“Or dead.”
“Yes. You know my name, the character? Maria. No Saras here, either. Like Goebbels.”
“I thought they were making you Dutch,” he said back to the mirror.
“No, they want the ruins. So when I see his mother’s house-”
He put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to kiss her neck.
“Don’t,” she said, moving forward. “I’ll have to do the makeup all over again. It took hours.”
“To look like this? Not even lipstick?”
“It’s the hardest, Connie says. To look natural.”
He brushed his hand down the back of her hair. “It’s good to see you.”
She looked down. “Maybe it’s good. It gives us time to think.”
“About what?”
She looked at him in the mirror for a moment, then let it go.
“I don’t know,” she said, getting up and turning, so that now they were facing each other.
“How’s Dick Marshall?”
“The perfect gentleman.” She put her hand on his chest, holding him in place. “Not like you.”
“How about I come for a swim?”
She shook her head, still holding him back, their faces close. “He’s taking me to the Grove.”
“After.”
“After I sleep. The camera picks it up. If your skin-”
“There’s nothing wrong with your skin,” he said, moving closer.
“Not here,” she said, pushing her hand against him.
“I can come late. Leave early,” he said, his face almost on hers.
“Don’t,” she said again.
“No one would know.” When she didn’t answer, he waited for another second, then stepped back. “If that’s it,” he said, his voice ironic. He moved away, leaving it, but she reached for his arm, pulling him back.
“Maybe it’s best. For now.”
He stopped still, just looking, trying to read her expression. Could eyes be trained, like voices?
“I wish I knew what you wanted,” he said quietly.
She returned his look, then let her hand drop, moving away from him.
“I wish I knew that, too.” She went back over to the mirror, a final check. “I have to go. They’ll be ready. You, too. Before anyone sees.” She patted her hair. “I have to meet the sister.”
He glanced at his watch, shifting moods with her. “And I have a meeting. Lasner keeps asking me to meetings.”
“He likes you.”
“I think he does it to needle Bunny. All right,” he said, moving to the door. “Do I go first or do you want me to sneak out after you’ve gone?”
“You think it’s a joke. People look for that.”
“By the way, what I came for? Did Danny know a man called MacDonald?”
She thought for a second. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I came across his name in some papers.”
“What papers?”
“It doesn’t matter. Papers. He never mentioned a MacDonald?”
“No. That’s what you came for? More Daniel.”
“You’re sure?” he said, ignoring this.
“I don’t know. One name, all those years. How would I remember? MacDonald? Like the man on the farm?”
Ben nodded, waiting.
“I don’t think so.” She looked up. “I wish you would stop with this business.”
“When I know.”
“How? Who’s going to tell you? Daniel?”
“Maybe.”
“From the grave. You keep him alive, with all this. Here,” she said, touching her head, then turned and closed the script, her back to him. “It feels like cheating.”
He said nothing, looking into the mirror.
“Maybe that’s what I want,” she said. “Two in the room, not three.”
“I only see two,” Ben said.
He was early for the scheduling meeting. With only one project to manage there was no real need for him to be there at all, but Lasner had insisted, another mark of favor the other line producers took in with nervous wait-and-see glances. Only Sam Pilcer, an old hand at musical chairs, seemed not to care. They were waiting in the conference room next to Lasner’s office, where Bunny had set up a television, the first Ben had actually seen outside magazines. On the small glass screen a clown was performing.
“Again with this,” Lasner said to Bunny.
“Just look at it.”
“Look at what?”
“Found money.”
Lasner waved this off. “You’re like Freeman at Paramount. Remember he set up that Kraut? Right before the war?”
“Klaus Landsberg,” Bunny said. “And what? Two years, minimal investment, and he takes it on the air. W6XYZ. What you’re watching now,” he said, catching Lasner’s puzzled expression. “It’s not an experiment anymore, Sol. The only question is how fast they can make them. Last four years, they’ve all been working for the government. Every electronics company in the country. Army contracts. Now watch. They can start turning these out.”
“To watch this? Clowns.”
“No, Rex Morgan. The Silver Bullet series.”
“That’s ten, fifteen years old.”
“And just sitting there in the warehouse. Pictures nobody’s going to run again. And here’s a new exhibitor. With all day to fill. Why not with Rex? I’m telling you, found money. No prints. No advertising. No overhead. Aunt Tillie just died and left you a little something. Say thank you and cash the check.”
“What kind of money can something like that pay?”
“Not much now,” Bunny said. “But it’s bottom line to us, all of it. Right now we’re making nothing on Rex, just paying storage.”
But Lasner was only half listening, staring at the wooden box, eyes narrowing in thought, and Ben wondered for a moment if he was back in the dry goods store on Fourteenth Street, the fuzzy lines behind the glass just like the jerky figures of light on the tacked-up sheet.
“Of course, the real money,” Bunny was saying, “is going to be in production. But that’s down the road.”
“This is going to be the new pictures?”
“Nobody’s saying that.”
“People say it-I hear it. And we’re going to hand over Continental product for a few bucks? Cut our own throats? Let them stick with the clowns, see how far they get.”
“B product. Old B product.”
“And you said production.”
“It’s getting harder with the B’s, Sol, you know that. If they take away the block booking, we’re going to have a problem on our hands. We’re not Metro.”
“And you don’t see Mayer making clown shows, either.” He looked again at the set. “Where are the kids going to neck?”
“In the balcony. At the movies. That’s not going to change. Not with A product anyway.”
“I know, I know. More A’s. You keep saying.”
Bunny made a little nod, backing away, familiar ground. “It’ll never be pictures,” he said. “But maybe the new radio.”
“We’re not in the radio business.”
“No, the hotel business. It’s about turning over rooms,” Bunny said, spreading his arm to take in the lot outside. “Every time one of those stages is empty, we’re losing money. Sam’s going to wrap next week. Stage Seven,” he said, including Pilcer. “Then we’re dark two weeks until Greg does the interiors on Abilene.”
“Move River House from Five,” Lasner said. “They haven’t built the porch set yet. Then you’ve got Five for a longer shoot. Harry, you wanted six weeks, right?”
Ben listened, interested, the whole scheduling meeting already worked out in their heads.
“We can, yes,” Bunny said to Sol. “But the point is, you’re going to have some off weeks. So why not use the room, not waste it?”
“Bunny, we’re not just talking square feet here.” He looked again at the television. “The money’s not there yet,” he said flatly, as if he’d just run through the expense sheet.
“No, not yet.”
“And I should set up a new Second Unit,” Lasner said to Pilcer. “I think he enjoys it, giving me grief.” He turned to Bunny. “You got something, though, with the Silver Bullet s. What the hell. Get one of these for Rex, he can watch himself all day. Fees, right? Not sales. Just another exhibitor.”
“Fees,” Bunny said, a handshake.
“He keeps an eye out for you, Sol,” Pilcer said.