“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.