Missing Reels (22 page)

Andy paused a fraction longer than usual. “Been a while, you realize, and I saw it with a number of other things. I believe the heroine was being menaced by someone.”

“That could be any point in the plot,” said Matthew.

Miriam. A scene with Miriam. “How can I see it?”

“Goodness, I had no idea Mrs. Radcliffe still had this sort of fan club. I’m afraid I’m not sure. The Brody Institute for Cinephilia and Preservation is a rather, I’d say, sinister organization with a great many rules. And the
Mysteries
fragment isn’t available to the general public. You need academic credentials to have it screened.”

Ceinwen began to read the abstract at the front of the monograph. “In December 1927, German director Emil Arnheim was brought to Civitas Studios by Frank Gregory, who was …”

Academic credentials. There was no way in hell she was going to look at Matthew, because she knew his face would be a monument to smug. Wellington at Waterloo. Olivier picking up his Oscar. That would be Matthew, and she wanted no part of it.

He was reading over her shoulder, so close she couldn’t move without brushing him. She tried to compose a question. Much as she wanted to take them and look at them for hours, Andy would never let the stills out of the apartment. But this book was about busted to pieces. He couldn’t be all that attached to it.

“I would really love to read all of this,” she began.

“Might I have a look?” Matthew plucked the book before she realized he’d reached for it. She’d seen mothers hand over newborns with less anxiety than Andy showed at seeing the monograph in Matthew’s hands.

“It’s long out of print,” said Andy. “And there weren’t that many copies published in the first place. I’d be terribly upset if something happened to it. Maybe you could come here and read it in stages.”

“Nothing like a cozy room and a good book.” Matthew licked his finger to flip a page. Andy reached out a hand and Matthew peered more closely at the type.

“It’s kind of hard for me to get away from work.” She gave Andy her sweetest smile. “Retail hours are irregular. But I understand your wanting to take good care of it, considering how valuable it is.” Matthew snapped the book shut and ran a finger down the chipped, broken spine. If she concentrated hard enough on his throat, maybe she could make him start to choke.

“I try to take care of things,” began Andy, taking the book from Matthew and tucking it under his arm.

“And so you should,” she said. “I know Harry feels the same way. That’s why I was so grateful when he lent me all those books. Some of them had been out of print for ages, and great photos, too. Things I had never seen anywhere else. I tell you, I was almost afraid to open them. But Harry was so sweet. You know how generous he is. Said he trusted me completely. I brought them back as soon as he wanted. Went right up to his office and we had a great talk.” Matthew’s eyes had shot toward the ceiling three different times during this speech, so she added for good measure, “He got me coffee.”

Andy was chewing on the side of his cheek. “Could you have it back tomorrow?”

“I don’t really read that fast. I’m not like you professors.” Make all the faces you want, Mr. Hill, I’m getting this book. “It would probably take me at least two or three days.”

“Thursday?”

“I might be going to work early …”

“Friday then?”

She better quit now. “Friday, sure, Friday should be fine. Thank you so much! I could bring it by your office in the morning before work.”

“You two could have coffee,” suggested Matthew. “I’d join again but I have a class to teach.”

“Unless you put up a sign,” said Ceinwen.

“You can’t do that too often, they seem to find it irritating,” said Andy.

“I have to go now,” she said, picking up her coat and scarf. “Although maybe Matthew can stay. I know he’s dying to pick your brain about the silent
Ben-Hur
.”

“I should walk out with you,” said Matthew. “Work to do, I’m afraid.”

He moved to help her and she sidestepped him. She threw on her coat, swung the scarf around her neck and grabbed her purse. “We can say goodbye at the elevator, since you’re going back upstairs.”

“I’m going back to Courant, actually.” She took a step toward the door when she realized Matthew had her so angry she’d nearly behaved like Anna. She turned to Andy. “Thanks so much for the delicious lunch and everything else. I’ve had a lovely time.”

“My pleasure,” said Andy, both hands still fastened on the monograph. She reached out. Andy put it in her hand, but it wasn’t coming away. She gave the gentlest tug possible and at last he let go. She cradled it with both arms and gave him the same smile as earlier. “I promise to return it just as I found it.”

