Missing Reels (42 page)

She took another sip, bent at the waist and looked to see if there was a light under the door. “It’s pretty chilly down here. Is it like this during the summer?”

“It isn’t warm, as I recall.” She handed him the wine and pressed her face up to the crack of the door, trying to see inside. “If anyone spots you, they’ll think you’re bonkers. You realize that.”

She kept her face where it was. “You’ll look crazier,” she told him, “standing there drinking a glass of wine and watching me.”

He took another swig. “You’re right. Let’s go.” She inhaled. “Ceinwen. You’re worrying me. Come upstairs. We can make a list.” She breathed deep. “A nice list of options. Nothing like a list for ordering the mind.” She pulled her head away.

“Take a whiff.”

“A what?”

“Put your face right where mine was,” she said, “and smell.” He handed her the wine and did as she asked. “What do you smell?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Vinegar, maybe?”

“Try again.” He put his face back and breathed in with a loud, theatrical snort. “Now what?” she asked.

He sniffed once more, leaned his back on the door and took his wine out of her hand. “Vinegar, and nuts.”

“Not just nuts. Almonds.”

“Lovely. Now we’re Miss Marple.” He pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Cyanide! The scent of bitter almonds!”

“This time I know what I’m talking about, and you don’t. Almonds. That’s the smell of nitrate. And the vinegar is the smell of the safety film, getting old.” She took the glass out of his hand and drained it in one go. “Now we can go back upstairs and have that rational little chat.”

Once they were back in his apartment, she took off her coat and a visibly relieved Matthew did the same. She picked up her glass and he refilled his own. Side by side they sat on the couch in silence.

“Talmadge told me once,” she said, “that those combination locks aren’t very secure. Practically anybody can pick them.”

He set down his glass and put his hands behind his head. “That’s intriguing. But I think we can do much better. Here’s a thought. You lure Andy to my apartment.”

She didn’t think she liked where this was going. “How do I do that?”

“I shouldn’t think that would be any problem at all, do you? You say to him, ‘Hello, Andy. Come up and see me sometime.’ There you are. Instant Andy. You crook your finger”—he demonstrated—“and beckon him out to the terrace, right there. I’m hiding behind a potted plant we’ve purchased for the occasion, and POW! I hurl him over the rail.”

“Very—”

“Then, with a bit of luck, he screams out the precise location of
Mysteries of Udolpho
before he hits the ground.”

“Very funny.”

“No funnier than nicking it from his storage.” He leaned forward. “By the way. Since we’re on the topic. Does that flatmate of yours have
any
ethics at all?”

She sprang to her feet, yelling. “What are we supposed to do? Let him hog the movie where nobody can ever see it? Keep it down there till it’s a pile of dust?”

“Calm down, I didn’t say that.” He put a hand on her arm and she sat and put her head on her knees. He left his hand where it was. Then he took it away.

“Didn’t you tell me nitrate film is dangerous?”

She sat up and shrugged. “Oh, you know. Kind of an exaggeration.”

“An exaggeration? You told me they quit using it, it was so dangerous.”

Now was not to the time for him to get all fussy about the nitrate. “In theory. They used nitrate for years and years. All the way up through the forties. If it was all that bad, going to the movies would have been like the climax of
White Heat
.”

“Well damnit, it
was
like
White Heat
a few times, wasn’t it? You said there were cinema fires.” No, she didn’t like this at all. He poked her chest. “That is exactly what you said. Fires that killed hundreds of people.”

“You have to account for human error.”

He was on his feet. “I like that. Oh, that’s brilliant, that is.” He grabbed his wine and knocked back some more. “When I moved in here, I decided I wanted to cook like an American. And I got one of those gas grills, propane. For the balcony. I wanted to put a couple of tanks down in my little space, which is probably about one-
tenth
the size of Andy’s by the way, and when I was taking them in, the super spotted me.”

“I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.”

“And the super said, ‘I’m sorry Mr. Hill, but you can’t store propane down here. It’s a fire hazard. Regulations.’ So my two little tanks of propane are going to engulf the building in flames.” He waved the glass to mime an inferno and wine splashed on his hand. “But a entire room full of nitrate film, that’s perfectly all right.” He stalked to the kitchen and wiped off his hand.

