Stardust(41)

“Maybe he had a friend here,” Ben said, looking directly at him.

Bunny returned the look, then sighed. “Do you know what our police do? They check the padlocks, make sure the lights are turned off, equipment’s where it should be, not walking off the lot. They’re guards. They’re not on the phone with downtown fixing cases.”

“Somebody was,” Ben said.

Bunny stared at him, a standoff. “So you keep saying.”

He turned away, leading them around a corner. “Here we are, B building. I gather you asked for Frank Cabot for the narration. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t take him off a picture if it’s shooting. I put a contract player list on your pile—in case he’s not available. When do you want to record?”

“It’s not written yet.”

“You’ll want to hop to, then. Not really something for the hols, is it? And Hal Jasper likes to take his time. It’s worth it, but you can’t hurry him. You’re just in here.”

Walking a little faster now, eager to get away, but then caught at the door.

“Bunny, Lou Katz. You remember Julie? Julie Sherman. She’s making a test.”

Julie nodded and smiled, her lips moist with gloss. She was in low-cut satin, held up by a single diagonal strap. Lou, hovering, glanced nervously at Ben, not recognizing him but not wanting to offend.

“Of course,” Bunny said. “Nice to see you. Everything okay? They take care of you in Makeup?”

“Yes, everyone’s been wonderful,” she said, meaning it. A pleasant voice, modulated, not what Ben expected.

“You’ll be, too, sweetheart,” Katz said. “Bunny, we appreciate this. You’re not going to be disappointed. They said you didn’t want the song.”

“Lou, musicals? Here?”

“I just thought, to get the full range. This is a real talent.”

Julie blinked, her only sign of protest, but otherwise kept smiling, evidently used to being discussed.

“You were on the train,” she said, acknowledging Ben. “With Mr. Lasner.”

“Yes. And you were with Paulette. Selling bonds, right?”

She smiled, pleased to be remembered. Bunny glanced at them, taking this in, his attention diverted.

“Bunny, we’ll catch up with you later,” Katz said, checking his watch. “You’re going to like this one. Maybe they can run it for you with the dailies.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said politely, their cue to leave, then turned to Ben. “Paulette? Is there anyone you haven’t met yet?”

“Whoever called the police.”

Bunny stared at him. “So you can send a thank-you note. Just to be polite. It means that much to you.” He cocked his head toward the building behind them. “Third door down on the left. Nice to have you with us. We could use something different. Mr. L’s right, you know. Nobody on God’s earth is going to want to see Dick Marshall shooting down Zeros. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

He headed to the Admin building, glancing back once over his shoulder.

The office was adequate but basic—typewriter, couch, Venetian blinds—a place for passing through, not unlike the apartment at the Cherokee. Ben sat down at the desk, annoyed with himself for pressing Bunny. The studio string-puller, now wary, protecting his flank.

Things had been stacked on his desk in neat piles: budget, a provisional time-line schedule, technician availabilities, an inventory of film already sent over from Fort Roach, the contract player list, personnel forms. The Signal Corps had had all the sloppy confusion of the Army, arrangements so haphazard they made the work itself feel improvised. This was a precision machine, waiting for him to set it in motion. To make something important. About millions. And all he could fix on was a police favor, worrying it like a sore tooth. Unable to leave it alone.

He picked up the phone and got an outside line.

“Meet any movie stars yet?” Kelly said when he heard Ben’s voice.

“Who made the call from Continental?”

“You tell me.”

“He didn’t give you a name? Whoever you talked to?”

“That would make it real. I get a tip. But that doesn’t mean it ever happened. My lucky guess. And nobody asks how I got there. Anyway, who would it be? Somebody in Publicity. Whoever. Who do you think makes these calls?”

“It wouldn’t be somebody further up the food chain?”

“Not likely. They like the cleaner air. We’re down here with the messenger service. The point is, who’d they call for. Who do they protect? They protect themselves. They protect the talent. This case, I’d go with the talent. He’s not renting an apartment for a business meeting. Just keep your ears open. Something like this happens, there’s always talk. I like the makeup girls. They always know who’s been out the night before. One look. Ask them out for a drink, you’ll hear what’s going on. Get in their pants, you’ll hear everything. You don’t even have to pay. Speaking of which, I could use a little contribution.”