The Chelsea Girls(24)

“What brings you to New York, my friend?” she asked. “From what I can tell, you’ve been working nonstop out in Hollywood.”

Maxine turned her head to face Hazel and sighed. “Yes. I’ve had a good run. But I had to get away. Professionally and personally.”

“Man trouble?”

Maxine didn’t answer, but Hazel could tell she’d guessed right.

“The same man who wrote you the one letter back in Naples?”

Maxine raised an eyebrow. “Of course you’d remember that. Always watching what everyone is up to.”

“You just so rarely got letters.”

“The story of Arthur. It’s a boring one, really. We’ve heard it all before.”

“Who’s Arthur?”

“A man I met ages ago. Before the war. He’s married.”

So that was the big secret. That explained Maxine’s reluctance to discuss him, even though the girls had shared so much. “Have you been having an affair all this time?”

“It was one of the reasons I went overseas. To get away.”

“But then you went back?”

“He wrote and asked me to come to California. Said he knew he wanted to be with me, and put me up in the sweetest cottage in the Hollywood Hills, hidden away from prying eyes.” She shielded her eyes with one hand and looked over at Hazel.

Underneath Maxine’s usual swagger lurked an unsettling vulnerability. This was a different girl from the one who’d driven a Jeep into a hostile crowd.

“Tell me more.”

“When we first met, it was like a bomb going off.” Maxine’s words tumbled out. “I saw him and he saw me and we knew we had to be together. He’s a businessman, food packaging. Sounds boring, right? But he’s not boring at all. He’s funny, kind. We clicked. His wife—I’ve nicknamed her Zelda—has some kind of serious mental problem.” She caught the look Hazel threw her. “No, it’s true. She should be in a home, but he continues to care for her. He can’t get a divorce because she’s not mentally competent to sign off on it. So he’s stuck.”

Hazel couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate. “How do you know that’s true?”

“I followed him home one time, back to his house. She’d locked him out, and was leaning out of the window, screaming at him, throwing his clothes into the garden.”

“That sounds like a wronged wife, not a lunatic.”

“She almost climbed out the window herself. He finally broke in and pulled her inside.”

“Okay. That might be honest-to-goodness crazy.”

How complicated Maxine’s life was. Hazel wasn’t surprised. She was a touch envious, to be honest. Hazel had gone out on dates with some lovely boys since the war, but they were just that. Boys. Actors who loved the sound of their own voices and carried on as if they were Marlon Brando. She’d told herself she had no time for boyfriends, that her work came first. And for the most part, that was true. Yet here was Maxine, juggling a successful career and a passionate love affair. Even if it was with a married man.

“Sounds like a reasonable setup, in a way,” said Hazel. “You can have your career and not have to deal with taking care of a man.”

“Oh, there are plenty of men who want to be taken care of, believe me.”

“What do you mean?”

Maxine frowned. “Out there, it’s not like New York. It’s as if the casting couch is the only way to get a good role, to jump to the top of the line.” She didn’t elaborate further. “I miss what we had in Naples. We didn’t have to listen, and got away with breaking the rules.”

Indeed, that had been one of the few refreshing things about being abroad. There were no meddling middlemen and limited self-indulgence on the part of the actors, as there was no time. Learn your lines and get onstage. It had been a valuable lesson, one Hazel hoped she could apply to her own play. But maybe now it wouldn’t be possible, with Mr. Williams in charge.

Hazel poured herself some more wine. Maxine was trying to communicate something important, though she was having trouble being direct about it. No wonder, as it had been at least a year or two since they’d corresponded, a decision that Hazel now greatly regretted. Maxine was here because she needed Hazel, in some way, and had sought her out.

“I have to apologize, Max.”

“Whatever for?”

“I didn’t write back, I pulled away from our friendship, and I’m so sorry.” She waved away Maxine’s response, knowing she had to finish. “I felt dull next to your glamorous lifestyle, like I was treading water while you performed tricks from the high dive. I was jealous, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s all water under the bridge, to continue your aquatic metaphor.”

They both laughed, before Maxine grew serious. “After you go through what we did, with Paul, you’re bonded for life. Besides, you’re the only one who can see me as regular Maxine, and not the facade of a Hollywood star. I’m glad we’re reunited.”

“Me, too,” said Hazel. “But it’s terrible that you have to deal with all that other baloney. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, either by this Arthur fellow or by those producers.”

“I was trying so hard to please Arthur whenever we met, knowing that our time was precious. I bent over backward. He’d show up and I’d have his Scotch ready, dinner on the table, ready to take care of his every need. He was paying my rent at the beginning, after all. I was utterly dependent on him. Then I’d go to auditions and do the exact same thing, smile and flirt and play the game. I wasn’t myself in either situation, always acting.” She took a slug of wine. “On my last audition, for a doozy of a role, I refused the producer’s advances and lost the part.”