The Chelsea Girls

CHAPTER TWENTY

Maxine

July 22, 1950

After getting the bad news from Mr. Canby and Hazel, I rejoined what was left of the cast party. Arthur hovered behind me, trailing me wherever I went, and I purposely ignored him and flirted with others, laughing too loudly and letting my hand linger too long on the stage manager’s arm. I took whatever champagne was offered and downed it fast, knowing that it was the only way to blunt what was ahead.

“Let’s go.”

Arthur at least let me bid goodbye to the group before yanking me out into the street and gripping my arm hard as we waited for a cab to pull over. When one finally did, he opened the door and shoved me inside, to the point that a man walking by called out, “Hey, that’s no way to treat a lady.” Arthur ignored him, went around to the other side, and directed the cabbie uptown.

I’d hoped he’d wait until we got wherever we were headed to start in on me, but his anger boiled over, fueled by our close proximity.

“You threw it. On purpose.”

“No, Arthur. I went up on my lines. It happens to actors all the time. I was too rattled by that meeting up in Westchester, all the menacing talk. I’m an artist, and can’t be handled like that.”

He slammed his hand into the side of my face, palm out, so that my head hit the window hard and bounced off. Everything went dark for a couple of seconds, and I wondered if my neck would still hold up the boulder that had been my brain. The thick loopiness of shock was quickly replaced by searing pain that brought me out of my champagne buzz fast.

The taxicab driver glanced at me from the rearview mirror, then looked away, eyes on the road. No one was going to save me now.

We headed into Central Park, along the winding road that ran parallel to Fifth Avenue. I knew better than to ask where we were going. The blow had calmed Arthur, temporarily at least, and I didn’t want to risk another smack. I gingerly rubbed my head and tried to come up with a plan. Nothing.

The first act of the play had gone beautifully, just as we’d rehearsed. Which made what I had to do even harder. Earlier, when everyone was milling around, warming up on stage, I spotted Arthur—who’d stopped by to deliver a dozen anemic roses—staring at Hazel like a wolf. He asked me if I’d heard about the movie role, and I’d had to admit there was still no news. “Any day now, I’m sure,” I said, but he just shook his head. Right then, I’d realized that the only way to save Hazel from Arthur’s scheme was to tank the play. Short term, it would be painful. The thought made me ill. But less so than initiating the scandal they’d cooked up to divert the press’s attention from the arrest of Julius Rosenberg. If Hazel and Charlie’s relationship came to light, if Hazel was discovered sleeping with the enemy, she’d be attacked by both sides, the theater community as well as the militant right. She’d never write, never work, again.

At least this way I’d get the heap of blame. I would be the flighty Hollywood star who blew it, big-time. While the reviews would be scathing toward me, Hazel would eventually go on to write another play. I could then hightail it back to California to mourn the fact that I’d thrown away the best role of my life.

When the moment came, I’d stopped short, looked out into the audience, and let my eyes go wide, in the most sublime imitation of an actor forgetting her lines ever performed. Meanwhile, the words went around and around in my head. If not for Matthew, I’d be dead, part of the rubble. Never remembered, even by those who hate me.

I said them silently in my head three, four times. The audience stirred, murmured, the pressure building. It was as excruciating for me as it was for them. I fought against every good instinct I had to keep going, to say anything at all, to cross the stage and sit in a chair, anything, anything but stand there like a fool.

Another actor eventually came to my rescue and said my line for me. From there, everything and everyone slid downhill, fast. We staggered along aimlessly until the curtain finally fell.

If Hazel had been a painter instead of a playwright, it was as if I’d slashed her best artwork with a surgeon’s scalpel.

Before tonight, I’d desperately wanted to show everyone what a star I am, prove how perfect I was for this role. It wasn’t easy to let go of my own ego. But I had to. I had to in order to save a friend, all while destroying what she believed in most.

I had my reasons. That’s what I kept telling myself. I’d succeeded in tanking the play and, in doing so, saved Hazel and Charlie from the Party’s clutches. They were of no value anymore. A twisted triumph.

“Pull over here.”

Arthur threw some bills at the driver as I stepped out. We were just north of the boat pond in the very heart of the park. During daylight hours, the area would be rife with tourists and city dwellers out enjoying the shade of the giant sycamore trees. This late, the place was empty. Silent. No one would hear me out here.

He dragged me along a dirt path. The hilly area was called the Ramble, where pathways curved in, around, and across each other, winding over a hill covered with shrubs and trees and back down the other way past a gurgling waterfall. During the day, it was like a maze, where you couldn’t tell which way was east or west due to the dense greenery. In the dead of night, the place was frightening. I tried to keep my sense of direction. We passed no one.

