Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“So they can lay me out in the club car? We’re almost there.”

It was a two-chair drawing room, top of the line, the settee already extended and made up, crisp white sheets folded over at the head. Ben lay him down, taking off his tie, his shoes, then suddenly went shy, not ready to draw the pants off the bird-like legs.

“Dopp kit,” Lasner said, pointing to the bathroom.

Ben rummaged through the leather case and pulled out a brown pill bottle. Hillcrest Pharmacy. As needed. He splashed some water in a glass.

“These?”

Lasner took two, then lay back, half closing his eyes, as if he expected instant results. Ben stood for a minute, helpless, then put the water down next to Lasner and went to the door.

“I’ll find a doctor.”

“I don’t need-”

“I’ll be right back,” Ben said, ignoring him.

“No porters,” Lasner said, raising his voice so Ben could hear it after he closed the door.

But, in fact, how could he find a doctor without one? Another story, a sick wife, the porter too polite to contradict.

By the time he got the doctor back to the compartment the pills seemed to have had some effect. Lasner’s breathing was deeper, pushing some color back into his face. The doctor glanced with a quick nod at the pill bottle and took out a stethoscope at the same time. “There still some pain?” He reached into the shirt, placing the metal disc on Lasner’s chest.

“Not as much.”

“This happen before? Must have, if you have these.” He nodded again at the pills. “And you kept walking around? Don’t you know better than that?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re lucky.” He leaned over, listening more carefully.

“With doctors,” Lasner said. “It’s like lawyers? It’s all private?”

“You should be in a hospital. To be on the safe side. I can ask them to stop the train,” he said, glancing out at the open prairie, “or wait until we get to Kansas City. We can wire ahead, have things ready.”

Lasner shook his head. “Carry me out? In front of the Morris office? No.”

“What’s he talking about?” the doctor said to Ben.

“Nothing,” Ben said, not bothering. “Is he really in danger?”

“He could be.”

“Listen to me,” Lasner said, his voice steady. “I know what this is. It gets better, or it doesn’t. You ride it out. What are they going to do in a hospital? Put me in bed. I’m in bed.”

“Well, I can’t take the responsibility then,” the doctor said, sounding so exactly like George Brent that for an instant, thrown, Ben almost laughed.

“Kohler will keep an eye on me,” Lasner said.

The doctor sighed. “Anyway, you’re not in bed. Here, give me a hand, will you?”

“What do I do?” Ben said to the doctor as they undressed the head of Continental Pictures. The stork legs, just as imagined. Boxer shorts. The suit hung up neatly. Wispy gray hair laid back against the propped pillows.

“Nothing. He’s right about that. You ride it out. Just keep him quiet. I’ll check in again in the morning.” He wagged his finger at Lasner. “Stay in bed. Or they will carry you out in Kansas City.” He turned back to Ben. “I’ll leave these,” he said, handing him a small envelope with pills. “In case he can’t sleep. If it gets bad again, you know where to find me.” He picked up a cigar from the standing ashtray. “Wonderful,” he said to Lasner, “just what you need.” Another Brent line, shaking his head as he left.

“Fascist,” Lasner said when the door closed. “They’re all fascists.”

Ben looked at him for a second, then dropped into one of the chairs, drained, holding on to the armrests to calm his hands.

“What’s the matter, I give you a scare?” Lasner said, a faint smile now on his face.

“It’s not funny. You should do what he says. Get off in Kansas City.”

“He’s just covering his ass. If I’m going to peg out, I’ll do it at Cedars. Here’s what we do. Kansas City, that’s two twenty-two.” Ben looked over at him, impressed again. On schedule. “We get five minutes there, not enough to call and get through. Anyway, that hour she’s asleep. So send an overnight. Are you getting this? There’s some paper over there. Tell Fay to meet the train in Pasadena. Not downtown. Pasadena’s eight thirty-five. She always forgets. And tell her to bring Rosen. Then another wire to Jenkins at the studio, tell him not to meet the train. Tell him Fay’s meeting me. Otherwise, he’ll start calling people.”

“Anything else?” Ben said, playing secretary. “You’re not supposed to be talking, you know.”

“I’m not supposed to be breathing, either,” he said, but his voice was softer, winding down. “Don’t forget the wires, okay? The address is in my wallet.”

“I’d better go. Let you get some rest.”

“No, sit. Sit. Stick around,” Lasner said, trying to sound casual.

Ben turned off the overhead, leaving just a small side lamp and the faint light from the sky outside. The land below was already dark, anonymous.

“At least till Kansas City. Make sure they don’t take me off. Okay?” he said, asking something else.

“Okay,” Ben said, taking a chair and turning it so that he was facing both Lasner and the window. A clean horizon line, flat, the dark beginning to take over the sky, too. He lit a cigarette, watching the red tip glow in the window reflection.

“You want something to eat? We can have something brought.”

“No, I’m fine. Go to sleep.”

“Who could sleep now. You just wonder if you’ll wake up.” But he half closed his eyes.

Ben said nothing, listening to the wheels.

“Talk to me,” Lasner said after a while, still there.

“What did you mean about the porters? Who tips them?”

“The columns. Hedda. Polly Marks. All of them.” Polly, not Paulette.

“What for?”

“Items. Who’s in whose compartment. Who got tossed out of the bar. Who’s on the train. You know, N.Y. to L.A. Everybody meets the Chief.”

“Like the boats in New York,” Ben said, looking at the land outside, now as black as the night sea. Soon they would cross the Mississippi, something out of books. “And you don’t want them to know. What does it matter? I mean, what if Katz sees you? Any of them?”

Lasner said nothing for a minute, then grunted. “You’re not in pictures. You don’t know the first thing about it. Not the first goddam thing.”

Ben sat back in the chair, waiting for more, but Lasner was quiet, drifting. When he spoke again even his voice had changed, pitched to a different role.

“You know how I got started?”

“How?” Ben said, the expected response.

“Fourteenth Street. On the east side, near Third.”

Ben looked over, surprised to start with an address. But Lasner was smiling to himself, his voice stronger, buoyed up by memory, as if the past, already known, could steady his irregular heart.

“By Luchow’s, where the cheap beer gardens were. Next to one of them there’s a dry goods store. Like a shoe box, you know, just a long counter, some drawers for notions. Lousy space for retail, long, but at night they clear the counter and put a projector in. There’s a sheet at the end of the room. For this the space is perfect. So, a nickel. On benches. The first time, I’ll never forget it. I didn’t even have English yet. Just off the boat, and I’m sitting there laughing like everybody else. An American. This thing — I thought, here is something so wonderful, everybody will want it. A nickel. You couldn’t move in the place. I wonder sometimes what if I hadn’t gone in, on Fourteenth Street. But you know what? I would have gone in somewhere else.”

“And after that you wanted to make pictures?”