Missing Reels (35 page)

“Ha ha ha, Freddie,” said Steve. He arranged the mouse so it was sitting upright in an armchair. “You okay there, Karen? Not gonna run away screaming?”

“No,” she said hastily. “I think this is kind of therapeutic, having him around.” Fred gave her a look. “As long he isn’t moving, he’s fine.” Steve gave her a look. “He’s even kind of cute, just … sitting there.”

“Okay,” said Steve, “I guess I should bring out the other main event.” And disappeared.

Fred took another swig, this time with a celebratory air. “That,” he said in a low voice, smacking his lips, “was pretty seriously brilliant.”

“What was?”

“The mouse phobia. Genius. I’m, uh, sorry it took a minute to, you know, pick up the cue. But, um, you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh,” she said, waving her hand, “I thought it would be better if I didn’t. That way you could react naturally. Like improv.”

Fred reached over and gave Topo a sharp poke. It tilted to one side. “I never thought about it, but, um, this little guy is definitely scary. Those buck teeth.”

“You better sit him back up,” she said. “Steve’s already annoyed.” Fred slammed Topo back into position with a force that squashed the puppet’s head straight into its shoulders. They heard a door shut and Fred shifted back onto the couch. Steve walked in holding two film canisters. He placed them carefully on the coffee table, posed with his arms out and said, “Voila.
The Man From Manitoba
.”

Fred popped the lid off the top canister and inhaled sharply. He looked at Steve and grimaced, then pushed gently on the film with his finger. Steve sat next to Topo and smiled back placidly.

“This is nitrate,” said Fred.

“Of course, Freddie. I told you, it’s a good print.”

Ceinwen leaned forward. It didn’t look dangerous at all. It was just a big reel of film.

“Last night I asked you. I said, do I need to bring the containers. And you said no.”

The film did smell funny, though. Like nuts. Almonds. Ceinwen realized this was what she’d thought was Fred’s cologne.

“It’s just two little reels. And they’re in great shape. Why bother schlepping a container for that?” Fred ran both hands over his face and back through his hair, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh my good goodness. Everybody’s such a fraidy-cat tonight. First we get all freaked out about Topo Gigio. And now I’m scaring poor Freddie with my nasty old nitrate.”

“There’s procedures I’m supposed to follow.”

“I’m not going to tattle on you. Just take it with you and put it …” Steve paused. “Wherever you boys put the nitrate. Someplace safe I’m sure.”

“You have nitrate prints back there just lying around?” blurted Ceinwen. Steve waved his hand.

“I’ve got a fireproof cabinet. With a cooling system.”

“Can I see it?” she asked, too fast and too eager.

“No,” said Steve, his voice colder even than when she’d screamed at Topo Gigio. “Nobody sees my cabinet.”

“Is Isabel going to kill you?” Ceinwen asked Fred, under her breath.

“Not kill, but she might
hurt
me.”

“We-ell we don’t want that,” said Steve, loud. “You don’t have to take it if you’re afraid you’ll up and burst into flames.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Fred.

Ceinwen had never been up close with a reel of old film before. She stretched out a finger and pushed on it, like Fred had. She caught Steve watching her and quailed, but he batted his eyes and said, “See? Your finger didn’t fall off.”

“It’s got a little give to it,” she said.

“That’s the way it’s supposed to feel,” said Fred. “When a reel’s starting to go it gets spongy and, um, then if it’s really far gone the layers stick together and, um, once it feels hard you’re in trouble.”

“With nitrate, anyway,” guffawed Steve. Fred glared at him.

“You mean, at that point it could catch fire?”

“Oh puh-leez.” Steve rolled his eyes. “People make such a big fat hairy deal about nitrate. And there were thousands of reels traveling all over everywhere for all those years and nobody gave it a second thought. If it was as bad as they say, all you’d have heard about would have been theaters blowing up like Jimmy Cagney at the end of
White Heat
.” He smirked. “Isn’t that right.”

“Made it, Ma. Top of the world,” said Ceinwen, and giggled. Steve started giggling too.

Fred didn’t laugh. “I should go back to the Brody and get a container.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t tell. Karen won’t tell.”

“There’s been fires, haven’t there?” asked Ceinwen. “I read about one in Montreal.”

“That was a cigarette,” said Steve. “People and their dirty butts.”

