“To exploit an industry without your being aware of it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I guess that makes two of us because you don’t know what you’re talking about, either. Are we finished here?” He scraped back his seat, getting ready to go, startling the lawyers behind him. “Because I am.”
“Mr. Lasner, with all due respect, you are testifying before a committee of the United States government. This kind of—grandstanding will not be tolerated. This is not a theater.”
“No, a circus. A congressman. I expected better from you.”
Minot flushed, as if he’d been slapped. “You are out of order, Mr. Lasner,” he said, furious, his face twisting. “This is not Continental Pictures where you can strut around, make people jump just because you say so. This committee doesn’t work for you.”
Lasner looked at him, then stood up, a move so abrupt that the committee started with alarm. Two lawyers jumped up to hold him, but Lasner brushed them away, swatting flies, all the calculated restraint gone now, jabbing his finger into the air at Minot.
“That’s just where you’re wrong. You do work for me. I learned that in civics. That’s a class you take when you first get here. From Poland. Maybe you ought to take it. You work for us. We pay you. We elect you. Once, anyway. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re off the lot.”
“Sit down,” Minot said, rising himself, both glaring at each other.
“Or what? You going to put me in jail? Is that what happens when somebody stands up to you?” He turned to the room. “We should all watch this. What happens when you stand up to these people. Maybe you’ll be next. Any of us. Anybody in pictures.” He looked back at Minot, a beat while the room waited. Even Polly had stopped writing, looking around the room, disturbed. “What happens? Or do you think everyone will be too scared to stand up?”
Minot banged the gavel again, even though the room was quiet, mesmerized.
“You are still under oath.”
“You want to know about Convoy to Murmansk?” Lasner said, almost shouting, so worked up now that the committee seemed to draw back, out of the way. “I’ll tell you. Want to know who changed it? What Commie? Me. I asked them to change it. Want to know why? I got a phone call. From the president. We need your help. We’ve got an ally doesn’t think we’re pulling our weight. We’d like to show them we know what they’re going through. A picture would be a big help. Is there anything we can do? Asking me. I had tears in my eyes. He’s calling me. It was the proudest day of my life.” He looked around, emotional, shaking a little. “The proudest day. And this? What’s the opposite? I feel—shame here. Not of this country. I’ll never feel ashamed of this country. I’m ashamed of you in it,” he said directly to Minot. “I’m ashamed anyone listens to you. I’m going to work. You want to arrest me, do it here, because you won’t get on the lot. That’s me at the gate stopping you.” He pointed to his chest and it was then that Ben noticed the film of sweat on his forehead, a white fleck of spittle in the corner of his mouth. Lasner leaned on the table with both hands, under the heat of the camera lights, almost vibrating with emotion, the same sweat and tremor Ben remembered from the train. “You want to make fun of me, go ahead. You think I ‘strut’ around? I do. I’m proud of Continental. And I’m not letting you have it. You think I don’t know what you want?” He turned to the audience. “What he wants from all of us? He wants to take over. Tell us what to make. Who to hire. Who to fire. Well, I run the studio. Me. You don’t tell me who works there. Milt,” he said, turning to him, “you looking for a job? If he doesn’t lock you up, give me a call.” He turned back to Minot. “I run Continental, not you. Go tell Warner what to do. If he has any sense, he’ll throw you out, too. You’re finished here. If I can see it, with my— what’s it? naïveté?—they can all see it. I thought this was about politics. About the good of the country. And what is it? Just another pisher wants my job. Not my studio. Not my—”
His hand went to his chest so fast that the room saw only the body slump forward, but Ben had been watching for it, waiting, so as he leaped out of his seat, pushing past the lawyers, he saw the hand clench, grabbing suit cloth, as if it could stop the pain by squeezing, then the head hitting the edge of the table as he fell over. There was a frozen moment of shock, then screams, gasps, everyone standing, beginning to surge toward him, but Ben was already there, turning Lasner over on his back, reaching into his pocket.