“Jun!” he said, patting my arm with his hand. “What a wonderful surprise! When Nathan told me that you’d called, I was sure he was kidding. You look the same, I see. Wish that were true for me.”
I put my own hand on top of his, which was trembling a little. “It’s good to see you, David. How have you been?”
“Well, if you had two or three weeks to spare, I’d tell you.” He gestured for me to pull up a chair, which I did. We sat looking out at the view in silence, not knowing where to start. I stole glances at him now and again, examining the deep lines in his face, the unmistakable shaking of his arms and legs. “This place isn’t bad, as far as retirement homes go,” he said. “There are a few other old geezers who are still up to playing poker or watching a ball game, and the nurses here are generally nice. Never thought I’d find this old Jew in a Catholic-run joint, but my daughter-in-law’s father is the head of the board, and this is supposed to be the best place on the Westside. Besides, I thought it would be too depressing to live with all those washed-up picture people at the Motion Picture Relief Fund Home. Too many egos and neuroses, not to mention shoddy facelifts. I’d rather be with the regular people. So here I am.”
I smiled and leaned back in my chair. “It seems quite comfortable here.”
“Well, I’d rather not be here at all, you know. But when the Parkinson’s hit, I couldn’t really be by myself anymore, and I was too much for Nathan to handle. He’s a good boy—I shouldn’t call him a boy, he’s forty-six now, with two teenagers himself—but life seems to move too fast these days for people to care for aging parents.” He chuckled. “Listen to me. As if life wasn’t moving fast when we were young.”
“We certainly weren’t lacking for excitement. We worked hard, but we enjoyed ourselves too.”
“We did work hard,” said Rosenberg, struggling to pull himself up in his chair. “Look at the industry now—how Perennial and UA and MGM seem bigger and older than God. But we were there at the beginning, we watched them take their first steps. Without men like us, Jun, those great studios wouldn’t be what they are today. Hollywood wouldn’t even be Hollywood.”
“It’s true,” I agreed. “The Valentinos, the Chaplins, everyone remembers them. But the men like us have largely been forgotten.”
We were quiet for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts. David tried to pat my arm again, but his hand shook so badly that it hit my leg instead. “I’m sorry, Jun. I don’t mean to sound so depressing. I’ve been sitting here feeling sorry for myself and haven’t asked a thing about you. How’s life treated you since we saw each other last? Do you have a gorgeous wife? Are there children?”
I shook my head. “No, David. I never married.”
He considered me with genuine surprise. “But you had women scratching each other’s eyes out over you. What happened? You weren’t willing to give up the bachelor’s life?”
“No, I just never found the right woman.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and we dropped off into silence. Around us, several other residents were talking in loud voices to the pigeons that had gathered for bread. Beneath their voices was the sound of someone moaning, so soft I wasn’t sure I really heard it.
“Listen, Jun,” David said. “What brings you here today? I can’t imagine that time has changed you that much, and you were never the type to just drop in for a friendly chat.”
I cleared my throat and placed my hands on my lap, trying to control my suddenly racing heart. “In fact, there is something I would like to discuss with you. I’ve been approached by someone who’s doing an article about the new silent movie theater. It turns out that he’s also a screenwriter with a film that may go into production—and he wants me to play a part in his movie.”
Rosenberg struggled to turn toward me. “A part in a movie! Really? Why Jun, that’s wonderful!”
I held my hands up before he got too carried away. “Nothing is certain yet; Perennial’s still considering it. But Bellinger, the young man, seems very sincere.” I paused. “His contact at Perennial is Ben Dreyfus’ grandson. Did you know that he’s the head of production now?”
David shifted in his chair. “Yes,” he said in a tone that seemed faintly disapproving. “He’s been making quite a killing these last few years. Remember Leap of Faith, that lucrative piece of fluff? Well, that was his. And several others like it.”
I digested this information for a moment. “Well, the two young men are apparently good friends, and Bellinger has been speaking to Dreyfus’ grandson on my behalf. Bellinger is very excited that he’s managed to track me down. He’s seen several of my films, he said; his parents are collectors. He’s been trying to talk to others who were around in those years—and he’s very interested in my time at Perennial.”
David turned back toward the horizon—it was a clear day, and we could make out the shape of Catalina Island in the distance. He was quiet for so long that I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. Then finally
