Missing Reels (8 page)

The only famous Emil who fit the time period was Emil Jannings; she knew him from watching
The Blue Angel
three times with Talmadge. She wasn’t crazy about him. He had good moments, like after Lola’s final betrayal, but other times he was too much, as though he were on stage and playing to the balcony. According to the books, he’d made
Blue Angel
when he returned to Germany after sound came in, and eventually the Nazis chose him to head up the main German film studio during the war.

Miriam in love with a fat, hammy Nazi. In love with him enough, furthermore, to scrawl a bunch of hugs and kisses across the bottom of a photo she gave him, then get the picture back from him—somehow—and keep it in a fancy silver frame for the next fifty-some-odd years.

Even Ceinwen’s fantasies couldn’t accommodate that much … fantasy. It probably wasn’t an actor at all.

It was well past 1:00 a.m. when she reluctantly switched off the light.

E
ACH NIGHT BEFORE BED
, C
EINWEN SEARCHED
T
HE
P
ARADE
’
S
G
ONE
B
Y
and tried to find another Emil—a director, a cinematographer, a producer, an art director, a stunt man. Nothing. Nothing in
The Movies
, nothing anywhere else. She decided to attack the problem from another angle, and went through every actress, looking for a Miriam. There weren’t any.

Lily had taken a rare Saturday off, Talmadge was in charge, and the atmosphere was festive, or would have been, had Ceinwen not been stuck with a middle-aged lady who couldn’t decide between a choker and a pendant. She gently tried to steer the woman toward the pendant, decided gentle wasn’t working, and started saying things like pendants were more youthful (although that wasn’t strictly true), at which point, due to boredom, she happened to glance toward the front of the store, where she saw Matthew speaking to Roxanne. She had managed not to think of him all day, or at least only twice, which was very close to zero and thus barely counted, and there he was, strolling down the aisle toward the jewelry cases as if no time had elapsed since their last meeting.

He didn’t pretend to look in the case. He leaned against the far counter, gave a wave and waited. Ceinwen’s sales patter took on desperation. The necklace was twenty dollars, and this woman was carrying a Chanel purse. If she didn’t make up her mind soon, Ceinwen was ready to take down some hats and see if she could keep her occupied that way. She finally decided on the choker, and Ceinwen handed her over to Roxanne.

Matthew was still leaning. He didn’t look so hot. In Mississippi, if you finally laid eyes on someone who’d disappeared for a couple of weeks, you’d say, “Where the hell you been?” What would you say in England? She walked over and clasped her hands behind her back.

“To what do I owe the honor?”

At least he looked startled. “Harry gave me homework.”

She looked around the counter. “What do you have to buy?”

“A movie ticket,” he said. “To
The Crowd
.”

He was going to ask her, she realized with a little flare of happiness. But that didn’t mean it had to come easy. “Great. Let me know how you like it.”

He put his elbows on the counter, which probably foretold an explanation. “I would have stopped in sooner”—yep—“but we were trying to work out this proof together. And it wasn’t going well, so I was staying late at the office. And yesterday Harry walked in and told me the whole thing was a nonstarter. He’d been giving a talk up at Columbia, and he got on the subway and started thinking about another idea, and he realized our angle couldn’t be done. Four months of work. Poof.”

She wasn’t sure it worked as an excuse, but she did feel a little sorry for him. “Just sitting on the subway? What was he looking at?”

“No idea. A derelict, possibly. In any event, that’s that. We have to start over. So today he came in”—Mathew took a folded sheet out of his pocket—“and said this sod—erm, silent movie is playing somewhere called Theatre 80 St. Marks. He said it’s tonight only and ordered me to see it.” He paused for a second or two, then continued when she didn’t speak. “Threw me out of the office. Threats were made against my job.”

“Aw, Harry wouldn’t do that.”

“Probably not. But he did bring up the word ‘recommendations’ in an ominous sort of way.” Another pause. “So here I am.”

“Here you are,” she agreed. He needed to suffer some more.

“It’s at 9:30.” She waited it out. “Would you like to go?”

She put her elbows on the counter. “Did Harry order you to take me?”

“He mentioned it.”

