The Chelsea Girls(56)
“How did you get up here? Did anyone see you?”
He shook his head. “I came in through the kitchen, no one said a word. I had to see you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s true.”
After they kissed, she settled her head on his shoulder. “All I want to do is write plays and put them up. That’s it. I have no other agenda. But I’m trapped in this nightmare and if I don’t do well tomorrow, if I don’t put on the performance of my life, I may never work again. I’ll lose everything.”
“What does your attorney say?”
She sat up straight, all business. “I have three options. I take the Fifth—refuse to answer their questions—and get held in contempt, possibly sent to jail. Or I can be a ‘cooperative witness’ and give up the names of people who’ve been members of the Communist Party at one time or another. If I do that, there’s a good chance I can continue on with my career, but I’ll have placed others in the same precarious position I am in today.” She rubbed her face with her hands.
“And the third option?”
“I tell them that I’ll answer any questions about myself but none about other people. But here’s the rub: If I do that, I’ll have waived my rights under the Fifth Amendment and could be legally forced to name names. That’s all they’re after, more names. I’m supposed to prostrate myself before them, show that their paranoia is valid by offering up more sacrificial lambs, friends who’ve done nothing wrong. It’s political purgatory.”
“There, now.” Charlie placed both hands on her legs as if trying to stop her from floating into air. Which is exactly what she felt like: a balloon that could be popped at any moment, before falling to the ground in jagged pieces.
“Stone considers the third option morally correct, but the Committee might still hold me in contempt.”
“What’s his advice, then?” His words were edged with exasperation. “Isn’t that why you hired him?”
“Look, it’s not his fault, he’s trying to help.”
“Of course. You’re right. I just want to kill someone, specifically my father, for his part in this sideshow.”
“Trust me, I know that feeling. But Stone’s been helpful. He told me never to answer any question with a flat-out ‘No.’ I’m supposed to soften it with ‘Not that I can recall’ or ‘It was so long ago, I’m afraid I don’t remember.’ If I try to defend the people they’re asking me about, the Committee might very well produce testimony by others that contradicts what I say, catching me in a lie. Then I’ll be charged with perjury. It’s a twisted, sick game. I don’t know what others who’ve appeared before me have said to the Committee, which makes me as paranoid as they are, and more likely to do whatever it takes to get out of the hot seat.”
“You won’t do that. You’re stronger than that.”
Charlie’s support was a much-needed comfort. “I wrote up a statement, with Mr. Stone’s help, saying that I would not object to answering any questions about myself but wouldn’t impugn others. It was sent to them by messenger a few days ago.”
“That seems reasonable.”
She reached over to the coffee table and picked up an envelope. “It was delivered back to me today, unopened.”
“So you’ll have to do your talking yourself, not rely on the page. You can do that.”
“I’m a writer, not a politician or a lawyer. They hold all the cards. Besides, they don’t care what I say. They just want to get me in a bind and squeeze me hard so that they can prove to the American public that democracy is a minute away from collapse.”
“By standing up for yourself, you’ll prove that it’s not.”
“And go to jail. Lose everything.”
“You won’t, I promise. I love you, Hazel.”
Ever since they’d made love up in her room at the Chelsea, Hazel had found herself desperate to be touching Charlie whenever he was near, either laying a hand on his arm as they passed in the aisle of the Biltmore, or shoulder to shoulder as they whispered back and forth in the house seats. Only with that touch did she feel that all was right in the world, that the problems were surmountable. It was as if her body had known she was in love with him before her mind had. But the connection wasn’t only about physical passion, she knew now. She valued his ideas and opinions, shared his passion for the theater, and wanted more than anything to spend every moment they could together, laughing and talking before curling up in bed when the day was through.
The realization made her forget, for a moment, the nightmare she was trapped inside.
She pulled him close and stared into his eyes, already feeling the heat of their connection. “I love you, too.”
* * *
Hazel propped herself up with several pillows and watched as Charlie dressed in the morning light. His legs were solid but not thick—perfect, really—and she couldn’t get enough of the way the small of his back curved up, the indentation of the spine that ran like a channel between his shoulders.
He kissed her goodbye and wished her good luck, promising that he’d see her back in New York, and after he’d gone, she ordered some coffee from room service and glanced again through the twenty-something questions her lawyer had given her to study.