Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“Sol, she has been through something.”

“Did I say no? It’s a miracle. She’ll be interested-your picture.”

“Sometimes, you know, it’s the last thing they want to talk about. Where was she?”

“Poland. Not at first. They shipped her around. She doesn’t say much.”

“She told you, Sol. Oranienburg, then Poland.” She turned to Ben. “She’s getting used to things, that’s all. She’s only here two days. Big shot here wants- I don’t know, what, she should be dancing.”

“I’d like to meet her,” Ben said politely.

“I figured,” Lasner said. “You’ll have something to talk about.”

Is that why he’d been invited? To entertain survivors? But she’d only just arrived. Lasner was drawing him aside, keeping his hand on his arm.

“Listen,” he said, low as a secret, “I just want you to know. I didn’t want to say at the studio, but I appreciate-you know, on the train-”

“You feeling okay?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Sol, it’s Jack and Ann,” Fay said, drawing him away.

The Warners were all smiles, Jack with a jaunty mustache and a tan so dark that it seemed to have shriveled his face, like a walnut. Ben remembered him from the Army tour, paler and in uniform, telling stories about Errol Flynn. They’d been on Hitler’s boat, a brief day’s outing on the Rhine, which reminded Warner of his own yacht, moored next to Flynn’s at the marina, so close you could hear what happened in the master bedroom. “Not just every night, two, three times a night. Maybe different ones, I don’t know. I said to him, you keep it up, it’s going to fall off.” Laughter from the others, watching the banks stream by. Now he shook Ben’s hand without any hint of recognition, just a new face at Lasner’s.

“So all I hear is Rosemary Miller,” he said to Sol. “It’s going to happen for her?”

“Your lips,” Lasner said, raising his eyes.

“Get it in the can before the goddam union closes everybody down,” Warner said, prompting a huddle, cutting Ben and Liesl loose to drift.

Waiters were still passing rich canapes-caviar and asparagus tips in puff pastry-so it would be a while before they sat down. Liesl had told him Hollywood ate early to get up early, but Saturday must be the exception. No one made any move to the several tables set up in the next room. Ben wondered how dinner would be announced. A gong? Meanwhile, more champagne was poured and the man at the grand piano in the corner, probably someone from Continental, kept playing show tunes.

All the talk, overheard in snippets as they walked around the room, was about pictures. An option picked up. Sturges’s fight with Paramount. Disappointing grosses on Wilson. De Havilland taking Jack to court over her suspension. Would there be a strike? Paramount having a record year. But so was everybody. Knock wood. There seemed to be no one from the outside at all. The aircraft factories in Northridge, the oil companies downtown, shipping offices in Long Beach-all the rest of the new, rich city was somewhere else, at gentile dinners in Pasadena, maybe, or out at the movies. Rosemary Miller had just arrived, giving Sol a showy hug, careful not to muss her lipstick, then a broad smile to the rest of the group. Because it seemed to be her time-even Jack Warner had heard-and people were coming over to her, after all those parties where nobody had even noticed her.

“I’d better say something to Marion,” Liesl said. “Who’s that looking at you?”

Ben followed her gaze. “Bunny, the one I told you about. He runs things.”

She patted his arm. “Then be nice. I won’t be long.”

She moved away before Bunny reached him.

“Who was that?” he said, his eyes following her, intrigued.

“Liesl Kohler.”

“His wife?” he said, slightly addled. “You brought her? You might have said.”

“She’s allowed to go out. Why? Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just that all the seating’s been-well, never mind,” he said, stopping. “I’ve put you next to Paulette. Since you’re such old pals.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, that’s your left. Right you’ve got a relative of Sol’s. Fay’s actually. Genia, hard g. Markowitz. Polish. But lived in Berlin. Sol asked. She doesn’t speak much English, and I gather you can speak German,” he said, his voice rising at the end, a question.

“I was brought up there. Partly, anyway.”

“That’s right, the father. Quite a life. More interesting by the day.”

“And that’s just my childhood.”

Bunny smiled, enjoying the play, a kind of volley.

“Often the most interesting part,” he said. “ Mine was.”

“God. Rex Morgan?” Ben said, distracted by a tall man near the corner. “I haven’t seen him since I was a kid. He’s not still a cowboy. He must be-”

“Real estate. Glendale. You’d be surprised how many people want to live there.”

“His pictures were Continental?” Ben said, still trying to explain his being here.

“Every one. Locations out in Simi Valley. His ranch now. He bought it eventually.”

“So he and Lasner are old friends.”

“Well, that. And he owns a piece. Of the company. He came through in ’thirty when the banks wouldn’t. Mr. L got through the crunch and Rex got eight percent,” he said simply, the details of the business like a file at his fingertips.

There was a burst of laughter near the door.

“Wonderful. Jack’s here. Telling jokes.”

“You often have the competition over?”

“He’s the reason for the party.”

“It’s not just dinner?”

“It’s never just dinner.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“The Honorable Kenneth T. Minot.” He looked at Ben. “Our congressman. He and Jack need to meet.”

“Why?”

“His district takes in Burbank. Jack’s in Burbank. They should know each other. Mr. L thinks he might be useful with the consent decree.” He caught Ben’s puzzled expression. “The Justice Department issued a consent decree, before the war, to separate the studios and the theaters. Force separate ownership. A disaster for us. Nobody wanted to do anything while the war was on-kick us while we were being so helpful- but now it’s over, they’re acting up again so we’re trying to put a stop to it. Minot’s been friendly.”

“But Continental doesn’t own theaters, does it?”

“But Jack does. And we have a distribution agreement with him. This goes through, everybody suffers.”

“Warner doesn’t know his own congressman?” Ben said. “A studio that size-”

“Wrong party. Jack’s funny that way. After Yankee Doodle, he thought Roosevelt was a personal friend. But it’s time he met more people.”

“Across the aisle.”

“We don’t care where they sit as long as they get the decree squashed.”

“And he gets?”

Bunny raised his eyebrows. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Ben looked around the room again. All this extravagance to arrange a meeting. Rosemary was near the piano now, chatting with Alexis Smith. Ann Sheridan had gone over to greet the Warners. It occurred to Ben suddenly that the stars had been brought in to dress the room, like eye-catching centerpieces. They were all under contract to Continental or Warners-maybe Lasner and Jack had simply ordered them up. He wondered if there were a studio pecking order, Bette Davis having earned the right to pass, Cagney beyond this kind of thing. Only Paulette was with another studio, but she was a friend, happy to sparkle for old times’ sake.

“Well, he’s here,” Bunny said, looking toward the door. “The Honorable. Ken to his friends.”

Minot was sandy-haired, younger than Ben had expected, with an athlete’s build already filling in, about to turn soft. There was a pleasant-looking woman on his arm, a little dismayed at the dazzle of the party about to swallow her up.