He let the words hang in the room. Ben got up and went over to the wash basin.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a weakness to get some rest. Here, take this.” He handed him a pill from the small envelope.

Lasner held it in front of his mouth, a bargaining chip. “But you’ll stick around.”

Ben nodded, watching him lift the water glass. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay till you’re asleep.”

“And after that?” Childlike, pressing.

Ben took the glass away. “After that you’ll be asleep. If anything happens, ring for the porter. I don’t care who’s tipping him. You don’t want to take any more chances with that.” He pointed to Lasner’s chest.

Lasner grunted. “People try to see me all day long and here you are, and all you can say is go to sleep.”

“Mr. Lasner-”

“Sol. For chrissake, you took my pants off.”

Ben sat down. There was nothing to do but wait for the pill to kick in.

“All day long,” Lasner said. “No wonder I get episodes. You think it’s a picnic, running a studio?”

“Maybe you should think about retiring.”

“Hah. Then who would call me?” Said so simply that for a second Ben thought he was joking.

“But if you’re sick-”

“What do you think, it’s something you can just walk away? I built the studio. All of it.” He sat back against his pillow. “Nobody sees the work. They think it just happens. But it’s work. Look at Paulette.” He raised a finger. “You’re wrong about her. I saw it in your face. You thought she was a Peggy Joyce.”