Missing Reels (41 page)

“So it’s about, I dunno, ’74 or so and outta nowhere I get a call from some professor who’s decided Emil Arnheim is some kinda forgotten genius.” Leon gave a little bark of laughter. “And he says he’s been talkin’ to people, I know he mentioned the DP and Eddie Kenny. And he wants to know if I know whether somebody mighta kept a print.”

“’74?” repeated Matthew. “Professor Gundlach called you in 1974?”

“Nah, that wasn’t it. Don’t remember exactly. Common kind of a name.”

“Do you remember the university?” asked Ceinwen.

“Yeah. Pretty sure it was Enn-whyy-yewww,” he said in an affected mid-Atlantic, holding up an imaginary teacup, pinky crooked. “Sorry. I know you’re affiliated and all, but me, I never went to college.”

Matthew had his face arranged as sympathetically as a TV interviewer as he wrote something down. She shifted so she could pretend she hadn’t noticed his warning posture. “Could the name have been Evans?”

Leon’s eyes went to the ceiling, and he moved his mouth from side to side. “Maybe. Sounds right. Evans. Yeah, could be. Why, you think you know him? ’Cause I got a few choice words for that guy …”

“Not really.” Matthew cut them both off as she began to interrupt Leon. “It’s a guess. Someone we know who collects films. There are thousands of NYU faculty. And if you think about it, Ceinwen,” he said, his don’t-fuck-this-up voice so crisp you could wrap a present in it, “I’m sure if our acquaintance had a lost film, he would have given it to the film department.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It was probably wasn’t him.”

Leon shrugged, his tremor showing more. “I dunno, it’s been a while. I know I been sittin’ here talkin’ about a movie I made in ’28, but it’s a funny thing about gettin’ old. I remember ’28 a lot better than ’74. Guess it was a better year.” He laughed again.

Matthew said, “So this man. Whoever he was. Did you refer him to your sister?”

“Yeah, I told him she had it. And I was in the middle of a crisis, know what I mean? I had some Arizona investments that were kinda, going south, so to speak.” His chest heaved with another chuckle. He sure did like his own jokes. “So I had to go out to Tucson, couldn’t get out of it”—subpoena, she thought—“and it took me a little while and I sorta forgot about it, I had stuff on my mind, like I said. Then I finally get back inta town and I called Lauren up in Vermont where she was livin’ with that friggin’ apple farmer. And get this. She tells me she don’t have it. I said, what did you do with it, Lauren. She says, I didn’t do anything, it musta got lost in the move. I let her have it. I told her if she thought I just fell off the turnip truck she better think again. I said I had a guy who was tryin’ to buy it and I told her straight out I thought she’d sold it to him and pocketed the dough. She told me that was an awful thing to say. ‘How could you accuse me of such a thing, Leon.’ I’ll tell you how. After she got married all I ever heard from her was how much money you need to run a farm.” He splayed both hands on the table. “Then I hear through the grapevine that she and that husband of hers went and fixed up the barn.” He brought one shaky fist down and the table glass rattled. “Cheated. My own sister. I never spoke to her again. Hell, I didn’t even go to her funeral.”

“Did you try to call the professor and tell him it wasn’t your sister’s film to sell?”

“That was the hell of it. Been gone a while and I couldn’t find his name. Not like Lauren was gonna tell me, either.” She started to speak to fill the silence, caught Matthew’s eye and waited for Leon to continue. “Like I said. I had my own troubles. Bringin’ a lawsuit, it’s a pain in the neck.” Especially if you’ve been sued for fraud in another state, she thought. Another bark from Leon, and a wheeze. “Eh, it’s just as well. You get to be my age, you’re sittin’ in an old folks’ home, you get to be philosophical-like. Arnheim gave me nothin’ but grief when he was alive. So it kinda makes sense he was still at it fifty years after he croaked.” He waved a hand at nothing. “I decided to forget about it. Enough already. Enough trouble from that drunken bum. He was no good.” His volume dropped a bit, like he was talking to himself. “I knew he wasn’t gonna make it.”

“His career was pretty much over,” said Ceinwen. She wanted to get out of there, she had dozens of ideas already about what to do next, but he didn’t want to stop talking.