We ended up standing on a rocky outcropping overlooking a small inlet. He shoved me down and my knees banged hard on the stone. To think that this boulder had existed in this same spot for thousands and thousands of years, long before humans, long before the Soviet Union or the United States even existed. Small glints of light shone up from the surface of the rock, and for some reason their beauty almost brought me to tears.

“Why did you do that?” asked Arthur.

“I didn’t do anything.” My words came out as a whimper.

“You’re useless to us now. You’ll never be a star after that. They’ll kill you, and me. Everything is closing in and you chose this moment to protect your friend? Don’t think I don’t know it. And they will, too. They’re not dumb, Magnild.”

Magnild. The name I was given as a child. What my grandmother used to call me.

He kicked me hard in the upper thigh. I rolled over and gripped it with both hands. “Stop. I don’t deserve this. Please, Arthur.”

He stood over me, panting, both hands on his hips. “You do deserve it. Traitor.”

“We love each other.” The words made me sick but I said them anyway, anything to buy some time. “You can’t let them tear us apart like this. We’re more than the Party. Let’s break away, together.”

“You’re saying you want out? Is that what kind of a comrade you are? What about everyone who supported you on your way up to the top? Do you think you would have attained your success without us backing you? You belong to us, to me. Don’t forget it.”

I didn’t care. I’d saved Hazel, that was all that mattered. “It’s no good anymore. The Party’s not the same, we’re all under fire.”

Arthur knelt down on one knee, like he was about to propose. “You’ve lost your way, Magnild. You have been pretending all this time, haven’t you?”

“No. But we don’t know what it’s really like in Russia. I don’t want to go there. I want my freedom.”

In response, he grabbed me by the neck and choked me. I tried to punch him but he was too big, too strong. I grabbed at the hands around my neck and tried in vain to pull them off. Finally, I let go and stared up at the stars beyond his red face, at the way the trees gently brushed the dark sky with their leaves, until the sound of the wind was replaced by the pounding of blood in my ears, and I passed out.

Arthur left me on that rock in the middle of the night. I came to, briefly, and then fell asleep, too sore to move. I let the humid air, which smelled of rotting wood and wet dirt, drift over me like a ghost. Moving in and out of dreams and the sleep of the exhausted, I woke just as orange streaks began to burnish the sky.

I tested my bones for damage. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing broken. After making my way down to the side of the lake, I splashed water on my face like a vagrant. Two ducks watched me from a distance, curious but wary.

I caught a cab at Fifth Avenue and told the driver to take me back to the Chelsea Hotel. Luckily, I still had my purse and my wallet. The driver eyed me in the rearview window. I probably looked like a whore who’d been tumbled hard. Which pretty much summed me up. I’d whored myself out to Arthur, to the Party. They’d groomed me from when I was a teenager and didn’t know how to say no, or how to assess what was being asked of me. As I grew older, and realized the world wasn’t as black-and-white as they depicted it, I tried hard to justify my role in their master plan to spread communism to the States, but it became more and more difficult. All capitalists weren’t awful, nor were all communists morally superior. Working on Broadway with Hazel had opened my eyes to another choice, a world where I could simply act, stripped of any ulterior motives, and deepen my focus on my craft. Because that’s where my sympathies lay now, with the artists, the ones who struggled to make sense of the world. That’s what I wanted to be.

What to do now? I could turn myself in. Tell the Feds everything I knew. Which wasn’t much. As an underground operative, I was only told bits and pieces of the puzzle, never the entire thing. I didn’t even know the names of the couple I’d met up in Croton. It would make news, sure. The Feds would parade me about just like they did Julius. In handcuffs, on the front page.

I thought of my grandmother. In her letters, she’d told me how my fame had brought with it not only the check I sent along each month, which she said made her cry whenever she received it, but also the approbation of the people who’d once reviled her. She’d found acceptance, having a well-known actress as a granddaughter, but they would turn on her like a pack of dogs if I outed myself. She’d be persecuted, isolated, and shunned once again.

I concealed the fingerprints around my neck with makeup and made it to the theater for the matinee. Before the curtain went up, we were informed that tomorrow’s matinee would be the final performance, to no one’s surprise. Onstage, it was obvious the bad reviews had infected the audience’s response, which was remarkably different from previews. Where there had once been guffaws, now there was silence. Hardly a sniff during the big scene where Matthew and I reunite. They’d been told what to think and weren’t going to let anything going on onstage change their puny minds. While we started with great gusto, the lack of energy from the people staring back at us couldn’t help but dampen the performance. Where two days ago, bolts of emotional electricity sizzled, this afternoon’s show felt more like a funeral for a distant aunt who hadn’t left you any money. A muffled misery that’s soon forgotten.

