben said, curious.
“Actress. They were Goldwyn Girls. On the Cantor picture. The Kid From Spain, whatever it was called. That’s how we met. The wrap party. I’m meeting with Sam, and he says, ‘I’ve got to go put in an appearance.’ So we met. Thirteen years now. Thanks,” he said, taking a new drink from Katz. “But Paulette, that was something different. She wanted it-pictures. After Goldwyn she was with Hal Roach. Then Chaplin found her. Or maybe she found him. Anyway, Charlie’s a great teacher. And she learned. But fresh-that you can’t teach. You look at Modern Times, that’s just the way she was.”
“Before the bracelets.”
Lasner glanced up. “There’s nothing wrong with bracelets. Depends how you get them.” He made a face, as if he were stifling a belch. The porter came through again with the chimes.
“I don’t know about you, but this drink is going right through me,” Katz said. “I gotta take a leak. Sol, I’ll see you in the dining car.” He took Ben’s hand. “Nice talking to you.”
Ben watched him head for the restroom, then heard a gasp and turned. Lasner was looking at the floor, bent over. “You okay?”
Another gasp. Ben took Lasner’s arm. Not just the drink. He felt a clenched spasm. Lasner reached behind with his other hand, grabbing onto the window curtains for support. Geometric flowers. Around them the cocktail buzz went on, not noticing. Lasner looked up, his face contorted, white, sweat forming on his forehead.
“Help me,” he whispered. “Don’t let him see.”
Ben grabbed Lasner’s elbow, propping him up and hiding him from the rest of the car. “Do you need a bathroom?”
Lasner shook his head. “Heart. Get me out of here.” His mouth tight, a grimace.
“Don’t move. I’ll get a chair.”
But Lasner was already stepping forward, leaning on Ben. “Next car,” he said hoarsely. “Before he sees.”
They started toward the other end, away from the crowd moving into the dining car, away from the restrooms, each step heavy as lead, his whole weight falling on Ben. Only the bartender seemed aware of them, a blank expression taking in another one-too-many. At the end of the car, another gasp and shudder as Ben fumbled with the door handle.
“I’ll get a doctor.”
Lasner sank into a porter’s jump seat, his face tight with strain. “No, make some excuse,” he said, short of breath, waving toward the dining car. “Make some excuse. With Katz. Before he comes looking. Then come back.”
Ben opened the top of the window, a rush of air.
“Lean back,” he said. He started to undo Lasner’s tie. But did it matter? It occurred to Ben for the first time, a moment of panic, that Lasner might really be in trouble. The chimes went again. In the next car over, people were sitting down to dinner.
“I have pills,” Lasner said, as if that answered anything. “Come back. After.” He looked over at Ben, eyes large. “Please.”
The word, so completely unexpected, had the force of an order. Ben nodded.
“Just try to breathe normally. Don’t force it, okay?” Which came from where? An old first aid manual? How to tie a tourniquet.
He waited until Lasner had taken a breath-steady, not a rattlethen hurried back into the club car. And what excuse could he make? An agent expecting dinner. Ben looked into the dining car. Not there yet. No one he recognized, in fact. The Major must be hosting the bond drive table in the other dining car. Maybe a private party. Behind him, he heard the bathroom door close with a whoosh.
“There you are. Sol asked me to wait. Look, he’s sorry but he has to beg off dinner. Miss Goddard came back for him. You know Sol, he can’t say no to her.” This all in a rush, as if he were short of breath. “He said he’ll make it up to you. It’s just-”
“What? Just now?”
Ben shrugged. “I think she didn’t want to be alone with the Major. Sol couldn’t say no.”
“No,” Katz said, evidently used to excuses.
“He said he’d make it up to you.”
He left Katz standing in the dining car, wondering how, and raced back through the club car, pushing past the crowd at the bar. Lasner hadn’t moved, leaning against the window, holding on to the rail underneath, still white.
“All right, now let’s get you a doctor.”
“Next one,” Lasner said, pointing down the corridor toward a drawing room car, presumably his own. He leaned again on Ben. “No porters. They tip them.”
“Who?” Ben said as they started to move. Was Lasner becoming confused? Did that happen?
“Polly. All of them. They tip the porters.”
Meaning Paulette? Ben glanced at him, then let it go. “The pills are in your room?”
Lasner nodded, clutching the handrail as they moved down the car. “What did you tell him?”
“That Miss Goddard sent for you.”
“He buy it?”
“I think so. You shouldn’t even be moving.”
“So they can lay me out in the club car? We’re almost there.”
It was a two-chair drawing room, top of the line, the settee already extended and made up, crisp white sheets folded over at the head. Ben lay him down, taking off his tie, his shoes, then suddenly went shy, not ready to draw the pants off the bird-like legs.
“Dopp kit,” Lasner said, pointing to the bathroom.
Ben rummaged through the leather case and pulled out a brown pill bottle. Hillcrest Pharmacy. As needed. He splashed some water in a glass.
“These?”
Lasner took two, then lay back, half closing his eyes, as if he expected instant results. Ben stood for a minute, helpless, then put the water down next to Lasner and went to the door.
“I’ll find a doctor.”
“I don’t need-”
“I’ll be right back,” Ben said, ignoring him.
“No porters,” Lasner said, raising his voice so Ben could hear it after he closed the door.
But, in fact, how could he find a doctor without one? Another story, a sick wife, the porter too polite to contradict.
By the time he got the doctor back to the compartment the pills seemed to have had some effect. Lasner’s breathing was deeper, pushing some color back into his face. The doctor glanced with a quick nod at the pill bottle and took out a stethoscope at the same time. “There still some pain?” He reached into the shirt, placing the metal disc on Lasner’s chest.
“Not as much.”
“This happen before? Must have, if you have these.” He nodded again at the pills. “And you kept walking
