I’m on two kinds of pills. And you know what Rosen says? Slow down. In pictures. You show weakness for five minutes and-”
He let the words hang in the room. Ben got up and went over to the wash basin.
“Well, it wouldn’t be a weakness to get some rest. Here, take this.” He handed him a pill from the small envelope.
Lasner held it in front of his mouth, a bargaining chip. “But you’ll stick around.”
Ben nodded, watching him lift the water glass. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay till you’re asleep.”
“And after that?” Childlike, pressing.
Ben took the glass away. “After that you’ll be asleep. If anything happens, ring for the porter. I don’t care who’s tipping him. You don’t want to take any more chances with that.” He pointed to Lasner’s chest.
Lasner grunted. “People try to see me all day long and here you are, and all you can say is go to sleep.”
“Mr. Lasner-”
“Sol. For chrissake, you took my pants off.”
Ben sat down. There was nothing to do but wait for the pill to kick in.
“All day long,” Lasner said. “No wonder I get episodes. You think it’s a picnic, running a studio?”
“Maybe you should think about retiring.”
“Hah. Then who would call me?” Said so simply that for a second Ben thought he was joking.
“But if you’re sick-”
“What do you think, it’s something you can just walk away? I built the studio. All of it.” He sat back against his pillow. “Nobody sees the work. They think it just happens. But it’s work. Look at Paulette.” He raised a finger. “You’re wrong about her. I saw it in your face. You thought she was a Peggy Joyce.”
“Who?”
“Gold digger. She had a career for about two minutes. You never heard of Peggy Joyce? She was in a song for chrissake.”
Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Before my time.”
“I forget you’re a kid. She married-well, who remembers? Her they remembered. Or did,” he said with an exasperated look at Ben. “Paulette never married for that. You know how old she was, she started to work? Fourteen. She’s fourteen and making a living.”
“On the stage?”
Lasner nodded. “Chorus. Then Ziegfeld. Next thing, she’s out here. Pretty. But that wasn’t it. Pretty you can get anywhere. She was raring to go. Fun. That’s what Charlie spotted in her. Not just pretty. You know where they met? Joe Schenck’s boat. So, another girl for Charlie. But no. He works with her. And the way he works, every little thing perfect. And she does it. Even now, you see the picture, she’s terrific. Casual, like she’s not working. But she’s working since she was fourteen. And now she’s a star.” He lowered his voice, suddenly pragmatic. “But not to carry a picture. Not yet. And they want to put her in a hoop skirt- where’s the sense in that? The way she wears clothes? What do you see in a period picture? Shoulders.”
“What’s wrong with shoulders?”
“What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to tell you something here. You have to know what you’re doing. You make a bad picture, that’s one thing. You make a few-” He spread his fingers, letting the thought slip through them, like luck itself running out.
Ben stared at the hand, curious. Every gambler’s fear, that it might all go away. Danny’s world.
“Nothing’s the way you think out here,” Lasner said, his voice weaker, drifting again.
Ben looked over at him, not sure what he was talking about now, some earlier thought, and saw that the eyes had finally closed, his chest moving slowly, night breathing. Resting comfortably, nurses would say. After his scare. Five minutes of weakness. Their secret. He could go now, leaving only the dim night-light. But he stayed, listening to the wheels, keeping watch, sure somehow that Lasner felt his presence, felt safer. What happened in a deeper sleep? Did you hear anything in a coma, voices, faint rustling sounds around you? Would Danny even know he was there, had come all this way to see him? Maybe Lasner didn’t know, either, breathing steadily now. But when Ben woke, hours later, and finally left, he tiptoed to the door and opened it quietly, without a click.
Lasner was still in bed in the morning, now propped up against pillows in a patterned silk bathrobe.
“Where’ve you been? The doctor was here an hour ago.”
“And?”
“I’m great.”
“He tell you to stay in bed?”
Lasner waved his hand in dismissal, but made no move to get up.
“You want some breakfast?”
“I already had. What do you keep, banker’s hours? Let’s talk about the picture. There’s nothing to see till New Mexico anyway.”
Ben looked out the window-endless yellow fields, silos and telegraph poles, a hot, bright day.
Lasner held up a finger. “It’s not because I owe you. I don’t want you to get that idea.”
Ben nodded and sat down. “Sure you’re up to this?”
“How much footage have you got?”
“Lots. And some captured Nazi film-they actually filmed it. We can also get stock from Artkino, the Russian agency.”
“You want to use Russian film?”
“They were the first ones in. The quality’s okay-I’ve seen it.”
“Never mind the quality. It’s Russian. You use it, that prick Tenney will be all over you.”
“Who?”
“Jack Tenney. You’ve been away for a while. He used to write songs. Mexicali Rose, one hit. Now he’s a politician, with a bug up his ass about Reds. He’s got a committee up in Sacramento. Making lists. You don’t want him making trouble for you.”
“Over some footage?”
“If the Russians shot it, he’ll say it’s a lie. Which leaves you where? Saying it’s not. People wondering. Don’t go near it. You got plenty of Army film, right? Why buy trouble?”
The knock came before he could answer, a light rap, then a tentative opening.
“Sol? You there?”
“Paulette. Come in, sweetheart. You’re up early.”
She took in Ben with a quick smile to cover her surprise, then frowned at Lasner. “What are you doing in bed? You all right?” she said, crossing the room. She was wearing cream-colored slacks and a dark jersey top with a single strand of pearls, day wear.
“Something I ate,” Lasner said.
“When? At the dinner you ate with me except you didn’t?”
“You saw Katz.”
“Don’t worry, I covered. Next time I’m the excuse, let me in on it, will you? I had to have a drink with him. So he could tell me his troubles.”
“What troubles does he have?” Lasner said.
Goddard laughed. “What’s going on?” She turned to Ben, who had already caught Lasner’s signal.
“Doctor says it’s probably just flu.”
“You had a doctor?” She sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at him closely. “You want me to call Fay?”
“It’s done, it’s done. Ben took care of it in Kansas City. She’s meeting me in Pasadena. Don’t make such a big deal.”
She put her hand on his forehead, the bright red tips touching his hair. “Tough guy,” she said, then looked at Ben, raising her eyebrows. “No fever. Some flu.”
“It’s a bug is all,” Lasner said. “Now let me get dressed. How about I take you to lunch?”
She smoothed back his hair. “We’ll have it in. I’ll bring some cards, what do you say?”
“What’s my end?”
“You stay in bed. And don’t cheat.” She tapped a finger on his nose, then stood up, not waiting for an
