The Chelsea Girls(63)

I glanced over at Arthur, trying to get a read on his mood. He was hunched over, and scratched at a patch of skin under his short-sleeved button-down shirt, the one I’d bought for him back in Los Angeles, attracted to its needle-thin lines of turquoise. He seemed cowed, childlike.

This new subservience chilled me. Arthur had trained at the School of Special Assignment in Russia. For a year, he’d taken six courses a day in the basics of being a handler. He’d passed many of these skills on to me, like how to break a tail or work a meet, but he also knew how to kill silently and quickly. He was all-powerful, or so I’d thought, but clearly these two comrades were much higher up in the organization.

He saw me looking at him and stopped scratching.

“What does the organization suggest we do?” Arthur addressed the man and woman equally.

The man put down his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “We need to get you both away from here, it’s too hot.”

“Gold and Greenglass have been passing secrets since ’45,” said Arthur. I recognized both names, agents who’d been caught in the FBI’s sting. “Julius since 1942. They should have been phased out. We brought this on ourselves.”

“The information they retrieved has been invaluable,” said the man. “Until now, the benefits have outweighed the risks.”

“Do you think Julius will talk?” asked Arthur.

The woman didn’t give a direct answer. “He’s been working for us for a while, which means he’s accumulated valuable knowledge.” She snapped her head in my direction. “How is it going with the play?”

“Fill them in on what you’ve told me,” directed Arthur.

I tried to hide the worry in my voice. “The play’s going well, and people are coming to the previews, in spite of the fact that Hazel had to testify.”

Arthur spoke up. “The play’s excellent, and Maxine stands out. It’s exactly what we hoped for. Everyone’s already talking about it, and it hasn’t even opened.”

“When is opening night?” the woman asked.

“Friday.”

“All right. After the reviews are out, come up with a reason to quit. We’ll relocate you both to California.”

My heart sank. “But I’m under contract for the next four months.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to stick around New York. Not with what’s going on with Rosenberg.”

The thought of leaving the play made me sick. I didn’t realize until now how hard it would be to relocate, again, and leave behind the friends I’d made. To leave Hazel behind. “The press will be terrible if I suddenly up and quit. No one wants to hire an actress who cuts out on her contract.”

The woman stared at me. “I’m sure it happens all the time.”

“Maxine’s up for another film role, right, Maxine?” Arthur nodded at me. “Tell them about it.”

It was true. A Hollywood director had seen an early preview of the play and set up a meeting soon after, gushing that I’d be perfect for the female lead in his next movie. I tried not to get too excited about it. After all, I’d been burned last time this happened. “It’s a possible part in the new James Mason film,” I offered.

“The female lead,” said Arthur. “The perfect excuse to get her out of New York.”

“If it works out,” the woman reminded them. “We’ve been down that road before. Unsuccessfully. What if she blows it again?”

Arthur didn’t answer right off, letting the moment hang. “I’ve been thinking about it, and there might be another way, if she doesn’t get the role. One that would create a diversion from Julius as well as close the show down entirely.”

This was news to me.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “What’s that?”

“Charlie Butterfield.” Arthur practically growled the name.

“Who’s Charlie Butterfield?” asked the man.

“He works with American Business Consultants, and has been assigned to monitor Hazel Ripley to make sure she stays patriotic. His father is Laurence Butterfield, the one stirring up all the fuss in New York. Charlie’s by Hazel’s side constantly.” Arthur gave me a pointed look. “We saw them together at Coney Island. I got the impression he’s in love with her.”

I wished Arthur weren’t so astute. I’d picked up the same dynamic between them, but hoped Arthur hadn’t noticed. Recently, during rehearsals, Hazel and Charlie had behaved like a couple of turtledoves, practically cooing to each other when they thought no one was looking.

“What do you think is going on?” asked the woman. “Is she stringing him along in order to get his father off her back? Or is it more than that?”

Arthur looked to me to answer the question.

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“Either way, the situation could be a valuable tool for us,” said the woman.

The conversation was not going the way I’d expected. Even though it wasn’t what I wanted, ultimately I didn’t care if they dragged me away from the play, as long as they didn’t ruin Hazel’s life as well. God knew what they were thinking, but it wouldn’t be good, for Hazel or Charlie.

“Maxine, is something wrong?” The man eyed me suspiciously.