He looked borderline distraught, but managed to say, “Eleven okay for Friday?”

“Perfect.”

She opened the door wide and fast, but the doors in the building weren’t automatic, so it didn’t swing back into Matthew’s face. He came up behind her as she was pushing the elevator button repeatedly, a very New York habit she’d always promised herself she wouldn’t pick up.

“Are you familiar with the Brody Institute?” he asked pleasantly.

She threw her head back and strode toward the stairwell. She opened the exit door, turned, said, “You’re a prick,” and charged in.

“That was good and loud,” he said, following. “With any luck Andy heard that.” She was going down the stairs as fast as her damp Doc Martens would permit, but he was right behind her.

“The fact that you’re a prick is no news to Andy.”

“And now it’s no news to the second floor either. Shall we inform the lobby?”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” They’d reached the lobby, and she was practically running for the door.

“You should, if you want to see that clip. With Miriam.” She stopped. Smug, all right. “She makes an impression, that neighbor of yours.”

She said triumphantly, “I’ll get Harry to take me.”

“Harry’s leaving for Paris in forty-eight hours. Plan to wait until he gets back?”

“I will if I have to.”

“No, you won’t. You can hardly bear to wait for your next cigarette.” They were both breathing hard. “You’re here anyway. Come up and talk, this is just stalling.”

The doorman was concentrating hard on his
New York Post
. She walked to the elevator and pressed the button once. Matthew followed and glanced at the monograph in her hands. “If you’re going to keep borrowing books,” he said, “you should get a larger handbag.”

Ceinwen was about ten feet into his apartment when she felt a hand on her back. She whipped around for her best New York “watch it, buddy” and found herself turning straight into a kiss. Her purse and the monograph fell to the floor and she yanked her head back.

“Oh, so you’re worried about Andy. Andy’s a weirdo, Andy’s going to make a pass at me. Meanwhile you ask me up here to
talk
and now you think—”

“Later,” he pleaded, and tried to pull her back.

“Later? Like nothing happened? You left me here—”

“Later,” he repeated, talking over her, following every step back that she took. “Please, can’t we have the fight later? Shh, no, listen, we’re just flipping the equation, that’s all.” She was keeping her mouth away and he was trying for her neck. “Basic maths. If it works one way, it has to work the other. First we make love,
then
we have the fight.”

“You leave me here to go skiing with Ah-nuh …”

“The whole fight. I promise. Only later.”

“—and then you come back and here you are, trying—”

“Please, please. I’ve missed you so much.” He’d unfastened all three buttons on her coat and she was hanging onto both lapels to keep him from pushing it off. “No, wait, let me finish. We can reverse everything. After we won’t have the fight right away, we’ll go to Theatre 80—no, listen, and we’ll sit through both features, both, even if they’re Westerns, and I promise, I swear, you can start the fight as soon as the lights come up. Even before that, if you want. You can start calling me names during the credits.” His voice was shaking; they were both trying not to laugh. “Or the fadeout. Music, ‘The End,’ ‘Matthew, you insect …’”

She looked over his shoulder and said, “Matthew.”

He sighed and let go. “All right.”

“You forgot to close the door.”

T
HE BATHROOM DOOR WAS OPEN, SO SHE LOOKED IN
. M
ATTHEW WAS
sitting on the side of the bathtub, applying Bacitracin to a welt on his knee.

“What happened?”

“Carpet.” He grimaced and reached for a Band-Aid on the sink.

She was willing to apologize to all kinds of people for all kinds of things, but not that. “Can I borrow your robe?”

“Help yourself.”

She grabbed it off the back of the door and went into the living room, where the monograph was still on the floor. A page had been creased when it dropped, but maybe she could press it out before Friday. She took it to the couch and started with the contents.
BACKGROUND. SYNOPSIS OF SHOOTING SCHEDULE
…

“Did you want to talk?” He had his jeans back on and was standing a couple of feet in front of her, hands in pockets.

“What about?” Couldn’t he see she was reading?

He braced a hand on the back of his head and lifted his face to the ceiling. “Reagan’s tax policies. What do you think?”

“You mean, about the sex we just had.”

“Yes. That.”

