The Chelsea Girls

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.

“An ugly name. I understand why you’d want to change it.”

I remained silent. Waiting.

“And your oma, isn’t that what they call a grandmother in German? An oma? She’s living in Seattle, I’ve been told. She’s not well.”

“No, she’s not.” The money I’d been sending had enabled her to hire a helper around the house. In my last letter, I’d invited her to come live with me in California, where I could keep a closer eye on her. But now Roy Cohn had his talons in her.

“It would be terrible if she was suddenly deported back to Germany. I’d hate to see that.”

The fact that both Mr. Cohn and Arthur, who sat on opposite sides of the political arena, would use the same tactic almost made me laugh. Instead, I broke out into a sweat.

Coming in, I’d thought that I had the power as a pretty young starlet. But he’d done his research, while I’d wandered in blind; I was a butterfly about to be pinned to a corkboard. “You can’t do that,” I said. “She doesn’t know anyone back there, there’s no one left.”

“That would be tragic.”

I began to shake. “You’re threatening to hurt an old woman in order to get me to talk?”

“Look, Miss Mead, please don’t get upset.” He put down his pen. “Here’s the truth: Any names we already have are people who have been confirmed, it’s not like you’re adding anything new to the mix. All you have to do at this point is concur. That’s all we’re asking. Is that really too much?”

Overwhelmed with fear, all of my training—both as an actress and as a spy—fell to the wayside. I could only imagine my grandmother stepping off an airplane in Germany, bewildered, clutching her purse to her chest as she looked around for a familiar face, and finding none.

So I’d cracked.

Hazel was staring at me oddly, and I realized I’d been lost in thought.

“Did you name me?” she asked.

“You aren’t a communist and I told them that.”

Hazel gave me a look of disgust. “You and I both know that’s not the point. They asked me about Ben; did they bring up his name with you?”

I paused a moment. “He’s gone, so really what does it matter either way?” The words sounded worse out loud than they had in my head. Sarcastic, derisive.

Hazel’s face went from alarmed to appalled. “You’re a monster. Even if he’s the one who drew you into this, you would ruin the name of a good man, a soldier, just to get yourself out of trouble? To keep your fancy life in the limelight?”

Ben Ripley hadn’t drawn me into this. In fact, I was the one trying to turn him. If I spoke those words out loud, I would be free from all the lies. But I couldn’t.

Hazel sat back, arms crossed. “You’re playing their game. That’s the whole reason for this ridiculous exercise, to make you bow down to their level. How could you?”

I stayed quiet.

“Who else did you name? Tell me now. Tell me everyone.”

“They had the names already, I wasn’t telling them anything new.” I tossed them off, one after another, as if by saying them fast, it would minimize the damage. “Philip Loeb, Clifford Odets, Burl Ives, Zero Mostel. They were already listed in Red Channels. Or had been named by someone else. I didn’t add anyone new.”

“You told Cohn they were communists?”

“I only mentioned people who were open about their affiliation in the past. I mean, it’s public record. He wouldn’t have let me off the hook any other way. And this way I could use my earnings to help you.”

“All your excuses,” sneered Hazel. “‘He’s dead.’ ‘She’d already admitted it.’ You’re a traitor and a snitch. I’ll never forgive you.”

The enormity of what I’d done hit me, hard. “They threatened to go after my family, my grandmother.”

Hazel stared at me, fury in her eyes.

“Cohn said he’d deport my grandmother if I didn’t cooperate. I had no choice. She only has me, I had to protect her. If Mr. Cohn sent my grandmother back to Germany, she’d never recover. She’s too frail. It would kill her.”

The waiter came by with refills but Hazel waved him away. “By renaming those who have already been named, you confirmed the politicians’ view that there are subversives lurking around every corner who might be a danger to this country. You reminded everyone in the artistic community that they could be fired, have their career upended, have their lives ruined, if they don’t do what you just did. You’ve prolonged the agony for all of us. These aren’t just names, they’re real people who’ll be turned into pariahs because you added fuel to the fire.”

