The lift, or at least its colored driver, was moving toward them on the platform, behind a blonde in a wide- shouldered dress and spectator pumps, still trim but thickening a little now.
“Paulette,” she said with a quick hug, then turned to Lasner and put her arms around his neck and held him, not caring who saw. “Dr. Rosen’s in the car,” she said, nodding toward a black Chrysler waiting at the curb.
“I feel fine.”
“Big shot,” she said fondly. “Just get in the car. Stanley’s sniffing around somewhere. Florabel Muir’s old leg man-he’s working for Polly now. You want to talk to him or to Rosen?”
“That’s the choice?”
“Oh god,” Paulette said, “not Stanley. He’s been after me since Charlie. Fay-”
“I know, I know. Henry, get her to the car, will you?” She turned to Lasner. “You send a telegram from Kansas City and now you don’t even want to see him?”
“He sent it,” Lasner said, pointing at Ben.
Fay looked up, puzzled, then went back to Lasner. “I was worried sick.”
“I just hired him. We met in Germany.”
This seemed to make even less sense, but she smiled up blankly, polite, the boss’s wife.
Lasner held his eye for a minute, what Ben took as a last silent exchange about the train, then moved on.
“Call Bunny Jenkins at the studio,” he said to Ben. “He’ll fix everything for you. And order the stock now-they say tomorrow, it’s always next month. Check the list at Roach, see if they’ve still got a cutter, Hal Jasper.”
“The VD guy?”
Lasner smiled. “Yeah. Tell him I bet they were his crabs.”
“Sol, I mean it, no more business. I’ll walk right out of here. I’ve been worried sick. This is the second time-”
“Tell the world.”
She bit her lip, then sighed and fixed him with an or-else stare. “This isn’t a house call. I had to get him out of bed to come here. Now are you coming or what?”
He shrugged, beginning to move off, then paused and looked back to Ben. “If you need a few days, that’s okay. You know, to visit at the hospital.”
At first, scanning the crowd, all he saw were the dark glasses and thick blond hair, pinned up in a pile on her head. Then she came toward him, a smooth stride, and he recognized the woman in her photograph, the same long face as her father, the high forehead. What it hadn’t shown was the skin, a tawny cream that held the sun in it. She was in a white short-sleeved blouse, slacks, and canvas shoes, as if she’d just stepped off a tennis court.
“Liesl?” he said, peering at her.
“Yes,” she said, extending her hand. Then, “Excuse me,” taking off her sunglasses, “so rude. Sometimes I forget. So we meet.”
“How is he?”
“The same.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“He’s not responding. It’s a long time now. We’re just waiting. You understand, there’s no recovery. I don’t want you to expect-”
Her eyes, uncovered now, darted sharply, flecked with light. She seemed to be wearing no makeup at all, lips bare, not even a hint of Paulette Goddard’s glossy red, just the flush of anger or worry that made her movements jerky-handshake to questioning glance, all quick, angular. Only the voice was smooth, held a second too long in her throat, still with a trace of accent. When she said, “This is all?” nodding to his bag, he heard the rhythm of German, not quite forgotten yet.
“That’s it. I’m sorry to get you down here so early.”
“No, I was glad to get a break,” she said, colloquial, fully American now. “It’s been-” She let the phrase finish itself.
“You’re sure it’s all right? To stay? If it’s not convenient-”
“No, no,” she said, dismissing this. “We were expecting you.” Another awkward pause. “Of course later, not so soon. He was excited you were coming.”
“He was?” Ben said, unexpectedly pleased. “Then-”
He stopped before “why,” catching himself. Danny wouldn’t have thought about him, about anyone. They didn’t. Something that happened only to you.
“Yes,” she was saying. “So many years.”
“Liesl? Is that you?”
A tiny woman, teetering in high heels, was hurrying toward them from the barrier. She was wearing a suit with a matching hat, the veil thrown back, as if she didn’t want to miss anything. Behind her, trying to keep up, was a man holding a camera.
“Polly,” Liesl said, taking a step backward.
“My dear, I can’t tell you-”
“Thank you,” said Liesl, anticipating her. “This is Daniel’s brother, Ben.”
“You must be shell — shocked,” Polly said, ignoring him. “I know Herb Yates is. I talked to him.”
She spoke in a rush that was a kind of suppressed giggle and the rest of her moved with it, head turning to keep the passengers in sight, so alert that her body actually seemed to be vibrating. The effect, Ben noticed, was to make Liesl recede, wary as prey.
“Did you see the column, dear? The item about Dan? I didn’t mention the bottle. I thought, Herb has enough on his plate without-and, you know, it just gives the industry a black eye. I was never one for that.”
“No,” Liesl said, noncommittal.
“And how is that other man?” Polly said, almost winking, some sort of joke between them. “Such a shame about Central Station. Sometimes, a book like that, you wonder if it’s too rich. But he must have been disappointed.”
“Oh, I think he was grateful for the money,” Liesl said, evading.
“What is he working on now?” She stopped swiveling to look straight at Liesl, a reporter with an invisible pad.
“You know he never says.”
“But you’re his translator, dear.”
“Only at the end. When he’s finished.”
But Polly, not really interested, was looking around again. “Oh, there’s Carole Landis.”
Ben followed her look to the end of the platform where Landis, Julie Sherman, and the other girls were getting off the train. They were all back in their bond-drive dresses, as next-door as the Andrews Sisters.
“You’re meeting her?” Liesl said, eager to be off.
Polly shook her head. “Paulette Goddard’s on the train.”
“No, she got off in Pasadena,” Ben said.
Polly whirled around, surprised, glaring at him.
“We met on the train,” he said, explaining himself.
“The studio said Union Station. Stanley’s in Pasadena. He doesn’t do interviews. Now the best I can do for her is an item. Is that what she wants?” Still fuming at Ben, somehow holding him responsible.
“I don’t think she knew.”
“Maybe she thinks she doesn’t need it anymore, a good word here and there. I’d be more careful. Given where she’s been.”
For a second Ben thought she meant the chorus days, less innocent than Sol imagined, but Polly had gone elsewhere, almost spitting now with irritation.
“You know, you lie down with a Red, a little pink always comes off. If I’d been married to Mr. Chaplin I’d be a little more careful before I threw away a friendly interview.” She looked over her shoulder to see Landis getting nearer. “Well, I guess it’s Carole’s lucky day. Won’t she be pleased.”
“We’d better let you get on with it,” Liesl said, beginning to move away.
“Believe me, dear, she’ll wait. Nice running into you.” She patted Liesl’s arm. “You’ll be all right. You tell that
