Joseph Kanon - Stardust

He saw them before he heard them, two shadows followed by the sound of footsteps, clunky, not furtive. He pulled back in, banging his shoulder, and listened. Closer. Then Frank was back in the hallway, alert.

“Congressman,” he said.

“Thought you were catching forty winks somewhere,” Minot said, genial.

“No, just helping next door. Little lady forgot something.”

Could Liesl hear or would she blunder out into the hall?

Ben slid his hand toward the knob, turning the lock quietly, hoping the sound would disappear under Frank’s voice. If it were open, Minot would wonder. He looked toward the window, frantic. Too late to fiddle with the sash lock. Under a desk? Did Liesl think he was already gone? But what choice would she have, once she’d got her papers? A new voice now, Minot’s guest. The shadows were larger against the glass. Another look around the office. Nobody hid under desks, something out of Mack Sennett. Minot was taking out his key. Ben tiptoed away from the door. Next to the filing cabinets there was a supply closet, not a real closet with a door you could close, just shelves covered by an accordion screen. He wedged himself behind, his back flush against the shelves, trying not to move anything.

“This won’t take a minute,” Minot said, opening the door. He flicked on the overhead light.

Ben glanced to his left-did he make a shadow?

“But I did promise. And you know people-think nobody’s busy but them.”

“I can imagine,” Bunny said.

Ben went still, his mind racing, almost jumping again when the phone rang.

“That’ll be him,” Minot said, picking up and talking, the words bunching together, slipping past Ben, just business.

A meeting with Bunny arranged by whom? Minot just another union, another negotiation? Bunny was walking around the room, politely distancing himself from Minot’s call. Maybe looking out toward the hall, where Liesl would be any minute. But she’d see the lights, realize people were here. Ben imagined her in the hall, being swept down toward the back door by her own story-she had the papers, why stay? Her voice now, to Frank. Don’t say any more. If he could hear it, Bunny could.

“You’re a peach,” she said. “You saved my life.”

Distinct to him, or was he the only one listening, Bunny preoccupied? Then the sound of her heels.

“Everything okay, Congressman?” Frank said, his head in the door.

Minot nodded and waved him off. Now he’d follow, let her out, and she’d go to her car, expecting to find Ben, alarmed when she didn’t. Don’t come back.

“Sorry about that,” Minot was saying. “Now where- Ginny was supposed to leave- Here it is.” Ben heard the ruffle of paper. “We can talk more in the car.”

“I think I know what you need. You understand, our records aren’t anything like this.” Ben imagined him waving to the cabinets.

“No, these are the best anybody has, thanks to Jack Tenney.”

“It’s understood that Mr. L won’t be called,” Bunny said.

“I see no reason for that at this juncture,” Minot said, oddly formal.

“He’s not Mayer. No real press value for you. And the studio heads might see it as an attack, close ranks.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

“Besides, I’m not sure he really understands what this is about.” He dropped his voice. “He’s out of it. That’s understood.”

“He hired Schaeffer,” Minot said.

“So did Zanuck. Anyway,” he said, switching tack, “who talks to writers? People on the set, not the front office. We can help you there. What kind of charges are you going to bring?”

“Charges? This isn’t a criminal trial. I’m not looking to send anybody to jail. Takes time and then you make martyrs out of them. Of course, if he perjures himself-but I doubt that, don’t you? Especially with all the corroborating testimony. Schaeffer’s a Commie and he knows we know. I don’t want to put him away, I just want everybody to know he’s there. Anyway, the public isn’t going to care about Schaeffer. They’ll want-” He stopped, evidently aware that he was saying more than he needed.

“Actors,” Bunny finished. “Stars.”

“Well, let’s just say people they know. Not necessarily Reds. Maybe just people who are as concerned as we are. Friends.”

“I understand,” Bunny said, interrupting him. “Faces for the newsreels.”

“Well, just so we do understand each other,” Minot said, annoyed. “How mutual interests work. The studios. The committee. We want to be on the same side here. As I say, I’m not looking to put people in jail. I’m expecting the studios to do their own police work. You wouldn’t want one working for you, would you?”

There was a pause. “Not even a suspected one,” Bunny said quietly, taking this in.

“That’s right. And once people know the studios feel this way, that it’s about their jobs, I think we’ll have a whole different situation. You fire one, everybody sits up. They’ll know it’s not going to be tolerated. Not in American movies. You don’t want to employ people who are against everything you stand for. You get together on this, hell, you could put the committee out of business.”

“Their jobs,” Bunny said. “Then why not give us names. We can take care of it before you have to call them. Saves expense.”

“Maybe in time. But right now-I don’t have to tell you about the value of publicity to get things rolling. That’s mother’s milk to you people.”

“Preview of coming attractions.”

“That’s right. We understand each other?”

For a minute Ben heard only the clock ticking.

“Mr. L is out of it,” Bunny said. “And the union contract?”

“That’s not in my gift. But I can promise that Mr. Stein will be otherwise occupied. That should help things along. Funny how they’re always Jews, isn’t it? Well, I have to get going. Do me a favor, will you, and reach behind? Get me an envelope for this? There should be a box of manilas in there.”

Ben fixed his eyes on the edge of the screen. What an animal must feel, he thought, finally outrun, trapped, a rush of blood to the head, then an eerie stillness, everything stopped, waiting. A hand, then a body blocking the light, Bunny turning. Ben reared back, flattening himself against the shelves, as if he could disappear, out of Bunny’s startled gaze. He expected Bunny to jump but instead he put his hand to the shelf, maybe to steady himself, still staring. A second passed, then another, neither of them making a sound, so that of all the things racing through Ben’s mind, what stuck was Bunny’s control, a will stronger than shock. And then it was too late for him to say anything, the moment over, both thinking, not breathing, trapped by each other.

“The door slides,” Minot said. “They’re back there somewhere.”

Maybe coming to help. Ben made his eyes go to the shelf beside him, a direction, then repeated it, like a flashing light.

“I see it,” Bunny said, reaching to the box on the shelf, his hand grazing Ben’s shoulder, complicit now by his silence, suddenly Ben’s protector. They looked at each other, a whole exchange without words, beyond the obvious question.

“I’ll have Andy drop you home,” Minot was saying, his voice sounding closer.

“No, the studio,” Bunny said, still looking at Ben. “I have a meeting. Somebody I need to see.” His voice now pitched directly at Ben, unmistakable. He took the envelope, then pulled the accordion screen closed, hiding Ben. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to Minot, and it was only then Ben heard the first waver, Bunny’s nerves finally engaged, not wanting Minot to know.

“This late? Well, I know how that is. Come on, I’ll get you back. I feel good about this. I think we got something done tonight.”