“There’s obviously some safety stuff in there, too.”

He grabbed the wine bottle. “It’s true. It’s really true. Once you have tenure, you can do what the fuck you like.”

She rolled her eyes and opened her purse to look for her cigarettes. Matthew planted himself in front of her, wine bottle in one hand and glass in the other.

“You want a real idea, Miss Reilly? Here you are.
We shop him
.”

“Shop him for what?”

“For having a fire hazard in a block of flats, that’s what.” He banged down the glass and the bottle and charged for the bedroom.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m writing to the management,” he called, “to report the little bastard.”

She rushed to the bedroom. “How’s that going to help?”

“They’ll tell him it has to go, and then we’ll talk him into selling it. Or donating it. Doesn’t much matter which. We can see if Harry wants
The Crowd
back. With a bonus.” He was rolling a sheet of paper into his typewriter.

“What do we say?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m writing this. Not you. And then, if you don’t mind, we’re spending the night at your place.”

E
MPTY BED AND A DEAD-SILENT APARTMENT.
W
HEN SHE WALKED
into the kitchen she jumped and gave a little shriek. Matthew, wearing yesterday’s shirt and cords, was drinking coffee with Talmadge and Jim. Talmadge was giving her a 10,000-kilowatt smile. He knew. They’d been discussing her. They couldn’t have looked more guilty if she’d caught them having a three-way on top of the stove.

“Morning,” trilled Talmadge in his Auntie Mame voice. “Lovely day for a hunt.” Jim pursed his mouth and Matthew gazed deep into his coffee cup.

“Is there any coffee left?” she asked, and her voice came out in a croak.

Matthew said he had something to take care of first thing, and he had to work all day too. “I’ll see you at the end of the week. We’ll see what happens.” He made her promise, several times and with the most explicit phrasing possible, that she wasn’t going to confront Andy while they waited. They’d slipped Matthew’s anonymous note under the super’s door before they left.

She spent the day cleaning the apartment, scrubbing so thoroughly that Jim and Talmadge gave her a round of applause when they got home. That night she pulled out a second-hand video of
Stella Maris
. A minute or two in, Jim spoke up.

“When was this made?”

“1918.”

They watched for a few more minutes. Talmadge shifted his legs around and Jim lit a cigarette.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked Jim. “Pickford was great.”

“It’s a little slow …”

She changed the tape to
Johnny Eager
with Lana Turner.

The next morning she decided to call Fred before she went to work. Matthew hadn’t said word one about contacting Fred. She thought she could prepare the Brody for the possibility of another Vermont-type stash, only right here in New York. Easier commute, she wanted to tell him. Kelly didn’t make her spell her name. But Ceinwen was informed very firmly that Fred was in the laboratory, and they didn’t take calls there.

At Vintage Visions she thought she was doing well, and she even sold a hat, but then a snippy customer handed her the receipt and pointed out that she’d moved a whole decimal point in the price. She had to void the transaction and endure Lily’s interrogation, since Lily always assumed a void meant you had your hand in the till.

That night she bought a pizza and beer for the house, and Jim picked the movie,
Cat People
. A remake, but all right, considering that she watched it with her ears tuning in and out like a radio. She really wanted to finish
Stella Maris
.

The sun on the blinds was heating up the room, and when she awoke she raised them and opened the window. A breeze curled in, half warm, half cool. The clock said 11:38, and spring was here.

The phone rang. She stuck her head out the window and breathed deep. It was probably for Jim or Talmadge, and they’d have left for work. Two more rings and the machine kicked in.

“Ceinwen, pick up the phone. Now. This is important …” She picked up just as Matthew was saying “Where are you?”

“Hi, I just woke—”

“Get over here.” Panic. Matthew, in a panic. “
They’re throwing them out
.”

She tried to walk with the phone to her room but the cord was tangled. “The films? Andy had them in storage?”

“Yes of course the sodding films. All of them. The fire department is here and they’re going to throw them out.”

“What, without—”

“Don’t dawdle, don’t bother with make-up, don’t stand around deciding what to wear.”