Leon shifted in his seat and almost spat. “Career? He never had a career. All he had was some people willin’ to throw some dough at him for a little while. I knew he wasn’t gonna make it home from that speakeasy.”

She could feel the ammonia burn down into her sinuses when she inhaled. Matthew said, polite as ever, still running their own personal talk show, “You were with him that night?”

“Course I was with him, he’d been showing up nearly every night for at least a coupla weeks. I couldn’t get away from him. All that time on set talkin’ to me and everybody else like we were dirt, and now we were pals. Bought my drinks, even. With what I don’t know, everybody knew he was broke. Brandy, that was his, and it’d better be a good one too. One after the other. He was always lit but that night he was really something.” Ceinwen put her hand on the table and Matthew covered it with his own as her fingers began to curl toward her palm. “Tellin’ me he was gonna get it turned around for our movie.
Our
movie. Chaplin was still gonna make silents, he said. People were still watching them in Europe. They’d understand it there if he could get it released. Then why didn’t he go the hell back, I wanted to ask him. Ha, that wasn’t going to happen. He was gonna get his due right where he was, if it took him forever. Arrogant bastard. Off he goes in that fancy car of his. Still had that, he wasn’t giving that up. So drunk he couldn’t hardly open the door, even if he hadn’ta had a busted hand. Told me he ran into a wall. Yeah, I believe
that
.”

“You let him go,” said Ceinwen.

He was surprised, nothing else. “Why shouldn’t I? I hated that Kraut sonofabitch. None of my business if he wraps himself around a tree. And then he did. Ran off the road, anyway. Only time in his whole stinkin’ life he ever did anything to oblige somebody else.” He began to laugh again. “Take it from an old man, honey. There’s some justice in this world.” The laugh got louder. “Even in Hollywood.”

“I’m afraid we’re keeping you,” said Matthew.

“Hell, I got all day. Not like there’s a lot of visitors here.”

“Hard to believe,” said Ceinwen, “with all the stories you have to tell.”

Matthew stood up. “We’d love to stay, but it’s a long way back to Manhattan.” He helped her into her coat.

Leon stayed seated. “Well, I’ve enjoyed the chat. Nobody’s ever come out here and wanted to talk about Hollywood. Gives an old guy something to do.” He held out his hand to Ceinwen. “Been a pleasure.”

Ceinwen plunged her hand in her pocket and fished out her gloves. “Thank you for talking to us,” she said. Matthew took Leon’s hand and shook it. “Yes, thank you very much.”

They were nearing the bus stop when Matthew spoke up. “Maybe Harry’s right. Andy really does own every silent film ever made.” She kept walking. He said, “I don’t want to go to New Jersey.” They were at the stop and Ceinwen took the last seat at the end of the bench. She pulled out a cigarette and lit up, and when the woman sitting next to her made a face she scowled right back.

Matthew squatted next to her. “I didn’t like the man either,” he said. “But he has a point. Nobody poured brandy down Arnheim’s throat and forced him to drive.”

She took a deep drag. Then she said, “I used to hide Daddy’s car keys.” She finished exhaling and the woman next to her waved her hand. “I always hated driving.” The woman got up and Matthew sat down. The bus was visible a block away. She threw down the cigarette and ground it out, barely smoked. “I guess you could say I’m not objective.”

They had to stand on the bus, and she looked out the window at Queens. When they got to the subway the train was there almost as soon as they hit the platform. They got on and found seats.

Matthew put his arm around her. “Aren’t you the least bit happy? Andy might have the film.”

She nodded. Then said, “Poor Miriam,” and buried her face in his neck.

S
OMEWHERE AROUND
42
ND
S
TREET SHE PICKED UP HER HEAD AND
began to touch up her makeup. Matthew watched her run the edge of a tissue along her lashes, and said, “Better now?”

“Better,” she said. Then, “The movies in your head are always better.” She blew her nose. “Lost films fortify our romantic notions of the cinema,” she snarled. “In that sense, we need lost films.”

“I admit, it fits.”

That was the extent of the conversation to West Fourth Street. She charged up the subway stairs and shot across West Third.

“I have just the thing. Nice bottle of wine.” For once Matthew was struggling to keep up with her. “Better than our usual plonk. It’s early yet but I think we could use it.” At the corner of the park she crossed against the light and barely stopped in time for a van. “
You
could use it, let’s put it that way.”

