The Chelsea Girls(74)
“I’m Senator McCarthy’s chief counsel.”
“Joseph McCarthy?” The worst witch hunter of them all.
“Senator McCarthy. Yes. So no more nonsense.”
I was trapped. Inside, I chided myself for not heeding Hazel’s advice and bringing a lawyer. This was bad. “I wasn’t aware that I was being nonsensical.”
“I understand you’re a good friend of Hazel Ripley. Is this correct?”
“We’ve worked together, yes.”
“Did she or her brother, Benjamin Ripley, ever try to lure you into joining the Communist Party?”
The twisted irony of the statement made me laugh out loud. I apologized immediately, but it was too late.
“Do you think this is a joke?” A drop of spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on the table between us. “Our country is being assailed by forces that want to destroy everything we have here. And you’re laughing? Who do you know who has links to communists?”
I remembered Hazel’s tactic. “I’m happy to answer any questions about myself, but not about others. I don’t think that’s right.”
His mouth twitched with excitement and I kicked myself for underestimating him. “You know as well as I do that, in the eyes of the public, not being completely honest with us is as good as an admission of guilt. You have a big movie coming up, right? I’d hate to see that part taken out from under you. I hear you’re perfect for it.”
“That’s not fair.”
He looked back down at his papers. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He continued rattling off names, including several who I knew had been in the Party.
“I don’t know, really, I don’t!” Tears came to my eyes, and I hated myself for it.
He softened, though. “I’m sorry, Miss Mead. I don’t mean to put you into a bind. Look, this Benjamin kid isn’t around to be angry at you for naming him. You’re not doing anything wrong if you tell us that he was involved. It was a long time ago, as you said yourself.”
I stayed silent.
He erupted, making me flinch in my chair. “If you don’t respond, you will never work again. I personally will make sure you can’t even find work as a salesgirl in a drugstore.”
I had to work. It was integral to my escape from the Party, to saving myself and my grandmother, and helping Hazel in one fell swoop. A plan that would fall to pieces if I couldn’t take this job.
A surreal calm came over Mr. Cohn. I could barely keep up with his changing demeanor. Either this man should be in the theater, or he was a sociopath. “Ben Ripley’s no longer with us. Tell me the truth, that he was a communist sympathizer.”
In that moment, I only had to answer one question and I’d be free. A question concerning someone I barely knew, and who was no longer on this earth to be affected by my betrayal. It was as if Mr. Cohn was pulling the response out of me, against my will.
I nodded.
But that wasn’t good enough. “Tell me yes, Miss Mead.”
It came out a hoarse whisper. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He made a notation on the piece of paper in front of him and offered an encouraging smile.
“Hazel Ripley?”
I tried to stay still, not move a muscle, as if I were a fawn in the tall grasses, hiding from a predator.
“Look,” said Mr. Cohn. “We have these names already, you’re not telling us anything we don’t know.”
“Then why bother to ask me?”
He didn’t respond, just gave me a reproachful frown. I knew the answer already, anyway. Because then they could go and frighten someone else, and transmit terror like a virulent contagion.
He went back through the list of names. Roy Cohn wasn’t going to let me out of there until I gave up the information I had, but if I hadn’t been a Soviet agent, I would have stood my ground. I would have shown the backbone that Hazel had and let him bully me until he had to jail me for contempt, knowing there were those who could vouch for me, make it right. But I was being attacked on all sides. Arthur, the Party, the HUAC.
And so, I broke.
I did what I could to save myself, to set myself free.
I named names.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hazel
July 1950
Hazel stared out at the city from her window. She’d sat there, motionless, for probably an hour now, watching the patterns the pigeons made as they burst into flight, then settled back down on the rooftops for minutes at a time before bursting off once more. She couldn’t really figure out what triggered the flights. Maybe one pigeon got a funny feeling, thinking that a hawk was scoping them out from far above, and jerked its head up, which caused another one to flap its wings, which caused another to leap into the air, until finally the entire flock fled in panic.
A hard knock on the door brought her to her feet, the sound like a shotgun in the quiet afternoon calm.
“Who is it?” She knew better than to open it right off.
“It’s me.”
Charlie.
She opened the door and ushered him inside. Confusion and panic crowded his features, and her worry overrode some of the anger from their last meeting.
Charlie looked her up and down. “I got your note that you wanted to see me. I rushed right over. Is everything all right?”