The Chelsea Girls(77)
Was she joking? “Okay, then who did? I don’t know any other Maxines.”
“I’m not sure.” Maxine had gone white, which made the gray circles under her eyes even more pronounced. “Listen, I have to go back to California, like I said, because it’s better if I’m not around. You’ll be better off without me. At least for now. But know that I’m your very best friend, and always will be.”
“You sure? It seems like you’re pulling away, like everyone else.” Hazel couldn’t help it, tears of self-pity burned her eyes.
“I swear, no. Oh, please don’t cry. Please, Hazel. I adore you and I’d do anything for you.” Maxine leaned close, smelling of lemons and lotion.
Hazel took a deep breath and pulled back, exhaling for what felt like the first time in forever. “Is this about Arthur? Is he bothering you again?”
“No. Just, no.” Maxine was closing down again.
“Okay. Well, on the bright side, I’m excited about your new movie, Max. I guess that means you aced your interview with the FBI. Well done.”
“I suppose. Any word from Floyd?” It was as if Maxine wanted to change the subject, fast.
“Not a thing. It’s like he’s fallen off the face of the earth.” Enough with the bad news. She didn’t want to think about that right now. “Tell me more about your new job. What’s your part?”
“It’s a silly role that I could do in my sleep. Nothing like the amazing parts you’ve written. You’ve spoiled me.” Her words rushed out with an artificial burst of energy. “I leave this afternoon, but I had to say goodbye to you, and thank you for everything. You’ve been so generous, and this way I can be generous back. With this salary, I mean. It was all worth it, because now I can help you out and make sure you’re taken care of until all this craziness blows over. Which I’m sure it will.”
As Maxine rambled on, one phrase stood out.
“Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘It was all worth it’?”
Maxine delicately wiped her mouth with her napkin. “You know, all this craziness.”
“What exactly did they ask you at the hearing?”
“Oh, gosh. The usual, ‘Was I a communist?’ That sort of thing.”
“Did they ask you about anyone else?”
“No. Not really.” Maxine shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
For a moment, neither spoke. The truth rippled through Hazel, like a snake slithering up her spine and wrapping itself around the curves and dips of her brain.
In Maxine’s meeting downtown last week, the one that wasn’t really official, just a formality, she’d turned. Hazel was certain of it. The only way Maxine could have been offered such a juicy role was if she’d cooperated. Which explained why she’d been so elusive the past week.
Hazel stared at her in the dim light of the restaurant. This was a person she did not know. Another person entirely.
Maxine, from that first day in Naples, had inspired Hazel’s work. The play had soared because of her dear friend, and failed because of her. Hazel couldn’t imagine a life without Maxine in it, without her fire and flippancy coming to life on the page.
Yet Maxine had betrayed her.
When she finally spoke, her voice cracked. “Who did you name?”
“What?” Maxine looked down at the table. “It was just a formality, like I said.”
“You and I both know that’s not true. Tell me. Who?”
Hazel stared as her friend’s glamorous facade contorted into ugliness as she began to cry. The waiter looked over from where he was wiping down the bar and yawned, unconcerned.
Hazel slammed her closed fist down on the table.
“Tell me everything now. Everything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Maxine
July 31, 1950
The conversation with Hazel had slid into dangerous territory. All of the secrets I’d kept for the past sixteen years whirled through my mind as we sat in the gloom of El Quijote. I had to say something, to explain, but I couldn’t tell her everything and I only had myself to blame. I’d placed myself in this situation, by wanting to be free to be an artist while still yielding to the pressures from the Party. You can’t have both, but I’d realized it too late. Realized that, when it all comes crashing down, it’s the people you love most who get caught in the landslide.
* * *
I took a deep breath, knowing I only had a few minutes to make this right, to make it make sense to Hazel without revealing too much.
“They tricked me, Hazel. I was set up. I went into that meeting, stupidly, with my guard down.”
“I told you to bring my lawyer with you.”
“I know, I know.” I nodded but couldn’t meet her eyes. “You were right. Roy Cohn talked around me and over me and I was intimidated.”
In fact, Mr. Cohn had not been happy with my initial lukewarm responses to his list of names. I’d tried being as vague as possible, danced around giving any definite answer, and finally he’d leaned in so close I smelled his stale breath. “Your real name is Magnild Keller, I understand.”
“It is.” I’d tried to stay still, not recoil.