The Chelsea Girls(59)
Hazel leaned back, letting the relief wash over her and praying that Mr. Stone’s initial assessment was correct.
That, at the very least, she had a chance of keeping Wartime Sonata on track.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hazel
July 1950
Hazel’s nerves kicked into high gear as she arrived at the theater for the first preview. She’d had some oatmeal for breakfast, which threatened to come up, and retreated to the mezzanine level to take some deep breaths. At least the critics weren’t coming until next week.
Charlie joined her, sneaking in a quick kiss. “How are you holding up?”
They hadn’t had any time alone since she’d returned, although she’d given him, Mr. Canby, and Maxine a quick run-down after rehearsal yesterday. She wished she and Charlie could escape somewhere private and curl around each other, instead of having to stand at a distance and appear to be acquaintances in case any of the ushers came by.
“I’m doing fine, I suppose.”
“Tell me what really went on in Washington. Everyone’s talking about the article in the Tribune.”
She took a deep breath. “My lawyer says I successfully embarrassed the Committee in public, and so far they’ve seemed eager to sweep me under the rug, not charge me with contempt. So that’s good news.”
“I would have thought it would be easier to sweep it under the rug if it hadn’t been reported on.”
“No, that journalist is a hero, in my opinion. He stood up and called them out on their monstrous behavior, then had the courage to write about it, depicting me as a linchpin in the battle for America’s soul. Which I suppose made me untouchable, in a way. They can’t arrest me without looking like they’re trying to hide something.”
“Then again, if you’d been arrested, it might have highlighted how unreasonable everything is and might have threatened the power of the blacklisters.”
“You looking to put me in jail?” She was only half teasing.
He shook his head. “God no, not at all. Just following the logic.”
“That’s the trouble, there seems to be no logic, not with that crew. In any event, I’m still on the blacklist when it comes to television, film, and radio, so they’ve won in that sense.”
“That won’t matter, once the play’s up and running. You’ll be the queen of Broadway.”
“Your confidence is premature. Don’t jinx us, kiddo.”
In fact, while Hazel’s appearance before the Committee had made a splash for a day, the vitriol ran deep against anyone who refused to heed the call for blood, for informing on friends. Hazel didn’t tell Charlie that she’d already started receiving hate mail, her cubby behind the counter in the lobby stuffed with bland-looking white envelopes filled with vile accusations, as well as anonymous threatening telephone calls, always from men. Mr. Bard had told the switchboard operator to take messages and stop putting them through.
“What if no one comes to the show because of my testimony?”
Charlie guided her back downstairs. “Why don’t you run through the final changes, and then you can worry about all the stuff that’s out of your control. Sound good?”
“As usual, you’re right.”
Down in the house, Hazel called for the actors to assemble onstage. While she waited for the last of them to appear from the wings, she and Charlie stood for a moment, smiling at each other and not saying a word, until Mr. Canby sidled between them.
“Hey, Charlie, can you check with the box office? Curious how many seats we’ve sold so far.”
“I’ll be back in five.” Charlie headed up the aisle.
Mr. Canby waited until he was out of earshot. “Whatever you’re doing with the kid, keep it up.”
She tried to wipe the smile off her face, fast. Was it that obvious? “What do you mean?”
“Ah, come on. If it takes leading the kid on in order to get what we want, I’m all for it. I haven’t seen a puppy face like that since, well, since never. He’s an open book and he obviously adores you.”
“He’s a good person.” She wanted to say that it was real, not an act, and that she wasn’t leading him on in any way, but she knew better. Charlie’s love was like a coat of armor she carried around with her everywhere, one that buffered her from the world’s razor-sharp spears. She’d noticed, since falling in love, that she attracted more attention from men, from not-so-covert glances to unexpected flirtations. Her confidence had increased—knowing he was in her life, that she was loved—which in turn seemed to make her more appealing to the opposite sex. No doubt this was how Maxine, as a starlet, was treated every day, like a prize to be won. The power was heady.
When the stage manager called places at exactly eight o’clock that evening, Hazel hid down in the basement. She’d already stopped by all the dressing rooms and breezily wished everyone well, told them all to break a leg, but her nerves were shot. It was easier to be an actor any day, than a writer. You had a job to do, you got onstage, and you did it. As the playwright, she had to suffer through hearing the audience’s reaction, or non-reaction, knowing she could no longer stop the show mid-performance and make adjustments.
The sound of the curtain lifting drove her out of her hiding place and up to the balcony, far above the stage, where Charlie was waiting. Only half of the seats in that section were filled. All this worrying, and most likely the show would sink without any fanfare at all.