“He can’t lean on Schaeffer all week. Where’s that going to get him? Murmansk?”
“Where’s Rosemary going to get him?”
Bunny looked at him. “Stay out of this.”
In the hall, people huddled in groups, smoking. Dick Marshall posed for a few more pictures. Ben made a circle, looking for Ostermann, and instead saw Henderson, leaning back against a fire extinguisher.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sure,” Henderson said, reaching into his pocket. “Right here.”
Then, in a lower voice, “Take out a cigarette. I thought you didn’t want us to talk.”
“I thought you weren’t going to follow me,” Ben said, leaning forward for the light.
“I’m just watching.”
“What?”
“Things. See who’s watching you. It’s a good place for it. Who’d know? I figure he’d like to keep tabs. I would, I was him.”
“And?”
“It’s early. Now you got your light.”
“Clearance come through yet on those names?”
“I’m working on it. You’re welcome,” he said louder, nodding.
Ben stood for a minute, stymied. “Don’t ruin this,” he said.
Henderson smiled. “What? Your unexpected demise? I’m looking forward to it. As long as I see who does it.”
He moved off, leaving Ben to watch the crowd. Could he really be here? Someone on his way to the men’s room. The photographer who wasn’t. Anybody.
When the hearings reconvened, Ben had Dick next to him, Bunny on his other side.
“Why start with you?” Bunny said to Dick, still preoccupied with the order of things.
“I’m just glad to get it over with.”
“But there’s no build. Here they come.”
This time Minot did look at them, an unexpected anger. At first Ben thought it was directed at him, the Kaltenbach grudge, but when Carol Hayes was called, a Fox contract player, Minot’s eyes were fixed on Bunny, gauging his reaction. Bunny, clearly surprised, shrugged back.
“He’s doing this wrong,” he said. “Why her?”
“Picture in the papers?”
“Below the fold,” Bunny said, dismissive.
Ben watched the newsreel cameras track her as she moved to the table, motors whirring. “Who is she?”
“Priscilla Lane. Diana Lynn,” Bunny said, casting.
“I mean here.”
“Probably a Schaeffer picture at Fox. But he just did that. There’s no build. Carol Hayes.”
“The cameras like her.”
Bunny frowned. “Something’s wrong.” He leaned across again to one of the publicity staff and whispered, sending him out of the room.
“And you talked to Mr. Schaeffer about the script?” Minot was saying.
“I didn’t want to,” she said. “You know, you don’t like to make trouble. But I just didn’t feel comfortable with some of the lines.”
“On the seventh take,” Bunny said under his breath.
“And why was that?”
“They didn’t seem- I don’t think it’s like that in this country. I mean, my dad was a businessman and he just wouldn’t have done that, what happens in the picture.”
Ben thought at first that Minot was heading somewhere with this, but after a while saw that he was just treading water. Everything Hayes said, her fear of being used to promote an underlying message, had been said. After she stepped down, another break, Bunny caught Minot as he passed.
“I don’t understand what you’re doing,” he said quietly, a private conversation as people passed around them.
“No? Not exactly what we agreed, is it? I don’t like sloppy seconds, either. You people,” Minot said, an undisguised contempt. “Look at that.”
Off to the side, Carol was smiling, her face lit up by flashbulbs.
“Then why did you-”
“You want to protect your property? That it? And I get this. So the surprise is on me. Live and learn. Who’d you use? Him?” He jerked his finger at Ben. “Handy Andy. No, he wouldn’t have the balls. One of your studio goons probably. But I’ll tell you something. The next surprise is on you. I can’t call her without the file-that’ll take a while to put together again. But there’s always another way. A little whisper and there’s no end to the shit they can stir up.” He turned his head toward the reporters. “You shouldn’t have done it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Minot dropped his voice. “Who do you think you’re playing with? You fix parking tickets. You don’t fix me. Not me.”
“I still don’t-”
“No? Then maybe she did it herself. Such light fingers,” he said, wriggling his. “It doesn’t matter. You’re both fucked.”
“Ken-”
“Can I get a word in edgewise?” A voice behind them.
“Polly,” Minot said, rearranging his face, stepping back. “You there all this time?”
“Now don’t run away. I’ve been trying to get you all morning. They’re running the column out front.”
“As the news?”
“In addition. Two stories. And a picture.”
“That’s a mighty good start,” Minot said, smiling.
“Mm. I’m doing the color. Bunny, you don’t mind, do you? I’ll bring him back in a minute. Who else are you calling? Schaeffer?”
“You bet.” He looked at Bunny. “And that’s just the first day.”
“What was that about?” Bunny said when they left. “Light fingers?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, a little shaken, back in the supply closet, waiting to be caught. But she wouldn’t be called. Something for Danny.
“I’ve never seen him like that.”
“That’s who he is.”
Bunny’s face, ashen just a minute ago, hardened. “He’s not going to do a thing about the consent decree.”
“Then make it harder for him. Don’t give him people.”
Bunny looked up. “Well, now I haven’t, it seems. This isn’t your doing, is it? Is that what you were- But why would you?” he said, talking to himself. “You know what he’ll do now.” He turned toward the door, watching Minot leave. “He’ll feed her to Polly. Before we go into release.”
Henderson seemed to have disappeared, now just another hat in the crowd, but Ostermann was there, standing alone by a window, looking out.
“It’s usually gone by this time,” he said, nodding to the fog. “Not today. No sun. Dark times, eh?”
“You haven’t been taking any notes. Are you really going to write about this?”
“If he calls Germans, then it’s something for Aufbau. Brecht, at least, I would think, wouldn’t you? He’d make an interesting witness.”
“It’s a farce.”
Ostermann nodded. “It always begins that way. Nothing to trouble about. Then each day a little more. Well, that’s not so serious, either. And then one day-”
“You’re writing your piece,” he said, one eye still looking for Henderson.
A short man with wire-rimmed glasses, surrounded by lawyers, was crossing the hall, drawing photographers away from Carol Hayes. Schaeffer, he guessed.