Back at the hotel after the evening’s performance, I crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep. The phone woke me up Sunday morning.

“It’s me.”

Arthur. His baritone brought all the aches and fears racing back.

“Yes?” I wasn’t sure why he’d called here, knowing that the phones were tapped. It had to be important.

He spoke carefully, measuring out each word. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I am.”

“That’s good to know. We’re going forward, as planned, creating a diversion for our friend. Let us know a good time and place for a rendezvous.”

Meaning a time when I’d know that Charlie and Hazel would be together, in a compromising position. They were going forward with the plan anyway.

“No.” I scrambled for the right words. “There’s no point. No point in doing that.”

“That’s not your decision. If you don’t agree, I’ve been told to give our regards to your grandmother back in Seattle. We’ll be sure to reach out to say hello from you.”

I let out a weak moan. Arthur knew my deepest vulnerability, and would have no problems giving orders to hurt my grandmother if I didn’t do what they wanted.

Hazel and I shared a cab back to the Chelsea Hotel after the final show, after the maudlin goodbyes and promises to stay in touch. She insisted we meet up on the roof for a final toast, and I agreed, eager for anything to dull the pain.

“How are you doing?” Hazel asked, once we’d settled into our usual places.

“I should ask that of you.”

“I’m fine.” She laughed when I looked askance. “I guess I’m fine. I mean, I’m still breathing.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Funny how when things are really, really bad, you look around and appreciate the tiny things—like the taste of this wine, you by my side—because the big picture is so scary that the small things are what keep you grounded.” She smiled softly. “Who knows? Maybe, eventually, I’ll write another play, one that’s even better, even if that seems impossible in the moment. It’s strange, but whenever I’m stuck, I come up here and stare out at the city and, before I know it, I’m back on track. Something about this place is magical, in that way.”

“It’s your muse.”

“You’re my muse. No, don’t shake your head. It was your boldness on the USO tour that inspired me from the very beginning: the way you handled the other girls, the soldiers, the officers. How you’re not afraid to jump into the thick of things without overthinking matters or being nervous about screwing up. I haven’t forgotten you’re the reason why I landed the director’s job in the first place. That would’ve never happened without you sitting at the table, pushing Mr. Canby, pushing me, and it was my dream job. So thank you.”

It was like a punch in my gut, to hear those words. “Not anymore, no way. I can’t be bringing you down like I did. You’re on your own from here, chum.”

“Please don’t be hard on yourself.”

I hated that she was worried about me, and looked away, studying the reflection of the setting sun on the skyline, as the gray facades of the neighboring buildings turned a shimmering pink.

Hazel stared hard at me. “What’s that on your face?”

Without thinking, I had tucked my hair behind my ear, exposing the bruise. I quickly covered my cheek with my hand. “Nothing, just some reaction to that awful stage makeup.”

“Let me see.” She reached out and gently cupped my chin, her touch so tender I wanted to weep. “Is that from Arthur? Did he hit you?”

There was no point in lying. “We got into a tiff, nothing major. I fell while we were arguing.”

Hazel wasn’t having any of it. “No. You’re lying. What happened?”

I tried again. “He saw me flirting at the opening-night party. It was my fault, I’d had too much to drink.”

“And so he hit you?”

“He didn’t mean to, I swear.” I had to deflect her attention away from him, for her own sake.

Hazel shifted forward in her chair. “We’re going to the police. I’ll back up your story, and we’ll get him arrested and carted off to jail. He deserves no less.”

God, no. That was a terrible idea, for dozens of reasons, none of which I could share with Hazel. “You can’t. I won’t.”

She pulled back, incredulous, eyes wide. “Why not? Are you that scared of him?” She watched me as I tried not to squirm. “What’s going on? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I struggled to figure out how to answer.

“I love him.”

I don’t think I’ve hated myself as much as I did when I said those three words.

Hazel shook her head, confused. “If he hits you, why would you love him?”

I waited a moment, trying to figure out how to derail her demand to go to the police. “Just leave it alone, that’s all. I’m fine. If you’ve never been in a long-term relationship, you wouldn’t know what it’s really like.”