“But the communists are everywhere, even if you don’t see it.”

“What do you mean?” Hazel gaped at me.

I’d said too much. “Mr. Cohn told me that by naming people, it showed that I’d broken with my past.”

“You have no past. You went to one rally.”

If she only knew. Confirming the names he already had was my way of declaring that I was done with the Communist Party, done with Arthur, and regretted all my terrible misdeeds.

“You know what Nazis did to people they suspected of not being on their side?” Hazel didn’t wait for me to respond. “They asked people who were under suspicion, ‘Who recruited you?’ and ‘Who did you recruit?’ They did that in order to break down the social ties between them, to prevent any kind of organized resistance. It’s no different here in the United States, where we’re being asked to betray our friends. They’re ripping our community apart, ripping it to shreds.”

I had nothing to say to that. She was right, of course.

“You sicken me. Get out of my sight. Now.”

I stood, shaking, feeling as if my bones were so ancient they might crumble into dust at any moment.

Up in my room, I packed up the last of my suitcases and trunks. I wouldn’t be coming back to the Chelsea Hotel. I whispered goodbye to my room, to the place I’d come to love more than anywhere else on the earth, then called for the bellboys to bring my luggage downstairs before taking the elevator down to the lobby. Mr. Bard’s office door was open, and I knocked softly. He looked up from his ledger.

“Miss Mead. How are you this morning?”

“I’m leaving, Mr. Bard.”

He clicked his tongue. “I hear that we’ll be seeing you soon on the silver screen. California, I’m guessing, is your destination. When shall we expect you back?”

“It’s for good.”

He looked as if I had broken his heart, and even laid a hand over his chest. God, I would miss this place. “Where shall we forward your mail?”

“I’ll let you know once I’m settled. Thank you for everything.” I stepped into the office, shut the door behind me, and moved closer. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take care of Miss Ripley’s rent going forward. Well, not right away, but she may have trouble ahead.”

He inhaled dramatically. “I’ve been reading the papers. She’s in for a rough ride. But you know I always take care of my tenants in any way I possibly can.”

“You do. We all appreciate that.” The eclectic mix of art along the lobby walls and up the stairwell attested to that, works he’d accepted when a tenant wasn’t flush. But it wasn’t as if Hazel could write a play for him in lieu of rent. “When her troubles come, I’ll cover her expenses. But you have to promise never to tell her. It’ll just be between you and me.”

He gave a toothy grin, enthralled by our intimacy. “Of course. You have my word.”

With that, I left New York behind. Left Hazel behind.

I had no choice. At least, that’s what I told myself.

When I pulled into the MGM film studio in my cream convertible cabriolet, a gift from the movie’s producers, everyone turned and stared. Not only at the car, but at the girl inside it, my bright red hair streaming in the wind, a perfect complement to my emerald silk dress. Exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. Several photographers and fans clustered around the car as I eased it into my spot, and I posed, preened, and signed until the very last one of them was satisfied.

I’d also hit up the studio heads for a low-slung, Spanish-style bungalow in Brentwood with a pretty pool out back. A magazine had taken photos of me in a bathing suit, lounging away, last week. I hoped Hazel would never see them.

So far, my plan had worked.

Up on the roof with Lavinia and Hazel, stunned by the news of the movie role, I’d decided to burn bigger and brighter than ever. The one way I could stop Arthur and his cronies from coming after me was by becoming a big movie star. No, not big. A huge movie star, one whose every move was covered by a panting public. By placing myself in the spotlight, I’d make myself untouchable. I hired a publicist to set up interviews, offered to talk about the making of the movie with any reporter who’d have me. I got myself written up in every rag out there. That was step one.

We only had another week of shooting in California before the entire cast and crew flew off to Costa Brava in Spain to do the bulk of the scenes. The farther away from the United States, the better.

I reached into my car to grab my purse, and when I looked up, there was Arthur leaning over the other side, smiling at me with a quiet fury.

Step two. If I didn’t lose my nerve.

