As I enjoyed my tea that evening, remembering the film, I also found my thoughts returning to the business of acting, all the other things with which I will have to acquaint myself. Perhaps I should seek an agent, which is something that none of us had in the silent era. Perhaps I should think about securing a publicist, to handle the inevitable rush of media attention. Perhaps I should arrange to get an unlisted telephone number, to make me less accessible to the enthusiastic fans who will surely attempt to call. Some of these complications existed in my time, but the world has grown busier and more demanding since then, and I must ensure that I am well-equipped to handle it.
I was able to enjoy my thoughts of the future for half a day. For that very same evening, David Rosenberg called from the nursing home. “Listen,” he said, “Ben Dreyfus’ grandson came up here today. He wanted to talk about you.”
My stomach dropped. “I see.”
“He’s not exactly the most endearing character. Launched straight into it, and hardly said hello. He wanted to know what you were like, what kind of actor you were, and if you were all right to work with.”
“What did you tell him?”
“What do you think I told him?” David said. I could hear voices rising in the background, but couldn’t tell if they were arguing, laughing, or crying out in pain. “I told him you were the greatest actor of your generation. I told him you were an absolute professional, a real pleasure to work with. I told him that what happened to you, your leaving pictures and then practically dropping out of historical record, is one of the most regrettable things in the history of Hollywood.”
“That was unnecessary.” I was glad he couldn’t see me, for I believe I might have blushed. “I’m humbled by your words, David, and I thank you.”
“Oh, shut up, Nakayama. Humility never became you. Anyway, I know you expected this boy to come around, so this wasn’t a real surprise. But I wanted to tell you that things did take a bothersome turn.”
I waited. Through the phone I heard a wail, but David did not seem to notice.
“He asked why you didn’t make any pictures after 1922, and I told him the same thing you probably told him, that you were offered crappy roles. He didn’t buy it, and kept saying that it had to be something else. That it was too strange that you stopped working so abruptly.”
I tried to control my breathing. “And so what did you say?”
“Nothing, old man. I said nothing. Even if I were inclined to speak about that time, I would never do it with a kid like him. He’s too self-involved and immature to understand the complexities—he doesn’t exactly have the sensitivity of his granddad.” He paused. “And that’s my point. Jun, he’s real interested, and he’s convinced he’s going to dig something up. I don’t know whether he wants to discredit you or find something he can use to help market you. But he’s not going to drop this, and I think you need to be prepared. He even mentioned that it was notable that your career came to an end around the time of the Tyler murder.”
I said nothing, but gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
“He’s on to something, Jun, and this is not the kind of kid who takes no for an answer. He has access to everyone and everything, including all the records at Perennial … Did you manage to find Owen Hopkins and Nora Niles?”
“I did have the opportunity to speak with Hopkins,” I said. “I have not yet spoken to Nora.”
“Well, it’s time to try harder, Jun. You want to get to her before he does.” He paused again. “Is there anyone else we’re forgetting?”
I shook my head miserably. “I don’t know.”
“What about Hanako Minatoya?”
I started at the name. “I have no idea what became of Miss Minatoya.”
“Did she know about what happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“It’s difficult to explain. We didn’t speak of such things explicitly. But she always seemed to know more than I told her.”
For a moment neither one of us spoke. Then Rosenberg said, “When was the last time you talked to her?”
“It’s been years. Probably more than a decade.”
“The last I heard she was living in Pacific Palisades, running acting classes.”
“Yes, that’s right. She always did love the ocean.” I remembered our days out at Moran’s studio in the Palisades, the walks we took together through the hills.
“You should go find her, Jun. Just to cover all the bases.”
“I will.”
“She was something, that woman. A real class act. So quiet and beautiful, but tough as nails.” He paused. “You know, I never understood why you didn’t marry her.”
I gave a light laugh. “Oh, we were far too much alike. We would have driven each other mad.”
“I’m pretty sure she would have been willing. It’s really kind of a shame. I think you were scared, Jun. She was the only one of those women who was honestly your equal.”
I laughed. “What makes you so sure she
