Stardust(200)
“We’ve always been straight with each other, haven’t we?” he said.
“Somebody says that, they’re going to start pulling something,” Sol said.
Ben shook his head. “You want to do the right thing for the studio? Call Bunny. He’ll be good at it.”
“He’s a pansy.”
“No,” Ben said, not flinching. “He’s you. He got everything from you. He can do it.”
“And you can’t?”
“Not like him. It’s all he cares about, pictures. Like you. He’s got the instinct.”
“For pictures, maybe. But look with Minot. Just roll over. So who’s going to fight the next one, him? There’s always somebody coming after the studio. You want somebody’s going to fight. You would. I saw you do it for Hal.”
Ben shook his head again. “I don’t even know who the bad guys are anymore.”
Lasner made a face, impatient. “It’s just this business with your brother. Whatever the hell he was up to. It’s not like that. You don’t know what’s right, something like that happens with family.”
“That’s just it. I think everybody’s like him now. Maybe that was the war, too. I think we’re all in-between. Somewhere gray. Pictures were never good at in-between.”
“What, gray? I’m offering you the studio,” Lasner said, his voice rising, a gift so priceless any hesitation seemed crazy.
“Offer it to Bunny, Sol. He can fight. He’s tougher than I am.”
“You’re tough enough to say no. To this. You don’t want this? What do you want?”
He looked around the hospital room. What did he want? He thought of watching Liesl in the pool, of wearing Danny’s clothes, a life that didn’t belong to him.
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Not this.”
“Just like that,” Lasner said, opening his fingers. “The whole goddam world.”
Meaning it, Ben realized, the rest just something vague, east of Gower.
“I want the picture to come out. I want that.”
“There’s some problem with that?” Lasner said, suddenly alert.
“No, no. Bunny wants to give it a big release.” He paused. “Talk to him. He’d appreciate it, I think, coming from you. Personal.”
“Like you did.”
“You know what it means to me? That you asked?” He looked down. “I’ll probably regret it.”
Lasner leaned his head back into the pillow. “That’s what he said, too. Otto. When he took a powder. For Germany, yet. Christ, what a family. If he had stayed here, think where he’d be today.”
At Cedars, Ben thought, the odd transference happening again, listening to the oxygen. Thinking about his credits. Wondering.
Sol closed his eyes.
“I’d better go.”
“Stay a little,” Lasner said, reaching his hand out to anchor Ben’s. Don’t leave me.
Ben felt the hand, still warm but light, as if it were disappearing.
“Think about it,” Lasner said. “You don’t want to decide too quick. Something like this.”
“Okay,” Ben said. Both of them saving face.
He glanced out the window, feeling claustrophobic. Another hospital room. His mother had held on to him, too. Danny. Now Sol— Otto—whoever he was. One more loss. How many people could you lose before there was no one left?
He stayed like that for a while, watching Sol’s face, almost expecting the shallow breathing to stop, both of them at an end. You could hear the footsteps outside, rubber-soled, nurses answering calls. Just like the ones outside Danny’s room, Dieter waiting in the hall. Picturing it over and over in his head, making the final cut. Not all deaths are alike. Then even the footsteps stopped, the hospital asleep. How long should he stay? Fay would want to be here. He slid his hand out from under, a silent good-bye. Sol opened his eyes again.
“What do you want?” he said, still puzzled, a real question.
Ben stood there for a second, then patted Sol’s hand. “I want you to get some rest,” he said, because it was better not to say anything else.
WAR BRIDE would be over now so he headed straight to the Grove. The afterparty was even more lavish than the premiere, fake palm trees this time but an orchestra and passing trays of champagne glasses. Liesl was being photographed yet again, hundreds of pictures tonight alone. Primitive peoples thought one could rob the soul.
“I wonder what her mother would have said,” Ostermann said, making conversation, but stiff. “All this. Your own child. You’re well? I haven’t seen you since Dieter’s funeral.”