She didn’t see anything she could use as a bookmark, and dog-earing the page might give Andy a heart attack, so she kept the book open and tried not to look down at it. “I thought you didn’t want to fight.”

“I don’t.”

“Awesome. Neither do I.”
DISASTROUS PREVIEW IN POMONA. CRITICAL RECEPTION
. Maybe she should go to that first. No, let’s have a look at
DEMISE OF CIVITAS
.

“I think we should spell out terms.” She looked back at him. “To avoid misunderstandings. Like Christmas.”

I understand perfectly, she thought. I understand you came back, and I need to bide my time. “Fine. Lay it on me. Do you want to sit down?”

He didn’t move. “I think it’s obvious neither one of us wants things to end.”

“Yep. Got that loud and clear, Matthew.” You had such a swell time with Ah-nuh that you jumped on me first chance you had. Got that too, professor.

“But the basic situation hasn’t changed. You know that, right?”

“Did I ask you to change it?”

“No, but …”

“Like you always said. You do what you want. And so do I.” Civitas went into bankruptcy in 1932, along with a wave of other … The book slipped out of her hands.

“Why don’t we put this aside for one little moment.” He placed it face down on the table. “Are you all right with going back to things as they were?”

“I guess not.”

He dropped beside her and slid way down the cushions. “Then you’d best tell me now.”

“Next time, we have to make it to the couch. You think your knees hurt, you should see my back.” She reached for the book.

“Does this call for first aid?”

“Later.” The Civitas film library was thought to have little value, but it was part of the assets sold to … A hand slid to cover the page.

“We understand each other?”

“I heard everything you said, and I said I understood, didn’t I?” Everything. Including when you said you missed me. Don’t you try to tell me that was only after St. Moritz.

The hand lifted. “I’m going to start dinner.” He got up. The negatives in were stored in … “Steak?”

“Don’t make too much.” She lowered the book and watched him open the refrigerator.

You’re mine. I know it. You just don’t know it yet.

He started taking things out of drawers and cabinets and putting them on the counter. A bowl, an onion, a knife.

“Isn’t it kind of early to start dinner?”

“I’m marinating them. It’s all part of the wonderful world of cooking. You should join us here sometime.”

“I cooked all the time for Granana, the whole last year before she went in the nursing home.” She bent her head back to the book. A fire at the warehouse in 1956 destroyed all known negatives of Civitas …

“What on earth did you cook?”

“Quick stuff. Chicken. There was this list of food she could eat. It was only about a page long. Everything had to be low-fat and no-salt on account of her kidneys. Then I’d turn my back for a minute and she’d throw in a ham hock.”

He started peeling garlic. “I know better than to ask you to chop anything.”

“I can chop!”

“Since you’re here anyway,” he said, dragging a cutting board from the back of the sink, “and since you passed up the chance to have our fight, why don’t you tell me how you found out your neighbor was in a movie.”

She didn’t want to put down the book, but if she was going to be asking him for favors she supposed it was only fair to tell him why. She placed it face down to mark her place and slipped up on the barstool next to the counter. Her version was shorter than Miriam’s, but she kept circling back to details she’d forgotten, like Miriam’s hair falling out, and including things she’d meant to leave out, like how mean Emil got toward the end. By the time she got around to Myrna Loy (“The one from
The Thin Man
? She was cute”) he’d chopped up the onions and the garlic and finished whatever he was going to use to soak the steaks, having poured in something from every bottle in his cabinet. She was a little afraid of this marinade. He pulled the steak package out of the fridge.

She waited. “Isn’t that the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?”

He pulled a mallet out of a drawer. “Tragic, not really. Bit depressing.”

“A bit? She was in love with the man! Hollywood destroyed him! Almost destroyed her, too!”

“I don’t think the sack of Rome would have destroyed Miriam.” He was laying wax paper over a steak.

“I think you’re being incredibly cold.”

“It’s sad.” He grabbed the mallet and brought it down on the steak with a whump. “But look at it rationally. Let’s say he lives. And she stays with him.” Whump. “Alcoholic, washed-up director.” Whump. “Verbally abusive.” Whump. “Potential to get physically abusive.” Whump.