Stardust(2)

What did they? Harry Cohn played poker in his suite, ignoring Paris. Everywhere the jockeying for the best hotel rooms, the special transports. Ben remembered the winding road up to Berchtesgaden, lined with jeeps, a new tourist attraction, GIs hunting for souvenirs while the executives stood at Hitler’s vast picture window, little tyrants finally humbled. A ride on Hitler’s yacht. Hamburg, where people had melted into the pavement during the firebombing. The camps, even worse. A few survivors still there, too emaciated and stunned to be moved. In town, packs of children, foraging. How much had they seen from their requisitioned rooms?

“It was Ike’s idea. Thinks people should see it. What happened. So the State Department sends groups over. That was the studio tour. There was another for the newsreel editors. See what it’s like.”

“At the Ritz.”

“And Dachau.”

For a moment there was no sound but the click of wheels beneath them.

“I was there,” Ben said quietly. Watching Lasner stagger against a building, his face in his hands, sobbing. “I know it made an impression on you.”

Lasner rounded his cigar in the stand-up tray, smoothing off the ash.

“We’re making a picture about it.”

“Who’s making?”

“I’m in the Signal Corps. We shot film there. What the newsreels didn’t.”

“You personally?”

“No, I collect the film. See it’s put together for briefings, whether we can do something more. Information length, maybe features. If not, V shorts. Depending on the footage. What you do, in a way. Produce.”

Lasner waved his hand. “And now you’re out of a job.”

“Not yet. The Battle of San Pietro got a lot of play. And the Tokyo film did okay on general release, so the exhibitors are still interested. And there’s Ike’s film coming.”

“Who’s releasing?” Lasner said quickly.

“Columbia.”

Lasner grunted.

“You know how it works. War Activities Committee—Freeman, at Paramount—assigns the pictures on a rotating basis. All the majors. It was Columbia’s turn.”

“The majors. What am I? They still think Continental’s a Poverty Row shop? Next year, we’ll outgross RKO, but me they give the training films. You know what it costs me? We get four to five thousand a reel. But we throw in the production, the overhead, the salaries for chrissake. Add it up, it’s more like seven thousand a reel and we just eat the difference.” He tapped the cigar again, calmer. “Not that I mind. You know, for the war. But you don’t hear Freeman calling me with a feature, either.”

“He will be.”

Lasner glanced up at him. “What’s this, a pitch?”

Ben leaned forward. “We’re sitting on a ton of footage. They’re setting up trials. This is what they’re all about. People need to see this. We want to work with a studio to put it together.”

Lasner shook his head. “Let Columbia do it. You think people want to see this? Nobody wants to see this.”

“They should.”

“Should. You know, Freeman asks, it doesn’t mean we have to do it. These war films—it’s all strictly voluntary. And now, after the war? Nobody’s going to make this picture.”

“I thought you’d want to.”

Lasner looked at him for a long minute, then sighed.

“Let me tell you something. Nobody needs a picture about killing Jews. What else have they been doing? Since forever.”

“Not like this,” Ben said quietly, so that Lasner busied himself putting the cigar out, avoiding him.

“Wonderful,” he said finally. “Cohn gets Eisenhower and I get— I’ll think about it. Let Freeman call. We’ll see.” A dodge.

“I’ll be at the Signal Corps base in Culver City. A local call.”

“Fort Roach.” He caught Ben’s look. “Hal Roach’s old studio. The Army took it over. They’ve got some of my people down there. Drafted. My best cutter. Splicing film on VD. How does your prick look with crabs. Talk about a waste of a good technician.” He glanced up. “You want to make the picture there? Fort Roach?”

“No, I want to make it at Continental. With you.”

“Because we were such good pals in Germany. Looking at things.”

“Freeman said you were the first call to make. You were there for the Relief Fund. You hired refugees in ’forty. You—”

“So back to the well.”

“He said the others think they’re Republicans.”

Lasner snorted. “Since when did Frank get funny? If I heard two cracks from him my whole life it’s a lot.” He shook his head, then snorted again. “Mayer keeps a picture of Hoover in his office. Hoover. And now with the horses. A Jew with horses. So he’s fooling everybody.” He paused. “Don’t push me on this. We’ll talk. In an office. We make a picture if it makes sense to make a picture. Not just someone tells me it’s good for the Jews. Anyway, what kind of name is Collier?”