“I follow the rules for a reason,” snapped Fred. “It wasn’t a cigarette in that Scottish theater.”

“No, they just put the film on top of a
battery
, for crying out loud. What, Freddie, you’re going to take this back to the Brody and do that?”

“Of course not, but—”

“Never never ever, right? We know you’re a very, very careful boy.”

Fred drummed his fingers on the table for a second, then replaced the lid, unzipped his duffel and laid the reels in carefully. “All the same, I’m gonna take this to the lab right away. I don’t want to be running around with it.”

An acid taste rose from Ceinwen’s chest into the back of her throat.

“You mean now?”

“That’s the idea,” said Fred, sounding more cheerful than he had all evening. She glanced wildly around the room. How was she going to ask about Vermont? From his chair, Topo kept watch with beady eyes, as if daring her to find a way out of this one.

“You don’t have to rush,” Steve was saying, and she felt a twinge of liking for him.

Fred was zipping the duffel. “Not, um, really supposed to sit around with this.”

Her eyes lit on her glass. “I haven’t finished my drink,” she said. “I can’t possibly waste a good vodka tonic.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” said Steve. “And Freddie could use a refill.”

“Rules are rules,” said Fred, sounding like a baritone version of Isabel.

“There you are, Karen, Freddie just wants to protect us. One minute we’re sitting here next to a two-reeler. Next minute, ka-POW.
White Heat
. No, hang on, maybe Freddie’s nightmares are in color.
Zabriskie Point
, that whatcha thinkin’, Freddie?”

Fred pulled the duffel bag onto his lap and shouted, “I AM NOT AFRAID OF THE NITRATE.”

There was a moment of profound silence.

“In that case, I’ll top this off,” said Steve, as he picked up Fred’s glass and made for the kitchen.

She picked up her own, barely touched drink, and ran a finger down the condensation, refusing to look at Fred.

“What did you have to go and do that for?” she heard him ask under his breath, sounding not so much mad as plaintive. “We were practically out the door.”

She took a sip. It was still awful. “I like my drink.”

“You don’t have to get a drink from Steve.”

“It’s free. You think I can just waltz out and get a free drink anytime I feel like it?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, I do.”

She was still refusing to look at him. “I don’t want to make trouble. All I want is a drink.” She sipped again.

“Jesus, Marilyn, I’ll get you a drink. I’ll get you a whole bottle.”

“Marilyn?” she asked innocently.

“Come on. ‘All I want is a drink.’
All About Eve
.” She glanced at the duffel bag in his lap. He was tying the straps into a knot. She could hear an ice tray cracking in the kitchen.

The silence lengthened. She reflected that she didn’t think she had seen any Antonioni.

Finally, in her normal volume, she asked, “Did you like
Zabriskie Point
?”

“I fucking hated it,” said Fred.

“Hated what?” Steve had appeared in the door.

“
Zabriskie Point
.” Fred took his drink and slurped off the top.

She had better work fast. This conversation was deteriorating in one quick hurry. She had no ideas at all.

“I think
Il Grido
’s pretty terrific,” she ventured. She hadn’t seen that one either, but she’d read about it in the front section of the
New Yorker
and could fake it if she had to.

“Alida Valli,” agreed Steve. “Whatta dish.”

That was as far as she could go with Antonioni. Matthew. He could work with this situation. She needed a Matthew remark. “I must say,” she said, louder than either man had been speaking, “I’m relieved.” Both heads swung in her direction, probably because she suddenly sounded like Mary Poppins, but at least she was changing the subject. “All these years I’ve been hearing about how frightfully dangerous it is to store nitrate, and that’s not the case at all.”

Ten minutes ago she was Fred’s hero. Now he was obviously thinking she was dumb as a side of ham. “Um, what are you talking about?”

“Steve takes good care of his nitrate. But it seems like it can survive even when you don’t. Like that man in Vermont with that big collection out in his barn.”

“It was in his tool shed,” said Fred. “Some of it was in terrible shape. And, ah, frankly it’s a miracle there was anything left.”

“Gotta agree there, Karen. Let’s not get carried away,” said Steve. “In the first place, Otis didn’t have it out in the shed more than a year. That wife of his made him put it out there.”

“Guess she didn’t care about film collecting,” said Ceinwen.

“Guess not.” Steve shrugged.

