“We could help each other out,” Riordan said.
Ben turned to him, meeting his eyes.
“That’s what you were looking for in his desk,” he said finally. “Another name.”
“It’s the same one you want, isn’t it?”
He walked through the gate and heard music, people singing around a piano. The door of Sound Stage 4 was open, light pouring out onto the wet pavement. To one side, holding an umbrella, Bunny stood watching, his figure oddly poignant, like one of the waifs he used to play, nose pressed against the glass.
He was in a belted raincoat, dressed to go-where? Ben had never imagined him off the lot. But he must have a life somewhere, maybe a house on the beach, a bungalow in one of the canyons. Where he took phone calls at night, doing favors. Something he must have done a dozen times, just putting things right. A call the police understood, coming from him-studio business, another embarrassment to keep out of the papers. Not asking Riordan why, just holding the favor in his hand like an IOU. Not talking about it, either, certainly not to the unexpected brother, who kept poking at it.
Ben stopped. According to Riordan. It was still a call to the police, not something Bunny would do without knowing why. What had Riordan said to him? Or didn’t he have to say anything?
“It’s stopped raining,” Ben said, coming up to him.
He looked at Ben, distracted, then up at the dark sky and closed the umbrella. “So it has.”
“You’re not going in?”
On the nightclub set everything was still in place, but the gowns had been traded in for ordinary skirts, the men back in casual trousers and V-neck sweaters, even the cocktail glasses replaced by bottles of beer. Platters of food had been set up along the bar.
“No, you don’t want to barge in on a wrap party. Breaks the mood.”
The piano player shifted to a new song, the small knot of singers laughing as they picked it up.
“No fun with the boss around?”
Bunny shook his head. “Ever work on a picture?” he said, smiling a little, his voice distant. “For six weeks, eight weeks, whatever the shoot is-the minute this door closes everything else goes away. Everything. There’s just the crew, what you’re doing that day, getting the take right. That’s all. Like family. Closer. Then it’s over.” He nodded to the set where Rosemary was being lifted onto the bar next to the piano. “And you pretend you’re relieved, but-now what? You don’t want outsiders, not at the end. Well,” he said, catching himself, “listen to me.”
“You must miss it.”
“Well, of course you miss it. It’s the whole point. All the rest of it-” He waved his hand. “Remember Castaway? My first picture. A hundred years ago. We opened at the Pantages. My first time. I’d never seen anything like it before-the flashbulbs, people yelling your name. I was on the radio. And I thought, well, this is all right, this is it. But it wasn’t. This was it,” he said, looking at the set. “You can get things right. Perfect, sometimes. A perfect take. You can never get things right out here.” He looked down at his watch. “Still, here we are. And I’m late, I’m late,” he said, doing the White Rabbit.
“No rushes tonight?”
“Not tonight,” he said, closing down, moving back into the life Ben knew nothing about, as secret as Danny’s. Ben looked over at him. The one Riordan had called.
“You’re all wet, by the way,” Bunny said, starting to move. “Better get dried off.”
“I got caught. I was having a drink at Lucey’s with a friend of yours.”
Bunny stopped.
“Dennis Riordan.”
Bunny turned, trying to read his face.
“What a busy little bee it is. Buzz, buzz,” he said slowly. “And what did he have to say?”
“Not much. He knew my brother.”
“Oh yes? His nickel or yours?”
“His. A condolence call.”
Bunny took a second, fiddling with the umbrella. “You want to have a care there. You know who he is?”
Ben nodded. “One of Minot’s field hands. Don’t worry, I told him you said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning.”
“That’s not funny. What did he ask you?”
“About you? You didn’t come up.”
“Then why did you say he was a friend of mine?”
Ben shrugged. “I figured you’d know everybody on Minot’s staff.”
“Not everybody.”
“We just talked about Danny.”
“Was this after your chat with Rosemary?” Not making a point, just letting him know. “Quite a day for old times.”
Ben hesitated. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why the big mystery? You knew what I was looking for-”
“Tell you what?” Bunny said, then looked away, switching gears. “It wasn’t mine to tell. Yours, either.”
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“I said I’d never met him. I knew who he was. Hard not to, considering.”
“So it must have been a relief.”
Bunny peered at him. “Are you trying to get me to say something unpleasant? Why? I’m sorry for your loss, all right? Let’s leave it at that.”
“All I wanted was to talk to her. I knew there’d been someone.”
“And do you feel better now? Any more skeletons in the closet or are we ready to move on?”
“I don’t know, are there?”
But Bunny didn’t rise to this. “Usually. People are disappointing once you get to know them. I find. You’d do better remembering the good times. I assume there were?”
“A few.”
“Well, hold on to those,” he said archly, patting Ben’s upper arm. He glanced through the door. “Now let’s let her have her party in peace. Anyway, I’m late.” He began to move away again.
“Why’d you make the call?”
Bunny was quiet for a second. “ Les freres Kohler, ” he said finally, rhyming. “One was trouble. Now two.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“All right. What call?”
“The one you made to the police.”
“Again? You’re like a record with a skip. Back and back.”
“The one Riordan asked you to make. Why you?”
“Did he? Tell you what, now that you’re chums, why don’t you ask him?” he said, an end move. He let out a breath with an audible weariness. “Look, we’re stuck with each other for a while. Mr. L insists. Let’s make the best of it.” He nodded toward the sound stage. “For a start, we’ll keep Rosemary to ourselves, shall we? What’s done is done. No need to upset anyone. There’s the grieving widow to consider.”
“Is that why the screen test? Something for the wronged party?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bunny said, genuinely put out. “Screen tests aren’t favors. Not mine. You think we’re all Sam Pilcer?” He looked up, feeling the drizzle begin again, cooling his mood. “I think she has something.”
“Besides an accent.”
“So did Bergman, when she started. You can work with an accent, if there’s something there.” He looked again at the sound stage. “Whatever it is. Some quality.”
“And you think she has that?”
“Haven’t the faintest. She moves well, that’s what I noticed. But you can’t know anything until you see film. It’s not what you see, it’s what the camera sees. What quality it brings out. You have to have that.”
“What was yours?” Ben said.
Bunny looked at him, then smiled, amused. “Innocence, I think.”