“Without even knowing what’s there?”

“Stop
talking
to me. Get something on your back and
come now
.” He hung up.

It couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. She threw on the first clothes she found and checked her purse for her keys. At the bottom next to them was Fred’s card.

“Brody Institute for Cinephilia and Preservation, may I help you?”

“I need to speak to Fred Creighton. Tell him it’s Ceinwen Reilly calling.”

“Oh my goodness. Did he not get back to you? That Fred. He’s in the lab again.”

“Get him out, please, this is an emergency.”

“An emergency? Is someone sick?”

“Tell him,” she yelled, “that this is a film preservation emergency, that some things may be lost forever and I need to talk to him.”

She couldn’t tell if she’d scared Kelly or just puzzled the hell out of her. “All right. Hold on.” Ceinwen lit a cigarette. She tried to untangle the phone cord, but she’d have to unplug it to get the knots out. A film preservation emergency, wow, that was inspired. Nobody except another freak like her was going to be alarmed by that. She should have said she was bleeding to death. This is Ceinwen Reilly, I just cut myself on a reel of
Four Devils
…

“Hello?”

“Fred, thank god. I need you to come down to NYU.”

“I was going to call you back—”

“There’s a bunch of films that a collector was storing at Washington Square Village, and the fire department’s been called, and they’re going to throw them away.” Silence. Not even an “um.” “Did you hear me? I know for a fact that there’s some rare stuff down there and the fire department is going to throw it all out. You need to get down there.” She added, “Please.”

“You’re, um, sure about this?”

“I’m telling you, these are silents, I know these could be important films, and they’re just going to get rid of them, I don’t even know where they want to take them …”

“Okay, okay. Calm, okay? Stay calm.” She couldn’t find the Kleenex or the toilet paper. “I’m, uh, not sure how much I can argue with the fire department, but I’ll go down there. Um, are we talking a lot of stuff?”

“Probably a whole lot. Nitrate.”

“
Whoa
. Nitrate? In Washington Square Village?”

“Yes, Fred. That’s why they’re going to throw it out.”

“Hey, don’t get mad, I’m on your side.” Silence again.

“Fred? Are you leaving now?”

“This, um, sounds like a legal thing.”

“Hell yes, it’s a legal thing.”

“Okay. So I should get Isabel.”

“Bring anybody. Bring Kelly if you want.”

“I don’t think I can. Somebody’s gotta stay at the front desk.”

“Fred …”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Stall ’em for half an hour or so. I’ll be there.”

On the last flight to the lobby she slipped, almost fell, discovered she was still holding her burnt-out cigarette, and tossed it away. On Avenue B she saw a cab, which was miraculous, and ran into the street hollering “TAXI!,” willing to play chicken if that was what it took to get him to stop. She slammed the door getting in and barked “West Third and Mercer.” And added something she’d always wanted to: “Step on it.”

He couldn’t pull up next to the complex because a fire truck was blocking one lane, lights flashing. She paid up, overtipping, because she didn’t want to wait for change, and because he did kind of step on it. She bolted down Third Street.

There was a crowd of people around the entrance. Firemen in their gear were bringing out reels and climbing the stairs to the garden, putting the films in the middle under a tarp. Another fireman was keeping people away. Matthew was off to one side, pacing. Harry was arguing with a man in a jacket and tie and a fireman’s hat.

“You’re approaching this the wrong way,” Harry was saying. “This isn’t just a bunch of old chemicals nobody wants. Think of it more like, the Mona Lisa happens to be
really
flammable.”

“I’m approaching this like there is a major, potentially explosive fire hazard in a building of almost a thousand residents, that’s how I’m approaching it.”

“I agree, Captain, there’s no question of leaving it here.”

“Thank you
so much
, professor.”

“All we’re asking for is adequate time to get these films to a place that can handle them.” He gave Ceinwen a brief wave.

“Unless you’ve got somebody lined up, as in this minute, that’s exactly what I plan to do.” She was trying to interrupt but they were going at each other too fast.

“You may not be aware of this, but we do have a film department here at the university. Rather a well-known one in fact. And I’ve placed a call to Paul Becker, the department head.”