She inhaled sharply. The concern on her face was replaced with a stunned bewilderment. “I see. I’m not sure who you are anymore, Maxine.”

I wondered that myself. “Look, give me some time, okay? I promise everything will be fine. I just can’t be pushed right now, after the bad reviews and now this. I need a little time to get my bearings, reassess everything. You can understand that, can’t you?”

She nodded, but I could practically see her mind spinning, trying to figure out what I’d left unsaid. Where the missing pieces of the puzzle lay.

“Look, I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. You and Charlie, I know you’re close. I just worry about it, that’s all.”

Hazel’s face grew pinched. “After opening night, he told me that he’d been accepted into the FBI and we had a terrible row. I told him to break off from his father, from all the spy hunting, right there and then. He refused, and that was that. We’re done.”

I took a sip of my drink, unable to meet her eye or offer a word of comfort. Relief poured over me. They were done. She’d gone and saved herself without knowing it. I’d meet with Arthur tomorrow first thing and tell him that Charlie and Hazel were no longer a couple and to go jump in a lake.

Hazel was safe, that was my main concern. Whatever awfulness she’d gone through, I wouldn’t be adding to her woes any further. Not as long as she and Charlie stayed apart.

I took a deep breath, spoke in a soothing tone. “I’m so sorry. That must be difficult. But I think you did the right thing.”

“I thought I’d be enough for him to let his family’s legacy go. For the sake of us.”

“He’s a guy with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove to the world. To his father. You wait, you’ll meet someone smart and lovely and see Charlie for what he really is.”

“What’s that?”

“A boy. He’s not a man. You deserve a man. We both do.”

She considered that for a moment. I worried I was being too pushy.

“I think you’re right. Thank you, Max.” She reached out and put her hand over mine. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, through all this.”

Guilt tugged at me, hard. I ought to confess everything, get it all out. But I could already imagine how her features would rearrange themselves, grow hard and cold, and then my best friend would be lost to me forever.

The roof door opened and Lavinia appeared, holding an empty wine bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. Her hair, normally up in a bun at the nape of her neck, hung in loose strands down her back, and the colorful caftan she wore had slipped to one side, revealing a bare, bony shoulder.

“Girls, my girls.” She settled into one of the chairs and poured the last few drops of wine from the bottle into her glass. “Don’t worry, I’ve sent one of the porters out to the liquor store. The perks of hotel living.”

“Lavinia, are you drunk?” asked Hazel.

“I’m smashed to pieces, my dear. Don’t mind me.” She sat back in her chair, looking up at the sky. “What a view. I’ll never get tired of this view.”

Hazel and I exchanged looks.

“Oh, before I forget, Maxine, the switchboard operator said to make sure you got this.” She pulled a folded piece of pink paper out of her pocket and handed it to me.

As I read it, my mouth dropped open. My agent had called. I’d been offered the role, my first as a leading lady. His message said that he’d already booked me a flight to Los Angeles for Wednesday. I wondered how this was possible, with my listing in Red Channels. Maybe my single “offense” hadn’t been enough to raise the alarm.

“What’s the news?” asked Hazel.

Lavinia spoke up before I could answer. “I’m nosy, I read it on the way up. She’s been offered the lead in a movie with James Mason.”

I didn’t deserve this. Hazel was having what was probably, after her brother’s death, one of the worst weeks of her life. Yet here I was on the rise, being handed a career opportunity most actresses would die for.

“How thrilling,” exclaimed Hazel, though her excitement didn’t reach her eyes. “Tell us all about it.”

I tried to play it down. “I don’t know much yet, to be honest. Haven’t even read the script.”

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance, one that may set you up as a huge Hollywood star,” Lavinia declared. “You deserve it.”

“Not after blowing opening night.”

“Stop with that,” said Hazel. “You got the part because of the play, right? I remember you mentioned something about the meeting last week.”

I admitted that the director had seen one of our early previews, when the play had been at its peak and the audience reaction unsullied by negative notices, and had gushed breathlessly to me afterward. The fact that he’d still offered the part to me despite the bad reviews showed an unusual amount of courage, by Hollywood standards. If only I’d found out two days earlier.

“Then you deserve it. You deserve this success.” She nodded emphatically, almost as if she was convincing herself. I knew Hazel well enough to know that underneath her kind words, she was putting on a brave face and had to feel frustrated or even resentful. She hid it well.

I didn’t deserve this grand opportunity. I’d betrayed my best friend. Even worse, I’d tanked the play, which, after all that, hadn’t even been necessary.

