Joseph Kanon - Stardust

Bunny twisted something on the metal frame, his hand still wrapped in a handkerchief. “I had a hell of a time with these bolts.”

“Accident,” Ben said.

“Just what we’re always afraid of,” Bunny said coolly, arranging Dieter’s body. “You should see the insurance premiums.” He looked up, gauging the fall’s trajectory. “People don’t know. They think the equipment- Of course, visitors.”

“He’s shot. He has a bullet in him.”

“Freakish, wasn’t it? The crash, setting that off. People who carry guns should keep the safety on.”

“You think they’ll believe that?”

“Why not?” Bunny said. “It’s what happened.” He looked at Ben. “Isn’t it?”

“You’re covering up a-”

“Now you listen to me. Liesl’s not going to be explaining anything. Is that understood? I mean really understood this time? She was never here. You came looking. People get lost on the lot at night. When they don’t know where they’re going.” He paused. “You might thank me. The gun was pointing at you. And here we are-”

“I have to tell the Bureau. About Dieter. It can lead them to the next.”

“I don’t care what you tell them as long as nothing leads here. It’s an accident in tomorrow’s papers. They’ll have to live with that. Make them,” he said, looking at Ben, then away. “She’s valuable to the studio. Anything else here needs taking care of?”

“Some blood under the Japan map. A camera got loose down the ramp.”

“I saw. Naturally one of the new ones.”

“Did she come to find you? Liesl? She was worried?”

“We found each other. Carl called. To check on the orders.” He gave Ben another look. “Your hand,” he said noticing it. “You better get over to the infirmary. Patch it up. Think how you got it, will you? That makes sense? Maybe you cut it trying to get the light off him. In your haste.”

“It’s got a bullet in it. How do we explain that? The doctor-”

“It’s the studio infirmary,” Bunny said, then held his look. “I’ll fix it.”

They had set up bleachers for fans down one side of the long temple entrance to the Egyptian and put the cameras and reporters behind a rope down the other, the red carpet between. The line of studio cars seemed to stretch all the way back to Highland, the spillover crowd craning necks to look into back windows, hoping for glimpses. There were searchlights and live radio feeds and an a party scheduled at the Grove, signs that the premiere itself marked a shift at Continental, the old modest openings something now out of the Gower Gulch era.

Ben looked at the giant posters behind the floodlit palms-Liesl with her head tilted up, her eyes fixed on the GI who was taking her home. The real Liesl was in a soft off-white gown and a fox cape, and her appearance had drawn oohs from the kids on the sidewalk. He watched her on the red carpet, surrounded by studio people, first greeting the audience, waving, then turning to tell the reporters how thrilling it all was. And wasn’t it? The air was bright with flashing lights, something new, the rhythm built up, car after car, gown after gown, heady just to be part of it. Her escorts were in uniform to represent all the forces-everyone’s dream war bride. Dick would follow later, another squealing entrance and another interview.

“The soldiers were a nice touch,” Bunny said as they watched from the side. “You can feel it, can’t you? It’s going to happen. Look at them.”

He nodded to the reporters, surging around her but keeping a distance, some invisible royal line, not pushing microphones in her face. Even Polly, speaking to her now on the radio, seemed respectful, paying court. Ben thought of Rosemary at Lasner’s party, surrounded, everyone smiling. Her moment.

“What’s it costing you?” Ben said.

“Don’t keep books. How much is air time worth? Mr. L never understood that, either. These people haven’t even seen the picture and look at them,” he said, still fixed on the reception. “It just comes to her. They all have it, that instinct.”

“Did you?”

Bunny didn’t answer.

“You don’t know her. She could walk away from it tomorrow.”

“No one ever does,” Bunny said, turning. “No one.” He took out a cigarette. “You’ve been scarce. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Come have a smoke.” He drew them away from the temple courtyard into the lobby, waving away some ushers who darted over. “I wanted you to hear it from me. We’re not picking up Rosemary’s option.”

“Why?”

“The picture’s doing nothing.”

“You dumped it.”

“Now you’re an expert on distribution, too. We didn’t dump it. It’s last year.”

“So put her in something this year.”

Bunny took a drag on his cigarette. “Look, I don’t know what she is to you. But you’re a big boy now. That’s the way it is.”

“You know what this is all about. You’re going to let him tell you who to hire? He’s finished.”

“He’s embarrassed. He’s calling off the hearings. For now. He may even be in a little trouble next election. But he’s still in office. He’ll regroup. When this starts up again, Continental’s going to be absolutely clean. No associations, not even relatives.”

“Or close friends. If they’re alive.”

Bunny said nothing at first, squinting through the smoke, reluctant to cross a line. “That’s right. If they’re alive.”

They looked at each other for a minute with the weary familiarity of an old couple, stuck together by everything that had happened, too tired to untangle it.

“Hal tells me the picture’s finished.”

“Some dubbing.”

“You’ll be thinking, what next? They were wondering at Fort Roach.”

“They called you all by themselves.”

Bunny stuck the cigarette into the sand of the standing ashtray. “They’re winding down. The exhibitors don’t want any more information films. The training films-”

Ben shrugged. “My separation papers’ll come through any day.”

But Bunny was going somewhere else. “They’ve agreed to a limited distribution. The Nuremberg picture didn’t do what they hoped. This would be the last anyway.”

“How limited,” Ben said, alert, listening to code.

“Limited. Strictly speaking, we don’t have to distribute at all. There’s no agreement.”

“Sol agreed.”

“Well, Mr. L-”

“Is still head of the studio.”

Bunny looked up. “Keep your socks on.”

“You can’t do this,” Ben said, his throat suddenly tight. “Dump it. Not this one.”

He saw the pan shot of the guards’ faces, the slow walk into the camp, evidence.

“I’m not dumping it. And you’re leading with your chin. Anybody ever tell you not to do that here?”

Lasner on the train, clutching himself, never weak.

“Show them what you really want?” Bunny finished.

“I really want this,” Ben said, his voice steady. “It’s important.”

To whom? The dead, the survivors? It occurred to Ben that he had become a believer in images, their power to change things, even though of course they didn’t. Show the faces. Maybe that’s all it was, a record too late, but at least it was there. The dead are never avenged. All we can do is leave markers.

“I said limited. Major cities. After Christmas. Don’t worry, you’ll get your credit.”

“It’s not about that.”

Bunny raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Sol wants this picture.”

“So you keep saying. And I wouldn’t want to disappoint him. He knows what the exhibitors are like, but if we can sell it as-”

“What do you want?”

“Want?” Bunny said, raising both eyebrows now. “I’m not a pawnshop. It’s a picture, not a watch. I said I’d do what I could.” He paused. “What I’d like, though, is a little favor from you.”