Stardust(15)

“The VD guy?”

Lasner smiled. “Yeah. Tell him I bet they were his crabs.”

“Sol, I mean it, no more business. I’ll walk right out of here. I’ve been worried sick. This is the second time—”

“Tell the world.”

She bit her lip, then sighed and fixed him with an or-else stare. “This isn’t a house call. I had to get him out of bed to come here. Now are you coming or what?”

He shrugged, beginning to move off, then paused and looked back to Ben. “If you need a few days, that’s okay. You know, to visit at the hospital.”


AT FIRST, scanning the crowd, all he saw were the dark glasses and thick blond hair, pinned up in a pile on her head. Then she came toward him, a smooth stride, and he recognized the woman in her photograph, the same long face as her father, the high forehead. What it hadn’t shown was the skin, a tawny cream that held the sun in it. She was in a white short-sleeved blouse, slacks, and canvas shoes, as if she’d just stepped off a tennis court.

“Liesl?” he said, peering at her.

“Yes,” she said, extending her hand. Then, “Excuse me,” taking off her sunglasses, “so rude. Sometimes I forget. So we meet.”

“How is he?”

“The same.”

“What do the doctors say?”

“He’s not responding. It’s a long time now. We’re just waiting. You understand, there’s no recovery. I don’t want you to expect—”

Her eyes, uncovered now, darted sharply, flecked with light. She seemed to be wearing no makeup at all, lips bare, not even a hint of Paulette Goddard’s glossy red, just the flush of anger or worry that made her movements jerky—handshake to questioning glance, all quick, angular. Only the voice was smooth, held a second too long in her throat, still with a trace of accent. When she said, “This is all?” nodding to his bag, he heard the rhythm of German, not quite forgotten yet.

“That’s it. I’m sorry to get you down here so early.”

“No, I was glad to get a break,” she said, colloquial, fully American now. “It’s been—” She let the phrase finish itself.

“You’re sure it’s all right? To stay? If it’s not convenient—”

“No, no,” she said, dismissing this. “We were expecting you.” Another awkward pause. “Of course later, not so soon. He was excited you were coming.”

“He was?” Ben said, unexpectedly pleased. “Then—”

He stopped before “why,” catching himself. Danny wouldn’t have thought about him, about anyone. They didn’t. Something that happened only to you.

“Yes,” she was saying. “So many years.”

“Liesl? Is that you?”

A tiny woman, teetering in high heels, was hurrying toward them from the barrier. She was wearing a suit with a matching hat, the veil thrown back, as if she didn’t want to miss anything. Behind her, trying to keep up, was a man holding a camera.

“Polly,” Liesl said, taking a step backward.

“My dear, I can’t tell you—”

“Thank you,” said Liesl, anticipating her. “This is Daniel’s brother, Ben.”

“You must be shell-shocked,” Polly said, ignoring him. “I know Herb Yates is. I talked to him.”

She spoke in a rush that was a kind of suppressed giggle and the rest of her moved with it, head turning to keep the passengers in sight, so alert that her body actually seemed to be vibrating. The effect, Ben noticed, was to make Liesl recede, wary as prey.

“Did you see the column, dear? The item about Dan? I didn’t mention the bottle. I thought, Herb has enough on his plate without—and, you know, it just gives the industry a black eye. I was never one for that.”

“No,” Liesl said, noncommittal.

“And how is that other man?” Polly said, almost winking, some sort of joke between them. “Such a shame about Central Station. Sometimes, a book like that, you wonder if it’s too rich. But he must have been disappointed.”

“Oh, I think he was grateful for the money,” Liesl said, evading.

“What is he working on now?” She stopped swiveling to look straight at Liesl, a reporter with an invisible pad.

“You know he never says.”

“But you’re his translator, dear.”

“Only at the end. When he’s finished.”

But Polly, not really interested, was looking around again. “Oh, there’s Carole Landis.”

Ben followed her look to the end of the platform where Landis, Julie Sherman, and the other girls were getting off the train. They were all back in their bond-drive dresses, as next-door as the Andrews Sisters.