“At least one of us will make it into the big time. In spite of all this blacklisting craziness.” Lavinia was watching me closely.

“What about your television role, Lavinia?” asked Hazel. “You could be a household name soon enough. Think of all those people who’ll be watching you week after week.”

“They’ve rescinded the offer.”

“What? Why?” Even in the fading dusk, I could see that Hazel had gone pale.

“I’ve been blacklisted.”

“When did this happen?”

“This week. At least they got my entry right. I was a card-carrying member of the Communist Party until 1939. A proud member, I’ll have you know. Got out when the Soviets made a pact with the Nazis, an alliance I could not abide.”

The same year I first questioned the cause myself. Arthur had pointed out to me that the Soviet Union had no choice in the matter, and if they didn’t sign, Hitler would attack anyway. He said we had to keep our mother country alive at all costs and the alliance was merely for show. I believed him.

Lavinia gave me a crooked smile. “So you see, you’re the last one standing, as the rest of us drop like flies. It’s all on your shoulders.”

All on my shoulders.

Maybe that was my way out.

Maybe there was another choice, besides turn myself in or continue toeing the party line. An option I’d never even imagined before, perhaps because it was so simple, so obvious. The perfect plan, if I could pull it off.

The more I considered the idea, the clearer the answer became. I could rise above my own fear of Arthur, my panic and helplessness, and turn that into brilliant rage. The rage of a diva.

The roof door opened and a large man appeared in silhouette.

Lavinia slid forward in her chair. “Aha, refreshments have arrived!”

The man headed our way, but he wasn’t one of the porters, nor was he holding a wine bottle. He held a white envelope.

“Oh my God. It’s a subpoena,” said Hazel.

Lavinia got to her feet, wobbling slightly. “Well, that was fast. Bring it on.”

The man came to a stop and stared at each of us, before settling his gaze on me. “Maxine Mead?”

I nodded.

“You’ve been asked to appear before the FBI tomorrow, in a private session, here in New York. I’ve been told to let you know it’s only a formality.”

Because of the film role. I took the envelope and watched as he walked away. Lavinia collapsed back into her chair.

“At least it’s a private session,” said Hazel. “That’s a good sign. They don’t want to make an example of you.”

My worry slowly started to dissipate. “It’ll be smooth sailing, I’m sure.”

“Miss Mead, what a pleasure to meet you in person. I’m Roy Cohn.”

I shook Mr. Cohn’s hand, amazed at how the soft voice didn’t match the man’s pugilistic appearance. His eyes bulged out like Elmer Fudd’s from the cartoon, and a garish scar ran down the length of his nose. I tried not to stare.

He fell over himself to accommodate me, holding out the chair, asking if I’d like some water or coffee. He introduced the other two men, who were with the FBI, but I didn’t catch their names, he spoke so fast. We were all squeezed into a tiny, bare office, a stenographer wedged in the corner, poor thing.

“This is simply a formality to clear you to work, as requested by a movie producer, Miss Mead. We are terribly sorry to inconvenience you. This is a pointless enterprise, but we must do what we’re told to do.”

I nodded, wary. While Hazel had said I should wait and bring a lawyer with me, I didn’t want to put the meeting off. Arthur had been instructed to lie low, up in Croton, on orders from Moscow, and I was relieved at the reprieve. It gave me more time to position myself the way I’d planned. The news of the new movie hadn’t hit the press yet, thank goodness. I wasn’t ready to let Arthur know, not yet.

Enough of Arthur and the Party. I had to stay focused. Act the part of the silly actress with nothing to hide.

“Mr. Cohn, of course. How can I help you?” I let my eyes go wide. I’d dressed the part, in a bright green suit nipped at the waist and baby doll pumps, and accentuated my eyelashes as I would on the stage, to make them pop. The better to bat them at my prey.

“We just have to clear up a couple of questions.” Mr. Cohn looked through his notes, reshuffled them, and took a nervous sip of water. He seemed jumpier than I was.

We ran through the basic questions, Mr. Cohn smiling blandly as the stenographer clicked away behind me.

He tapped a pen on his notes. “Tell me about this demonstration that Red Channels says you went to. Back in, oh, 1938. Seems so long ago, right?”

“Sure does. I can barely remember what happened yesterday.” We shared a chuckle.

“Of course. But tell me, do you remember that day?”

“I suppose so. A boy asked me out on a date, and I said yes. That’s where he took me.”

“To a communist rally?”

“Well, it wasn’t a communist rally. It was a rally for the evacuation of European Jews. To convince the United States government to allow them to immigrate, and save them from Hitler.”

