The Chelsea Girls(75)

“What note?”

He pulled a folded piece of stationery from his jacket pocket. “Maxine said you were in trouble, to come right over.”

Hazel studied it. She hadn’t seen much of Maxine the past few days, and missed her. They’d run into each other in the elevator yesterday as Maxine was leaving for a quick trip to Los Angeles, for some preliminary costume fittings for her movie. She’d told Hazel that the meeting with the FBI had gone just as they’d expected, a formality. Thank goodness one of them was in the clear. Once filming began, she’d be moving to L.A. permanently; the very thought made Hazel heartsick.

The stationery had a cursive, flowery M printed at the top—Hazel recognized the stock from Maxine’s opening-night cards to the cast and crew—and underneath was a quickly scribbled note. “I guess she’s back from L.A. already. Strange, though. Why would she send this to you?”

“I have no idea. So you’re not in trouble?”

“Other than that I’ve lost my career while holding on to my principles, no. I’m bored, really, but otherwise okay.”

Charlie’s shoulders dropped several inches and he blew out a breath. “Thank God. I was worried.”

“I’m flattered. Look, I’m sorry about our fight, I was edgy and looking to blame someone. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I hated the way we left things. There’s so much to explain. So much to talk about. Do you have time?”

She laughed. “All the time in the world.” She sat on the sofa, and he did the same, leaving space between them.

“I’m not joining the FBI.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, studying him. “Why is that?”

“My father admitted he was behind your subpoena. He didn’t like the way you spoke to him in Coney Island, and decided to teach you a lesson. If this is what our government’s become . . .” He trailed off. “The way the politicians are going after every actor or director who ever said the word red is a waste of time and taxpayers’ money. I want no part of the country going off the rails like this.” He counted on his fingers. “Denial of due process, no impartial judge and jury, no cross-examination. It’s a travesty. You were right all along. I had blinders on, and didn’t see until it was too late how far the witch hunt had careened out of control.”

“I’ve been saying this for months.”

“Look, I was brought up to respect authority. My father, with all his government contacts, made me believe the nation was being kept safe by the FBI, by our politicians, that they had our best interests at heart.”

“What about you working from the inside to change things?”

“Maybe, eventually. But right now it’s too toxic. Anything I uncovered or did would be turned around to make their argument. Politicians like McCarthy and Wood have already made up their minds, I won’t be able to change them. Somehow, I had it in my head that this would blow over fast, that public opinion would shift when they saw how blatantly people were being persecuted. I was wrong, and I see that now.”

“Have you told your father?”

Charlie nodded. “He said that I’m a traitor to my country. Especially when I told him what I’d like to do instead.”

“What’s that?”

“Work in the theater.”

She gasped. “Really? You actually said that to your father?”

“His head pretty much exploded.”

“I can imagine. What kind of job are you looking for?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll reach out to Mr. Canby, see if he needs an assistant producer. Or I’ll assist you.”

“No one will be producing any of my plays, not after that flop.”

“Remember Arthur Miller.”

She smiled. “True. And he’s doing okay. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets summoned down to Washington one of these days. I’m glad you told me, Charlie. I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

“We are. Please understand that I want more than anything to be with you.”

“I do understand.”

He leaned in and kissed her. “I suppose that now we’re both out of a job, we’ll have to find something else to do to fill our time.” He ran a finger down her bare arm and she shivered.

“I can’t imagine what that might be.”

They barely made it to the bedroom, kicking off shoes, unbuttoning shirts, shedding every scrap of clothing between them. Their feverish start melted into a more sultry lovemaking that left Hazel gasping for breath. The afternoon faded into evening, the sky eventually turning all shades of purple as they dozed on and off.

A knock at the door brought Hazel out of her groggy sleep. Maxine, probably, here to explain her note. As she tied on a robe, Hazel laughed out loud at the thought of Maxine setting Charlie and her up to reunite in the most dramatic way possible. So typical of that girl. She was probably stopping by to find out how it all worked out.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out.

Charlie rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed. “What time is it?” he asked, as he pulled on his pants. His chest was shiny with sweat.

The sight of him, along with the thick July air, made it hard for Hazel to think, to breathe. She was overcome with wanting more of him. She’d scoot Maxine out as soon as she could. “I have no idea. Around eight, I guess.”