Harry’s idea. Damn. “He’s probably right. It’s probably a great movie. There’s a whole chapter about it in one of the books he lent me. There’s one shot of hundreds of desks—I saw a still—and Billy Wilder stole it when he made—”

“Does that mean yes?”

“—
The Apartment
. I don’t know, I’m tired.”

“This should buck you up. Almost two hours of poetry. Hard poetry.”

“That’s harsh poetry.”

“Right, my mistake. Harsh, dark, truthful poetry. Got that again tonight. I hate to say you owe me, but you do.”

She decided it was time to straighten necklaces and opened the case. She smoothed out one, she smoothed out another.

“Of course, if you already have plans …”

“I get off work at nine,” she said. “I’ll meet you there at a quarter after.”

It didn’t take fifteen minutes to walk to Theatre 80, so she had some time to kill. She watched Talmadge bring the gates down in front of the store. From his post on the men’s side he’d been checking out the conversation with Matthew, and he had opinions to deliver.

“You had me thinking he was forty at least. He’s not that old at all. And he’s cute. Sort of.” Talmadge was trying to get the padlock fastened. “For an English guy, he’s incredibly cute.”

“I didn’t say he was forty, I said he’s older than me.”

“He likes you.” Talmadge finally had the lock through the gates.

“I guess. I didn’t think he was going to show up again.”

“But he did. He likes you a lot.” Talmadge gave her the once-over, taking in the hair that was drooping after eight hours behind the counter, the flats, and the dress hem peeking out from under the iridescent men’s raincoat. “Has he seen that dress before?”

She hadn’t thought about that. It was the blue dress she’d had on the night she first met him. He was going to think she had no clothes. “No, that’s sweet,” said Talmadge. “It’ll remind him of when he first saw you.”

“What he saw was my bare waist when this thing ripped.”

“Perfect. I’ll walk you to Second.” When they got to Astor Place Talmadge stopped in front of a street vendor selling vintage clothing and asked, “What are you going to do about the girlfriend?”

“I’m not trying to do anything about the girlfriend.”

“Don’t bother, sweetie. I’m not Jim. What’s her name again?” The dresses were 1970s. Clothing’s worst era, as far as she was concerned.

“Ah-nuh.” They stopped at the next one.

“What?” She spelled it for him. “Anna you mean?”

“He says Ah-nuh.” The vendor seemed to know his stuff was hopeless, and he kept smoking and drinking out of whatever was in his paper bag. “I guess that’s how she says it.”

“Screw that. We’re gonna say it like normal people. AN-na. Is she pretty?”

“I guess. She looks a little like that girl from
Family Ties
. Bigger nose.”

Talmadge thought about that. “All right, that’s pretty. But not gorgeous. You’re prettier.”

“I don’t know, we don’t look one thing like each other. And she’s from Italy, so that’s exotic.” None of the vendors had anything good tonight. They moved on.

“So’s Yazoo City.”

“Are you kidding? You’ve heard me talk about it.”

“He’s from England, what does he know? Let him think you grew up at Tara.”

“That was Georgia.”

“
Don’t
tell him that. And AN-na’s out of the picture. If you play things right, which means you do
not
bring her up again, ever, she may wind up in Italy for good. These long-distance things never work.” They’d reached Second Avenue. “What did he say she did?”

“She’s an economist.”

“Oh my god. If you can’t get rid of an economist, it’s hopeless. Good night, sweetie.” He kissed her on the cheek and turned for downtown.

Matthew was waiting for her outside the theater, examining the small group of celebrity footprints set in the concrete sidewalk outside. “Who is Hildegard Knef?”

“German I think? Not all that famous. She was in
The Lost Continent
.”

“Future assignment?”

“I think Harry would let you skip it.”

“I was asking about you, not Harry.”

She concentrated on covering Gloria Swanson’s tiny footprints with her own. “You wouldn’t get science fiction homework from me.”

He’d bought the tickets already, which made her happy, although she told him he didn’t have to do it. It was only Saturday—he needed to know she still had money. He bought popcorn, which he handed to her without a word. The theater was a little more than half full, and she directed him to her favorite spot, a few rows back near the middle—the Theatre 80 sightlines were terrible if you were too close or on the sides. She put the popcorn bag in her teeth so she could unbutton her coat. Matthew unfolded his seat and sat down. The bottom of it tilted forward, and he grabbed both armrests to keep his ass from hitting the floor. She had to take the popcorn bag out of her mouth so she could laugh without dropping it.