They turned into the lobby at Washington Square Village and she pounded the elevator button. They got on and Matthew gently pressed for the sixth floor. As soon as the elevator began to move, she punched three.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing.” As it opened on the third floor he whirled and half-pushed, half-backed her into the elevator.

“You can’t charge in there and accuse him of hiding the movie.” The doors shut behind him.

“
Watch me
.” They got out on the sixth floor, Ceinwen moved for the stairwell, and he slipped in front of her, eyes glued to hers like he was trying to coax a horse into the stable. She kept eye contact, stretched out an arm and pushed the down button.

“He’ll deny it and you can’t prove he’s lying. He might not even
be
lying. It’s completely stupid.”

“And I’ll threaten to … to …”

“To what?” The elevator sprang open and she found her feet dangling. He’d picked her up by the waist and was holding on tight until the doors shut. “Will you please stop a bloody minute and
think
for once.” He set her down. “You have nothing to threaten him with. Nothellllooo, Jessica.” A woman had emerged from a nearby apartment and checked herself dead in front of her door. There was no telling how long she’d been there. Matthew was trying for an ingratiating smile, but the effort was undermined by the fact that he was still panting.

“How are you, Matthew.” She was clutching her purse and keeping her eyes away from Ceinwen.

He flapped his arms to indicate a happy-go-lucky attitude and said, “Fine. Thanks. We’re just going in.” He stuck his key in the lock. Ceinwen didn’t budge. “Going to relax. And talk.” Neither did Jessica. “And sit. Relax while we’re sitting.”

The woman nodded uneasily and began to move toward the elevator. “Enjoy yourselves,” she said. Matthew was holding open his door. Ceinwen walked past him and sat on the couch, still wearing her coat. He paused, hands out to avert a sudden bolt.

“Are you going to stay there?”

“For now.”

He backed slowly to the kitchen, opened the wine and poured two glasses straight to the rim. She took a glass from him and stared at the carpet. He sat beside her, poised on the edge of the couch, legs positioned to carry him forward at a moment’s notice.

“Ah. This is more like it.” She slurped the top down to a less precarious level. “Not bad, yes?”

“It’s
smashing
.”

“Cute. Keep at it until you’re ready to discuss matters in a nice, rational manner.”

She took a mighty gulp. “I’m rational. I’ve never felt more rational in my life. Don’t I look rational?”

“You look like Miss Havisham ten seconds after she’s left at the altar.”

She pushed her hair off her face and drawled, “You always know
just
what to say to a lady.”

“It’s my charm.” He hammered back a couple of swallows and said, “Right. How does one approach a madman about his film collection. Let’s think this through, shall we?”

“All I want to think about is where he’s got it. He told me he doesn’t keep his films in his apartment.”

“He could have the lost continent of Atlantis in there. And you didn’t see the bedrooms. So it could be there. Or I suppose he could have it downstairs in the storage. It doesn’t matter, does it? We have to think of a way to persuade him—”

“There’s storage in the basement?”

He didn’t answer. She got up and he sprang to block her again. “Now where are you going?”

“To the basement.”

“What for?” She darted around him and dashed for the elevator. He followed. “What’s the point? It’s all locked.”

“You never know,” she said. The elevator opened. They got in and Matthew put his hand over the third floor button. She glared at him and jabbed the button for the basement. He kept his hand there as a man got on at the fourth floor, gave a cough and said, “Excuse me.” Matthew lifted his hand and moved an inch or two, his whole body still between her and the panel. The man paused, then slid his arm past Matthew to push the lobby button. When the elevator stopped at the lobby, he gave Matthew one short glance and was out before the doors finished opening.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to see, I really don’t.” The basement’s three cinder-block halls spread away from the elevator.

“How do I find his space?”

“As far as I know, they’re numbered like the flats.”

They trailed down one hall, then the other, and she noticed Matthew still had his wine. In the back of the center hall was the door marked 3B. It had a combination padlock on it, like a locker. She yanked on the lock and it didn’t budge. Matthew groaned and took a swallow.

“What now? Do we wait for the movie spirits to sense our presence?” She held out her hand, he passed her the glass, and she drank too.

“Does this look like a big space?” she asked.

He stood back, checking out the next door. “Bigger than mine, definitely. In this section the doors are spaced much further apart.”