“So narrow-minded,” she offered, by way of sympathy. “She should have made more of an effort to understand how important collectors are.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” said Steve. “But it wasn’t Otis’s collection.”

“What?” said Fred. “Of course it was.”

“Oh no, Freddie. Nope. It was his wife’s.”

“But you said she made him get rid of it,” she said to Fred.

“That was his second wife,” said Steve. “I don’t know who the hell she was. No, the collector was his first wife. Lauren, her name was. Her I knew, before she up and died.”

She had to get the last name. “How about you, Fred, did you know her?”

“Um … a collector named Lauren?”

“Reifsnyder,” said Steve. “Lauren Reifsnyder.” Bingo. She should write it down, but she’d just have to remember it. “But I guess Freddie never met her. The Brody got the collection before you got there, isn’t that right?”

“Years before. I was, um, still at NYU.” She took another sip. The melting ice was making the vodka almost palatable. She was mulling her next move when Fred spoke, sounding interested for the first time. “You knew this woman?”

“Sure. Everybody did.”

“Stood out, huh.” Fred sounded skeptical.

“Ha, yeah, I know what you academic types think about collectors, but trust me, Lauren was a genuine nutcase. First of all, she was about this big around.” Steve held up a pinkie. “And she was always cold. Didn’t matter what time of year it was. Ninety degrees out, she’d have on two sweaters and a big wool scarf.”

“Where did she get all her films?” That sounded nice and casual. Matthew would approve.

“Same places everybody did, I guess. She might have known somebody in the business. No idea. I couldn’t believe it when she got married. I mean, she wasn’t a bad-looking old bird, but she never wanted to talk to anyone. She’d just scurry around and barely speak. Then she meets old Otis Anderson, brings him to a few events and he stands there looking bored as hell. I used to chat him up just ’cause I felt sorry for him. Next thing we hear, she’s up in Vermont. She musta covered herself in blankets up there. I always figured she’d move to Florida. Well, I dunno, she didn’t last that long. Maybe the cold did kill her. I don’t think she ever made it to the five-year anniversary.” Steve crunched some ice thoughtfully.

“What happened to Anderson?”

“He took the tax deduction and dropped dead, like, I don’t know, maybe a year later,” said Fred.

“I’m thinking Lauren came back to haunt him after he got rid of it,” said Steve. “You guys never would have gotten anything out of her when she was alive. She never sold a frame. Oh, you could ask her and she’d pretend she was taking you seriously, or sometimes she’d even offer to sell you something herself. But then you’d get down to the nitty-gritty and she’d name her price and she’d want a fortune, some amount nobody in his right mind would pay. After a while it got to be a known thing and nobody tried anymore. Not even me.” He chuckled. “And I tell you, if I’d heard she kicked the bucket in time, the Brody wouldn’t have gotten her stuff, either.”

“She never sold anything at all? She just kept buying nitrate?”

“I didn’t even know she had nitrate.” She definitely didn’t believe
that
. But she had the name and Steve had made it clear he wasn’t showing them anything else.

“Fred,” she asked, “are you sure you’re comfortable with that bag in your lap?” He straightened up a bit and knocked back another swallow.

“Yeah, careful there Freddie.”

“I’m not afraid of the nitrate,” Fred repeated, in a normal volume this time. “I work with this stuff all day. It’s just, you know, procedures.”

She drained the rest of her drink, as Fred did the same, and she came up with a Miriam line. “I’m awfully afraid we’re keeping you. Fred and I had better skedaddle.” Skedaddle was her own word. She wanted to keep it all natural-sounding. I’m doing great, she gloated. She set down her drink, it tilted over the edge of her coaster, and she re-centered it.

Fred was already standing up. They put on their coats.

“I’ll, uh, take good care of Raymond for you, Steve.”

“Do that, Freddie.”

“I’ll be in touch when I can bring it back.” He paused and added brightly, “Unless, you, ah, wanna donate it.”

“No way.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Steve held open the door. “Hey, when you come back, you can bring Karen.”

“Great idea,” said Fred, weakly.

Fred hit the lobby button with his palm. The handles on his bag were still knotted. “Phew, that’s over.” He leaned his shoulders against the elevator wall and let the bag slip to the floor. “And you finished your drink. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she said, without sarcasm. The doors opened; he heaved the bag back up by the shoulder strap and held an arm in front of the door.