“He’s losing them,” Bunny said.
“Are you seriously suggesting to this committee that for five years- five years-you were part of an organization that owed its loyalty to a foreign power and this was a youthful indiscretion?”
“I have never been loyal to any country except the United States. I am an American. At no time during my association with the Party was there any question of disloyalty. When the Party adopted a position that I felt was not in our interests, I resigned.”
“And up until then they acted in our interests?”
“What I thought should be our interests, yes.”
“Should be. A rude awakening, then, when you found out what the Party’s interests really were. A smart fellow like you ought to have known, don’t you think? Or are you trying to say-it’s some defensethat you didn’t know what you were doing?”
“I thought I did. I thought I knew when I got married, too. Things change.”
People laughed, grateful for a light second. Minot used his gavel.
“Mr. Schaeffer, do you think these proceedings are a laughing matter?”
Schaeffer looked around. “Not yet.”
Just a gentle poke to the side, a tap, but this got a laugh, too.
“I can assure you, you won’t be laughing when we’re finished. This committee doesn’t think subversion is a joke. This country-”
The rest was lost, background noise as Ben stopped listening again. The laughter, small as it was, was taken by Minot as an affront and Ben saw that Bunny was right, he was losing the audience, confusing them, his confidence turning petulant. Even his staging was off. He had kept the other witnesses in the room, but that meant they were now only a few feet away from Schaeffer, avoiding eye contact, their testimony suddenly personal, everyone smaller.
One of the publicity assistants, hurrying in, squatted down next to Bunny, leaning over to whisper in his ear.
“What?” Bunny said out loud.
Minot looked up, then smiled to himself.
Bunny left, huddled with the assistant, half the room watching.
“What did he say?” Ben asked Dick.
Dick shrugged. “Something about Lasner.”
A summons from the studio, Bunny on call even here. But when he came back ten minutes later his face was grim, disturbed. Something more than a studio crisis. Ben looked at him, waiting.
“They’ve called Mr. L,” Bunny said.
Ben took a minute, thinking this through. “He can get it delayed,” he said.
Bunny shook his head. “They’ll tell the papers he asked. Which means he has something to hide.”
“Does he?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The only Reds he ever knew were fighting cowboys. Bastard,” Bunny said, looking toward Minot. “To drag him into this.”
Minot, noticing, smiled again.
Bunny left for another call, then two more, a small frenzy of activity, back and forth.
“I have to get to the studio,” he said. “The lawyers want to coach him. Hal, too.”
“Hal?” Ben said.
“He worked on Convoy. Bloody picture, we didn’t even make money on it.”
“We didn’t?” Dick said. “I thought-”
“In second release, yes.”
“The trades liked it. They said I-”
“Dick. Nobody could have done it better,” Bunny said, impatient, his tone weary, like rolling his eyes. “I have to get back.”
Before he could leave, however, Minot had called a break and they were trapped by the crowd in the hall.
“Bunny,” Schaeffer said, extending his hand. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s taking pictures.”
Bunny shook it. “I’m sorry, Milton. You know what it’s like.”
He looked around the hall. “I know what this is like anyway. How’s Sol?”
“They’re calling him, Milton.”
“Sol? What for?”
“What for.”
“Because I worked for him?”
“No, he’s doing a picture with Stalin. What for.”
“This wasn’t my idea, Bunny.”
“I have to run, Milton.”
“Bunny. They’re not going to pick up my option. Not after this. I can work quiet. No credit.”
“I can’t, Milton,” Bunny said, meeting his eyes. “I can’t.” He glanced over Schaeffer’s shoulders. “Look sharp. Here comes Judge Hardy.”
Schaeffer moved away without bothering to turn, as if Minot were a scent he’d picked up in the air.
“You said you wouldn’t call Mr. L,” Bunny said, his mouth clenched.
“We both said things.”
“Call it off.”
“The subpoena’s been issued.”
“Dismiss it.”
“You think the studios run this town, don’t you? Nobody elected the studios.”
“He’s not a good enemy to make.”
“Neither am I. Don’t get yourself in a swivet. You tell Lasner to behave. He cooperates, everybody’s fine. He gets to be a patriot and I get to send a message.”
“To whom?”
“You think it’s still twenty years ago, picture people can do anything they want. What did Comrade Schaeffer say? Things change.”
“Don’t do this. I mean it.”
“You mean it.” He made a face. “I appreciate the advice.”
“Want some more? Professional? You’re flopping in there.”
Minot blinked, then looked at him steadily. “Things’ll pick up tomorrow.”
Ben decided to leave before Minot had finished with Schaeffer. The testimony had grown repetitive, used up. Once Schaeffer had admitted to being a Communist, Minot was left with the less exciting story of what he’d actually done, discussion groups and petitions and rallies no one remembered. Still, a Red in the industry-how many more?
He found Hal in the cutting room, finishing the last of the camp footage.
“I thought you were with the lawyers,” Ben said.
“I was. Now I’m supposed to be thinking of anybody who could have been-you know. So I thought I’d get this done. In case things get busy. I hear Dick did a little flag waving.”
“It’s that kind of occasion. What did the lawyers tell you?”
“Be polite. Don’t volunteer. Make him work for it. Whatever that’s going to be.”
Ben leaned toward the Moviola. “Didn’t we already cut this?”
“I was just trying something.”
“What?”
“Seeing how it would work without the Artkino footage,” he said, self-conscious, trying to be casual.
“How does it?” Ben said quietly.
“You don’t want anybody saying-” He looked away. “It’s just in case. You have to pick your fights. You want this made.”
He ran into Lasner in the Admin men’s room, a surprise since his office had its own bathroom.
“Lawyers. It’s the only place I can get some peace,” Lasner said to him in the mirror, his face sagged, slightly withdrawn, the way it had looked during the street fight on Gower, trying to make sense of things. “So you were there? What’s he going to want?”
“Keep himself in the papers for a while.”
“No. From me.”
Ben joined him at the sink. “To go along. Treat him like a big shot.”
“That’s what Bunny says. It’ll blow over. What’ll blow over? I don’t know, a man comes, eats in your house, you make a party for him, and then this. So maybe Bunny doesn’t know what he’s talking about, either.”
“It worked with Dick. It was all right.”
“Did I know I was hiring Commies? Jesus Christ, Milt Schaeffer. If that’s what the Russians got, we don’t have a thing to worry about.”
“He’s not trying to make you look bad.”
“I thought you knew something about pictures.” He raised his hands, framing. “You argue with him, you’re a Commie-sticking up for them, same thing. You don’t argue, yes sir, you’re an idiot for using Milt in the first place. Either way, he’s a smart guy and you’re a putz.”
Ben said nothing.
“So that’s what everybody thinks? Bunny. You. Keep your head down. Be a putz.”
“He can make trouble for the studio.”
Lasner nodded, conceding the point. “When did that happen? I’ve been thinking about that. When did we let that happen, he wins either way?”
Ben looked at him, suddenly back with Ostermann. “A little bit at a time.”