“This was eight years ago,” Hal said.
“All right, we’ll bring things closer to the present day, if you prefer. You know the public record’s a useful thing. Memory can play tricks on us, but when you’ve got something down in black and white—I’m thinking now about a paid ad in the Los Angeles Times. Open letter to President Roosevelt with your name on it. Ring a bell? Organization called the Motion Picture European Relief Fund. Decent size, I guess. Whole bunch of names on the letter. Would you like to tell the committee what the fund was for?”
“To help refugees get out of Europe.”
“Get them here, in other words.”
“Here, Cuba, Mexico, whoever would take them.”
“These were Jewish refugees?”
“Not all.”
“Not all. What were you asking the president to do?”
“Change INS regulations. To allow more refugees in.”
“And did he do this?”
“No. There was congressional opposition,” Hal said, looking directly at Minot.
“Maybe they were a little uneasy, seeing who was making the request.”
“Those people died,” Hal said simply.
Even Minot paused. “Well, now I doubt that was Congress’s intention.”
“They still died.”
Minot nodded. “I think everybody here knows that, Mr. Jasper. We fought a war to stop it. All of us. But right now I’d like to look at that letter you were sending the president. Remember who was on the steering committee?”
“No.”
“You don’t. Well, like I said, have something in black and white and it comes in handy. Let me refresh your memory.” He picked up a piece of paper. “Quite a list, but I’d like to draw your attention to the S’s. Milton Schaeffer. Howard Stein.” He looked up. “Maybe this is where you met him. To shake hands.”
“What, Hal’s a Red?” Lasner said to Bunny. “Jesus Christ, this is the guy you said was going to help us?”
“Was.”
Minot was reading more of the names. “Gus Pollock. Passed away, sadly, but I’m sure you know Mr. Pollock wrote more than letters. In fact, he got a cowriter credit on Convoy.” He paused for effect. “It’s a small world, isn’t it? Mr. Schaeffer. Mr. Stein. Mr. Pollock. And of course yourself. All in the same letter. We could go on with this,” he said, raising the paper, “but I think you get the point. A small world. But you and Mr. Schaeffer never discussed any changes. A small world. But you didn’t know Mr. Stein from Adam in that street brawl.” He shook his head. “It’s quite a memory lapse we’re talking about here.” He glanced at the aide. “Why don’t we recess now for a few minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Say, fifteen. Give it some thought, Mr. Jasper. Maybe something will come back to you.”
There was a rush for the phone booths in the hall, the sound of matches being struck.
“We can go in here,” Bunny said, indicating a large room that had been set aside for witnesses and lawyers.
“I’m not going to sit around here all day,” Lasner said.
“Take it easy,” Fay said. “It’s one day.”
“If he gets around to it. We’re looking at lunch next. Then what? Forget it. I’ll be at the studio. Tell him to call me when he’s ready.”
“You can’t,” Bunny said.
“What, I’m under arrest?”
“You could be, if you leave.”
“Sit,” Fay said. “I know you like this. Sit down before you break something.”
“They have coffee,” Bunny said.
“I’m awake,” Lasner said. “So we just wait till he’s good and ready? To ask me what? Is Milt Schaeffer a Commie? He already said so. So what’s the news? And what the hell’s this about Hal’s sister? Who’s she supposed to be?”
“Rosa Luxemburg.”
“Who?”
“Nobody. He wants to play sheriff, that’s all.”
Lasner looked at him. “Sheriffs are the good guys. This isn’t right. A cutter, for chrissake. We’re supposed to protect our people.”
“He’s got four lawyers, Sol. Ours. All he has to do is be polite. Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you. And it’s over.”
“That’s our legal strategy.”
“Sol.”
“All right, all right.”
Ben watched him go over to Hal, Lasner consoling and blustery, Hal’s shoulders sagging.
“Keep an eye on him, will you?” Bunny said to Fay. “He’s not happy.”
“Because he has to roll over and play dead? He’s not good at that.”