“I get it. You’re testing me.”

“You’re laughing too.” She moved down one more seat.

“Because I can’t believe I fell for that. You knew that seat was there, you told me this was your favorite spot.”

“I know it’s there, but I can never remember exactly where.”

“So you say. First time, foreigner, doesn’t watch silent movies, give him the dodgy seat.” They threw their coats over the broken seat and sat back down. Matthew put his elbow on the armrest between them, then put his hand on it. The armrest, too narrow for more than one small arm, wobbled slightly.

“You gotta comment on everything, don’t you,” she said.

“As a matter of fact, I was loudly
not
commenting.”

“No, you’re just doing some kind of experiment.”

“I’m trying to see if this has two hours left in it. It definitely won’t support two arms.”

She put the popcorn in her lap and folded her arms close to her body. “It’s all yours.”

“Generous woman.” He put his elbow on the armrest and slid down until his head hit the top of the seat.

“Don’t mention it. You did buy the tickets.”

“True, I did. What do I get for the popcorn?”

She’d been doing well to this point, but now she was staring into her popcorn bag and thinking Theatre 80 needed to do better with starting on time. “King Vidor?”

He’d closed his eyes. He did look exhausted. “No, for that I get Harry no longer greeting me with ‘Hey, Michael J. Fox.’”

Hallelujah, the curtains were parting and she didn’t have to reply. The titles began to roll. Theatre 80 was rear-projection, and the prints fell somewhere between adequate and shredded. The soundtrack, an organ, sounded warped, there was a black line down the left side, and flecks of black floated on the image. A bad splice caused a sudden jump.

“Fuck me,” groaned Matthew, who had opened his eyes but otherwise hadn’t moved.

“Shush.” She elbowed him, and the armrest wobbled. “The prints always get better further in.” If he was one of those people who talked during the movie, this was going to be a short evening.

He wasn’t. After the baby on screen started crying, neither said a word. Ceinwen, who’d been worried about sitting so close to him in the cramped seats, noticed Matthew only when he picked his head up a few minutes in.

The lights came up, and people began to file out. She turned.

“If you have one bad word to say about that movie, I’m telling you right now, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t.” He reached over and picked up her coat.

“You don’t? Really?” That was a squeal.

He stood up and held up the coat for her. “No. I don’t.”

She was still sitting. “You liked it?”

“Yes. That is what I am saying. I liked it. Happy?”

“I’m thrilled. And Harry will be so pleased.”

“No more so than I. My career is safe, until he decides I have to sit through
Napoleon
.” He waggled the coat, and she stood up and put her arms in the sleeves. His hands brushed her shoulders. “Was that popcorn your dinner?”

“Um …”

“Right. Know anywhere around here?”

She needed to do a better job of thinking ahead. She hadn’t once considered what happened after the movie, but then she seldom did. “Kiev? It’s right over on Seventh.”

“Fine.”

She fired up a cigarette as soon as they hit the sidewalk and began going through the movie, walking backwards at one point so she could imitate a movement for him, until he grabbed both her arms to keep her from colliding with a passing mohawk-haired kid. The sandwich board. The office building and the desks. Coney Island. The marriage.

It was a short walk to Kiev, a twenty-four-hour joint famous as a good place to put heavy food in a drunk stomach. They found a table and she was still talking, squinting slightly at the harsh fluorescents after Theatre 80’s blue lights. The little girl. The truck. The river. The little boy. The movie theater. Matthew reached over and tapped the menu. “Do you have something in mind, or shall I order while you parse the movie? Because I warn you, I’ll make you eat your vegetables.”

“Nobody in their right mind orders vegetables at Kiev. Except potatoes.” She pushed the menu aside without looking at it. “I’m getting kasha.”

“What’s that?”

“Wheat.”

“Heard about this new food craze? It’s called protein.”

“This has protein, smart aleck. It comes with gravy.”

When he’d finished laughing he managed to say, “I’d no idea. Carry on.”