Lasner looked over at Bunny. “You really have a feeling about her?”
Ben sat still, fascinated, the moment suddenly important. A feeling about her. Not Brecht’s factory, a casino, as imprecise as a white ball spinning round a wheel. Lasner sighed, a moment of theater, then lowered his voice.
“Standard options. And you have to do something about the name. What are you going to call her?”
“Linda. It’s close. You like ‘Linda Eastman’? Her name means Eastman in German.”
“Now you speak German?”
“Enough to know that.”
Ben sat up. Enough to make a telephone call? But why would he?
“Where’d you find her?”
“At your house. She was at the dinner for Minot. With Ben Collier.”
“Collier? Oh, Otto’s kid. What, he’s screwing her?”
“His brother’s wife.”
“The one who-”
Ben cleared his throat, announcing himself. Both men turned. Bunny touched a switch on his armrest console to raise the lights.
“You’re there all this time?” Lasner said. “Like a spook?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt. I just wanted to see how she did.”
“Dailies are by invitation,” Bunny said, frosty. “Anything you hear stays in this room, understood?”
“It’s all right,” Lasner said, patting Bunny’s arm. “He’s with the studio.”
“He’s also a relative.”
“So when’s that a crime? This whole business is relatives.” He got up, facing Ben. “What’s the matter? You look funny.”
“Nothing,” Ben said, also getting up. “Just seeing someone you know up there.”
“What did you think?” Lasner said, walking up the aisle.
“Don’t ask me-I’m family. Bunny’s the expert,” he said, a peace offering. “The scene with Marshall. Did they improvise the lines or-”
“Improvise,” Bunny said, rolling his eyes. “On a test.”
The words a coincidence, then, but not the face.
“Bunny’s looking for a nice girl,” Lasner said, a tease. “A Bergman.”
“She’s the biggest thing in pictures, Sol. Nice, but something underneath.”
“What, underneath? She’s playing a nun.”
“One picture. You want to borrow her for Dick? It’s a fortune and you won’t even notice him. Somebody new, it looks like he’s pulling her. And we go into production right away.” Making a case.
Lasner hesitated, for effect, then nodded. “One week for Hecht. And no color.”
“No color,” Bunny agreed. “It’s not a musical.”
Lasner glanced up. “Sam come to you yet? About the musical? Now he’s telling me she can sing, the new skirt. As if he would knowanother Pasternak. He hears her humming on his dick, he thinks it’s a musical. A Bar Mitzvah coming up and he’s playing around with that. Well, Sam.”
Bunny had been watching Lasner’s face, scanning a page.
“You want me to put her in something right away,” he said flatly.
“She’s busy, maybe Sam doesn’t think we’re Metro.”
Bunny looked at him, then put a folder of notes under his arm. “I’ll find something.”
“How long does it last with Sam anyway?” Lasner said, but Bunny had begun to usher them out, moving on.
“The first contract’s always boiler plate,” he said to Ben.
“Don’t worry, she’ll sign. She wants this.”
“Everybody wants this,” Bunny said simply, turning to him, explaining something to a child. “Everybody in the world.”
By the time Ben had finished copying the guest list, Bunny’s secretary had finally gone. He put the list back on her desk, then, an impulse, went through to Bunny’s office and glanced around the room, a more careful look than on that first rushed morning. Wood paneling, barrel chairs with metal trim, but none of the personal effects that usually filled shelves, no photographs of Bunny as a child star, no leather-bound favorite scripts-nothing, in fact, but the business of Continental, filing cabinets and in-boxes filled with waiting papers. It was as if his former life had receded with his hairline, leaving the front office to Mr. Jenkins.
He walked over to the desk and ran his eye down the open calendar, tomorrow’s page crowded with appointments and reminders, as detailed and inflexible as a shooting schedule. He glanced up quickly to make sure he was still alone, then flipped back to Monday. Another full page, ending with Rosemary’s wrap party and Rushes with L, the usual last entry. Except he hadn’t stayed to watch them. Ben remembered him standing outside the sound stage, on his way somewhere, Lasner annoyed later when he couldn’t be found. Where? Just out of curiosity, Ben estimated the time between Bunny’s leaving and Lasner getting the police call. How long to the Palisades? Forty minutes, even with the wet roads, maybe less. He could easily have been there. But why would he be? He wasn’t someone in her past, like Danny. He’d probably helped arrange to bring her over. Why ask now for a secret meeting? Still, hadn’t Lorna thought at first the call was from the studio?
When he got home he found Liesl in the screening room, watching one of the Partners movies. The light pouring through the open door had startled her, someone caught in a guilty pleasure.
“You know this one?” she said. “ Car Trouble? It’s from life, when our car broke down. In Laguna. They’re all from life. I never realized before. I never paid attention. The premiere, all you can think about is the audience, do they like it? But he took everything from life.”
Their life, the one they had together.
“I’ll let you finish,” he said, backing away.
“No, turn it off. It’s enough. I just wanted to see you. What you were like. Well, what he thought you were like,” she said, her voice offhand, plausible.
“And how was I?” he said, moving to the projection room.
“Serious. A great believer in justice,” she said, playing with it.
He switched off the projector and raised the lights.
“What made you run it?” he said, coming back. “You weren’t trying to see me. Eddie’s not me.”
“You don’t think so?” she said, an evasive shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe for Daniel. Maybe I wanted to see what was on his mind. You tell me things-you make me think I never knew him. So who was he?”
“Any answers?”
“No. Maybe in the one he didn’t make.” She nodded to the box Republic had sent over.
He picked a script out of the box.
“You’re late again,” she said.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said with a sly smile. “They liked the test.”
“Yes?” she said, lifting her head, alert.
“Lasner, Bunny. They liked it.”
“Tell me,” she said, excited. “What did they say?”
“Get an agent.”
“Yes? They want to make a contract? Well, Kohner, I can call him,” she said, suddenly practical. “He knows my father. They really liked it?”
“Bunny wants to give you a buildup.”
“A buildup,” she said, translating it.
“Publicity.”
“Oh, to make me a movie star,” she said, skeptical. “With my accent. Daniel said it was impossible. With my accent.”
“Times change. He sees you as a war bride. Dick Marshall’s.”
Her eyes widened. “His wife? It’s a real part?”
Ben nodded. “Also his girlfriend. Off screen. At least at Ciro’s, places they take pictures.”
“They can do that?”
“It’s a personal services contract. That’s part of the service.”
“Oh, will you be jealous?” she said, coming over to him, putting her hands on his arms.
“That depends what happens after,” he said, playing along.
“That’s not in the contract, too, is it?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said, reaching her hand up to his neck. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
She smiled, her whole body warm against him, eyes darting across his face, just the way they had when she said, “I don’t care.” And suddenly he didn’t care, either. Maybe it was always acting. He thought of the girls in Germany-there’d been no pretense there, a warm mouth for a few cigarettes. No one thought of sex in the back of a jeep as making love, just something you did while you waited to go home, to real intimacy, a cry that wasn’t fake. Her eyes moved over him now, the way they had in the test, but did that make it any less real? He was already hard, wanting to be seduced, wanting the touch that reached inside you, when the eyes were only for you, the way it was in the movies.