He sat back. “You remember a lot about it, then.”

I’d overplayed it, trying to be helpful. “I remember because it was the one rally I ever went to.”

“Well, of course.” He looked back down at his notes. “Who was the boy who took you to this rally?”

“I don’t remember his name.”

“Really, Miss Mead?”

Mr. Cohn took a long time writing something down. As I waited, the room turned incredibly hot, as if the vents had begun blowing in desert air. I wanted more than anything to reach into my purse and pull out a handkerchief to dab at the shine on my face, but I didn’t dare.

Finally, he put down his pen and spoke. “I must remind you, Miss Mead, that you are testifying here, just as if you were before the Committee in Washington, DC.”

I threw him a girlish smile, hoping he was joking with me. “Really? That wasn’t made clear to me.”

“We take our role very seriously, Miss Mead.” His nervous mannerisms had all but disappeared. He even seemed to grow taller in his chair.

“May I ask your position, exactly?” I asked. “Are you a member of the Committee?”

“No.”

I tried to hide my relief. “I see.”

“I’m Senator McCarthy’s chief counsel.”

“Joseph McCarthy?” The worst witch hunter of them all.

“Senator McCarthy. Yes. So no more nonsense.”

I was trapped. Inside, I chided myself for not heeding Hazel’s advice and bringing a lawyer. This was bad. “I wasn’t aware that I was being nonsensical.”

“I understand you’re a good friend of Hazel Ripley. Is this correct?”

“We’ve worked together, yes.”

“Did she or her brother, Benjamin Ripley, ever try to lure you into joining the Communist Party?”

The twisted irony of the statement made me laugh out loud. I apologized immediately, but it was too late.

“Do you think this is a joke?” A drop of spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on the table between us. “Our country is being assailed by forces that want to destroy everything we have here. And you’re laughing? Who do you know who has links to communists?”

I remembered Hazel’s tactic. “I’m happy to answer any questions about myself, but not about others. I don’t think that’s right.”

His mouth twitched with excitement and I kicked myself for underestimating him. “You know as well as I do that, in the eyes of the public, not being completely honest with us is as good as an admission of guilt. You have a big movie coming up, right? I’d hate to see that part taken out from under you. I hear you’re perfect for it.”

“That’s not fair.”

He looked back down at his papers. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He continued rattling off names, including several who I knew had been in the Party.

“I don’t know, really, I don’t!” Tears came to my eyes, and I hated myself for it.

He softened, though. “I’m sorry, Miss Mead. I don’t mean to put you into a bind. Look, this Benjamin kid isn’t around to be angry at you for naming him. You’re not doing anything wrong if you tell us that he was involved. It was a long time ago, as you said yourself.”

I stayed silent.

He erupted, making me flinch in my chair. “If you don’t respond, you will never work again. I personally will make sure you can’t even find work as a salesgirl in a drugstore.”

I had to work. It was integral to my escape from the Party, to saving myself and my grandmother, and helping Hazel in one fell swoop. A plan that would fall to pieces if I couldn’t take this job.

A surreal calm came over Mr. Cohn. I could barely keep up with his changing demeanor. Either this man should be in the theater, or he was a sociopath. “Ben Ripley’s no longer with us. Tell me the truth, that he was a communist sympathizer.”

In that moment, I only had to answer one question and I’d be free. A question concerning someone I barely knew, and who was no longer on this earth to be affected by my betrayal. It was as if Mr. Cohn was pulling the response out of me, against my will.

I nodded.

But that wasn’t good enough. “Tell me yes, Miss Mead.”

It came out a hoarse whisper. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He made a notation on the piece of paper in front of him and offered an encouraging smile.

“Hazel Ripley?”

I tried to stay still, not move a muscle, as if I were a fawn in the tall grasses, hiding from a predator.

“Look,” said Mr. Cohn. “We have these names already, you’re not telling us anything we don’t know.”

“Then why bother to ask me?”

He didn’t respond, just gave me a reproachful frown. I knew the answer already, anyway. Because then they could go and frighten someone else, and transmit terror like a virulent contagion.

He went back through the list of names. Roy Cohn wasn’t going to let me out of there until I gave up the information I had, but if I hadn’t been a Soviet agent, I would have stood my ground. I would have shown the backbone that Hazel had and let him bully me until he had to jail me for contempt, knowing there were those who could vouch for me, make it right. But I was being attacked on all sides. Arthur, the Party, the HUAC.

And so, I broke.

I did what I could to save myself, to set myself free.

I named names.