He looked like a native Californian, dressed in a Panama hat, crisp cotton pants, and a plaid shirt. Almost like he was trying too hard, in fact. He’d lost weight and when he took off his sunglasses, I noticed the skin under his eyes sagged like an older man’s. “I missed you, Max. We were surprised when you stopped answering our phone calls, didn’t leave us a forwarding address. That’s not like you. Luckily, you’re not that hard to track down.”

I reminded myself to stay calm, not show fear. “I’m shooting the movie.”

“It’s great to see you.” He walked around the car and placed a hand on my arm, gave it a squeeze. He smelled of coconuts, the final touch in his tropical ensemble. The thick scent made me nauseous, and a trickle of sweat ran down my back.

I stayed silent.

“Don’t be afraid, Max. You know you’re always safe with me. I’m not going anywhere. Is there a place we can talk?”

I didn’t want to bring him into my dressing room, best to stay in public. I gasped for air, my lungs betraying my anxiety at the sight of him.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I need some coffee. Do you want to join me in the commissary?”

He considered it a moment. “Sure, babe.”

I checked my watch. “I have to be in hair and makeup in twenty minutes.”

“Whatever you say. I have all the time in the world.”

I shook as I carried the coffees to a table at the back where Arthur sat, waiting. He’d probably been tailing me, watching me, for some time now. I looked around. The commissary wasn’t very full, it was too early for lunch and too late for breakfast. Still, enough people stopped me and asked questions about the movie as I made my way through. I had a small army of supporters nearby in case he tried to pull anything sneaky.

I sat down, reminding myself to breathe. The thought of even having one sip of coffee made me sick to my stomach, and I pushed it away.

“You’re not thirsty anymore?” Arthur poured a teaspoon of sugar into my cup. “I know you like it sweet.”

I decided to go on the offensive. “Did you steal my stationery and set up Charlie and Hazel?”

He tried, and failed, to keep a straight face. “What makes you think I’d do such a thing?” His eyes crinkled with amusement.

“It’s not a joke. You wrote that note to Charlie, didn’t you, and said it was from me?”

“It worked like a charm. The tabloids ran with it for days, and our boy Julius was moved to the inside pages, at least temporarily.”

“I thought we’d decided against it.” The words came out girlish and weak, plaintive.

He stuck a spoon in my coffee and stirred it, over and over. I watched, not wanting to meet his eyes, hypnotized by the clinking of metal against ceramic. “Yeah, well, you ran away from us, Max. They didn’t like that one bit. Did you really think you’d be safe in California?”

“I wasn’t safe in New York, what with Roy Cohn interviewing me and all.”

“We don’t like the idea of losing track of you, though.”

I threw up my hands. “I’m an actress who came to Los Angeles for a part. It’s not like I was trying to shake you.” I knew he didn’t believe me. “You got want you wanted, right?”

“True. Hazel and Charlie’s scandal took the heat off. I was eventually able to get out, as were a couple of others. So the question remains, ‘What’s next?’” His knee touched mine under the small table and I stopped myself from recoiling.

“I’m shooting a movie, that’s what’s next.”

It was as if he didn’t even hear me. “We have to rebuild. Start over. It’ll be like when we first met. That time was special to me. Do you remember?”

I did. Back when he was charming and kind. He’d sweeten me up and then catch me off guard with an offhand insult, a sarcastic remark. At the time, I dismissed it, thinking he’d had a bad day, that he was under too much pressure. I did whatever I could to soften him up and avoid another caustic sneer.

How I wish I could go back to that moment and do something different, knowing that I could manage on my own and didn’t need to twist myself into the smallest person possible to please him. I would’ve sneered right back and told him to go screw himself. I would’ve used the biggest, most booming voice I had—and I could boom when I needed to, just ask the folks in the back row of the Biltmore—and sent him running for the door.

It wasn’t too late, was it?

“Arthur. I’m out.”

“No, you’re not.

I recognized the steely edge to his voice from when he was dealing with a reluctant operative. No one went against Arthur’s wishes. All I needed to do was forget to lock a window one night and I’d be a cold corpse by the next morning.

