Katz shook his head. “You got it backwards. You should do the loan-outs. Look at Selznick-he’s living on his contract list. Every time he loans out Bergman, he’s making what? A couple of hundred?”

“There’s a name for that.”

“Producer.”

“Producer. What’s he doing now, some farkakte Western with that girl played the saint? One picture. You know how many pictures Continental’s releasing this year?”

“That’s my point. You’re not a small studio anymore. People should be coming to you for the talent.”

Lasner held up his hand. “You got something going with her, is that what?”

“Just ten percent.”

“Do you believe this guy?” Lasner said to Ben. “She’s gone down on half the Fox lot and with him it’s still business.”

“You’ve got her wrong. She can sing.”

“You remind me of Gus Adler. The way he was with Rosemary. All he could talk about. Test her, test her.”

“And you did. And signed her,” Katz said smiling, sending a ball over the net.

Lasner shrugged. “All right. Set it up with Bunny. Then we’ll see.” Katz started to speak, but Lasner stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Now take a step back. You push too hard, you knock people over. Learn from Abe. You know what he decided? Act like a gentleman, people always take your calls. There are ways to do things.”

“Jesus, Sol. I was just trying to say thank you.”

There was a stirring in the car, a shift in the air, as if someone were holding a door open. Paulette Goddard was walking toward them, people pretending not to notice as they let her pass. The bond drive dress was gone, traded up for a dark silk top that glittered with sequins, almost as bright as the diamond earrings setting off her face. It wasn’t just being beautiful, Ben thought, amused-she seemed to have brought her own lighting with her, a spot following her through the car.