The Chelsea Girls(41)
“Hazel? She’s one of the best people I know.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned in close. I had to stop myself from recoiling. “She reminds me of my wife back when we first met.”
That made no sense at all. The mousy woman who let me in?
“She was a journalist, wrote about garden clubs and the like, before getting caught up in the women’s right to vote, with all that pseudo-political grandstanding. When I asked for her hand in marriage, I explained I wouldn’t tolerate any of that rubbish, and now she’s a proper wife, a proper mother.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral, not let on how horrified I was. The way the story spilled off his tongue, it was obvious he told it frequently.
“I know a thing or two about the world that you ladies simply cannot, by virtue of your sex. I fought in the First World War—I was considered a war hero, if you must know—and after the war I told Coolidge to keep an eye on those Germans. I told that to anyone who would listen, but no one believed me. Proved right, I was, and before we knew it, we were immersed in another world war.” He stared out the window, where clouds scudded across the sky. “For years now, my gut has been telling me that the Russians are next, and every day I’m proven right a little more. This time, I won’t just talk. This time, I’m taking action to stop our country from attack.”
This clearly wasn’t a man to be underestimated. I tried a different tack. “I appreciate your service, sir. I can only imagine the things you’ve seen. But we’re just trying to put on a play, a little entertainment. I promise it’s not an attack against America, not in the least.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been working closely with the American Legion and we believe there is a terrible threat out there. A threat to our very way of life. We’ve seen the impact of the Hollywood Ten, we know that these tainted artists have infiltrated television and radio. Broadway is next.”
“If I may, Mr. Butterfield, what was the last show you attended on Broadway?”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly recall the title—it was years ago. My wife and I don’t enjoy the theater, as a general rule. Matter of fact, several years ago, a local theater group in Syracuse tried performing some lefty propaganda, and the minute I got wind of what they were up to, I had the entire production shut down, the group banned. I vowed to my wife that we would never step foot in a theater again.”
I took a deep breath and remembered why Mr. Canby had sent me. Not to fight, but to flatter. “Tell me what you’re trying to do here in New York, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure I understand exactly.”
He brightened at the invitation. “I’ve made it my mission to ensure that Red Channels is in every advertising executive’s desk drawer up and down Madison Avenue. If they hire or represent someone who’s on that list, then I threaten to boycott all the products hawked by that particular ad agency.”
“You mean you won’t stock their cigarettes or toilet paper or whatever?”
“Exactly. Or sometimes, I keep a few of the products in stock, but I put them out on the shelves with a note for all the customers to see, so that they know they’re supporting the Communist Party if they purchase that particular product.”
“That seems extreme.”
“It’s my store, and my right to express my opinion.”
“Just as it’s the right of the artists to express theirs.”
“Not if they’re spies. We’re organizing a fight on all fronts, and I won’t rest until every last dirty Red has been exposed and brought down. I don’t care if we’re talking about a girl director, a producer like Canby, a musician, or an actor.”
He scared me, to be honest. I took a deep breath, softened my shoulders, and leaned forward conspiratorially. I would placate this madman, for Hazel’s sake.
“Look, Mr. Butterfield, would I be working with someone who was a tainted artist? Of course not, I’m American through and through. When Hazel and I were entertaining the troops in Italy, we saw the fight in our soldiers’ eyes, felt their love of our great country. That’s what inspired Hazel to write the play, which is far from un-American, by the way. You really ought to read it.”
“I don’t need to read it.” But my patriotic words had soothed him. He ogled me, breathing heavily. This was way too easy. The more uptight the man, the faster they fall under my spell, I’ve discovered.
“You’ve got to see our quandary, then,” I continued. “If you won’t read the play, or even come to the theater to see it once it’s running, what can we do to convince you that everything’s on the up-and-up? You must see how you’ve put us in a bind. Hazel’s a good person, she’s been unfairly targeted.”
“Unfairly targeted? Huh. Anyone who thinks so is free to visit the offices of American Business Consultants and request to clear their name.”
I sat back. Could it be that easy? “Well, then, I’m sure Hazel will want to do so.”
“You seem like a smart lady, Miss Mead. You must understand that we’re surrounded by a spiderweb of subversives that grows and grows. There are some nights I can barely sleep. I have children, I hope to have grandchildren. I want them to be safe.” His voice cracked. “Don’t you want that, too?”