“That was careless. What’s in the desk?”
“Nothing. Papers. Desk stuff.”
“No idea what they were looking for?”
“That’s why I called the Bureau.”
“Yeah. All right. I’ll take care of it. Where are you, the studio? That’s Gower. You know Lucey’s on Melrose? By Paramount. Six? But I’m telling you now, it’s locks.”
The red light was on so Ben waited, leaning against the sound stage wall, his head still full of the Artkino footage. In the street, two Japanese pilots were sharing a smoke, probably on their way to dive-bomb Dick Marshall. The casually surreal world Hal thought everyone wanted. “What, have you got a girl back over there or something?” he’d said, not able to let it go. No, here. Ben smiled to himself. A mermaid. Waiting at home. Danny’s home.
The red light flicked off and he heard the buzzer inside, unlocking the doors. What would Rosemary say? Why would she say anything? A girl on her way up, dancing with Ty Power at the Mocambo. She’d want to shed Danny, any B-list affair, like molted skin.
Ben stepped in, facing the backs of some painted flats, then walked around to the interior of the set, still drenched in hot light. A nightclub with an orchestra stage and a bar at the side, now being set up for a tracking shot. Gaffers were making adjustments in the overheads, angling away from the mirror behind the bar. The extras, in suits and evening dresses, were still sitting at the club tables, waiting to be told to start talking again. Rosemary, in a tight dress, was leaning back against a slant board to keep the skirt from creasing, while a makeup girl ran a comb over her hair, patting it gently into place. Rosemary didn’t move. When the girl stepped aside, leaving her alone against the board, she seemed for a minute like an oil painting propped on an easel.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, coming up to her. “We didn’t get a chance to talk at dinner.”
“No,” she said, wary, but not surprised to see him.
“Ready in two, darling,” the assistant director said, passing them.
“We’re in the middle of a scene,” she said to Ben.
“You all right with the gun?” the AD said.
She nodded, glancing at the gun on the table beside her. Make a leap, before she can react.
“Danny told me a lot about you.”
Eyes cornered now, but meeting his, not backing away.
“Yes?” Noncommittal, waiting.
“We were close. He could tell me things,” he said, wondering if a lie showed in your face.
She looked at him, still waiting.
“Just me,” he said, a reassurance.
She stared for another second, then raised her eyebrow. “Well, that puts you one up. He never told me anything. It turns out,” she said, her voice sarcastic but warm, as if bad behavior were a bond between them, something they should have expected.
“How do you mean?”
“I always believe it. I always think, okay, this time I’m not going to listen, and then I do. I guess you like to think-you’re the only one. So that’s what you hear.”
“He never told me about anyone else,” Ben said, trying it, another fly cast.
“Just me, huh? Well, so there’s that. Look, I don’t know what to say to you. Is there a script for this? I mean-his brother. It’s a relief in a way, I guess. That somebody knows. One day you think you’re-” She stopped, looking down. “And the next day you’re not supposed to exist. You can’t go to the funeral. Upset anyone. So what do I say? I’m sorry for your loss? Well, I’m sorry for mine, too, but nobody’s going to say it to me.”
“I’ll say it to you.”
“Thanks,” she said, stopped by this. “Well. So now what?”
“I want to talk to you about him.”
“Why? Warn me off? Before it gets out of hand? Before the wife finds out? A little late now. Anyway, she knows. I could tell. Was that you?”
He shook his head. “Not Danny, either. A hunch, I guess. Maybe you told her, the way you acted with her.”
“Yeah, and maybe it was that big A on my back.” She looked up at him, amused. “Your face. I played the part in stock. You’re right, though. I never read the book. So what do you want to talk about?”
“Were you there the night he fell?”
“What?” she said, a place holder, caught off guard.
“With him.”
“With him? You think he’d do that with me there? It’s the kind of thing you do alone.”
“Somebody was there. Or expected. Maybe you were on your way?”
She looked at him carefully. “What’s this all about?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to find out how it happened.”
“Who to blame, you mean. You think I wanted this?” She shook her head. “Why would I? I thought we were- I was silly about him. Huh. That’s the first time I’ve said that. Even to myself.” She looked away. “Whatever it means. He said it, and it turns out it didn’t mean much. No, I wasn’t there. Must have been somebody else on the call sheet.” She turned back to him. “You think it was because of me? Is that what you want to know? Maybe I should be flattered. But I wasn’t anything special to him. I know that now. What did he tell you, when you were so buddy-buddy? What did he say about me? Besides being an easy lay.”
“Places!” the AD yelled.
“He said you were nice.”
“Oh,” she said softly, surprised, her eyes suddenly moist. “If you ruin this scene for me, I’ll kill you.” She got off the slant board, checking her dress, and picked up the gun, then turned to him. “Nice? That’s not a word he’d use.”
“Maybe I said it.” He nodded to the gun. “Who are you going to shoot?”
The makeup girl came back for a last brush of powder.
“My lover. I’m jealous.” She met his eyes.
“People! Are we going to wrap today or not? Places. Monica, stick that puff somewhere. All right, here we go.”
The buzzer sounded. The director, looking through the viewfinder on the tracking camera, signaled for the clapper. Rosemary’s lover, an actor Ben didn’t know, turned from his drink and started walking down the length of the bar into the moving camera.
“You think you can, but you can’t,” he said, looking from her to the gun.
Rosemary’s hand shook, her eyes beginning to tear up.
“You love me,” the actor said with a sneer.
“I hate you,” Rosemary said, the words pulled out of her.
“Then shoot,” he said easily, still coming toward her.
He froze as the shot exploded, then grabbed his stomach in astonishment and dropped to the floor. Rosemary kept holding the gun out, then lowered her arm, her shoulders shaking.
“Cut,” the director said. “Nice. Let’s get one for safety.”
They did it twice more, then broke to change the set-ups for Rosemary’s reaction shots.
“We’re almost there,” the director said to Rosemary. “The payoff shot. Remember, you still love him.”
“Even while I’m plugging him,” she said wryly.
“And I want to see it right here,” he said, pointing to her eyes. “Watch the dress.”
She stepped back against the slant board.
“That was good,” Ben said.
“It’s always good until you see it.”
“We can talk later if you-”
“They’ll be ten minutes,” she said. “You want to know why he did it? So do I. Don’t you think I’ve asked myself a million times? I never thought there was anything wrong. Maybe one of his other friends didn’t show and he got all upset. I don’t know. Me? All he’d have had to do was pick up the phone.”
“He was seeing someone else?”
“He must have been. Why else would he have the place? We never went there. Well, once-I had somebody staying with me. We used mine. Sometimes little trips. Santa Barbara, the Biltmore. He was romantic like that.” Her voice thickened. “La Valencia, down in La Jolla. Places.”
“But not the Cherokee.”
“Just the once. He said it was a friend’s place. He borrowed it because we couldn’t use any of the hotels-the columns watch. And then I read in the paper that it was his. So there must have been somebody else, without a place. Maybe more than one, who knows? That hurt a little. You like to think- But why should I be surprised? What did I think I was? Someone he saw like that. On the side. Call it romanticoh, La Valencia. But you know what it is. It didn’t seem that way, though, at the time. It was-nice.”