Arthur finished his coffee and took mine for himself. “You’re not alone. You must remember that. You have me, you have your grandmother . . .”

The threat was implicit. Waves of panic poured off my body. I looked around, but no one else seemed to sense the danger. Only me.

He reached over to smooth a curl behind my ear. I flinched as if I’d been hit.

I never wanted to be touched by him again.

“Look, Arthur. I’m no longer interested in working for you, or for the Party. You should move on, find someone else without my complicated history. Really, why take a risk?”

He licked his lips. “Don’t forget the reason you’re here is because of us. Because we paved your way.” He waited a beat. “No. You can never leave the Party. Or me.”

I sat back and crossed my arms. “You don’t get to call the shots anymore.”

“Watch it, Maxine. You’re going to be very sorry if you continue to talk like this.”

It was now or never.

Before I’d left the Chelsea for good, I’d made one more stop, at Lavinia’s. A young woman stood in the middle of her living room—Lavinia had started taking on private acting students as a way to supplement her income since being blacklisted—and I apologized for the interruption. “Lavinia, I have to give you something.”

“I’m in the middle of a lesson, come back in an hour.” Lavinia turned back to her student. “Once again, and remember the character is trying not to cry. The tension comes from her fighting against the tears.”

“No, Lavinia,” I insisted. “I’m leaving, for good.”

She walked over to the door and stood close, concern in her eyes. “What’s going on, Maxine?”

“I want you to take this.” I handed over a sealed, brown-paper package consisting of all the pages I’d stored in my mantel: my diary, as well as detailed records of what I’d done and who I’d met with, of Arthur’s involvement in the Party, and my own. “Keep it hidden. Please don’t read it. If anything happens to me, give it to the FBI.”

“Maxine, are you in trouble?”

“I won’t be, if everything works out.”

“This means you’re leaving us all behind. Me, Hazel?” Lavinia sensed the truth, I was sure. She’d known me since I was so young, knew where I came from, who had influenced me. So many times I’d considered confiding in her but then pulled back, worried that I would be putting her in danger. Yet here I was doing so now. A miserable shame washed over me.

“You can trust me with this, Max.” Lavinia’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Go wherever you need to go and keep yourself safe. I think I know what this is about, and I don’t blame you, if so. You were just a girl, I should have stepped in.”

I’d hugged her goodbye and left.

As the California sun poured through the commissary windows, turning the room gold, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and looked Arthur in the eye. “I kept a diary. A detailed diary, about my involvement with the Party. Yours, too. If anything happens to me, instructions have been given to hand it over to the Feds.”

He studied me to see if I was telling the truth. “You think you’re so smart.”

“No. I think you’re desperate. You said yourself that the Party had been compromised.”

“We will rebuild. It may take some time, but we will.”

“I’m stronger than you are now. People will notice if I go missing, or turn up dead. My fans will want to know the truth and so will the police. If anything happens to my grandmother or anyone I know, I will make a commotion like you’ve never heard before. I will roar and you’ll go down.”

“What, you’ll publish your silly diary and expose all our secrets? You’ll get sent to the electric chair with the rest of us.”

“I’m willing to lose everything. Are you?”

I caught a flash of fear in his eyes. He flicked his fingers at me, an odd, persnickety gesture that didn’t suit him. “You’re a flea.”

That’s when I knew that I’d got to him, that I finally had the upper hand. Arthur had been trained to be economical, stealthy. With that superfluous flick, he revealed what we both knew: Arthur was no longer the controller, he was the controlled.

“Miss Mead, is everything all right?”

A beefy young security guard, whom I’d chatted up the first day on the lot, stood just behind Arthur, the buttons straining on his uniform.

Arthur turned and looked up. The cords of his neck stood out, white and thick. I wondered what it would be like to wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him as he’d done to me. To tighten my grip and feel his throat under my fingers.

I spoke clearly and loudly, from my chest. “This man needs to be escorted off the lot and banned from ever coming here again.”

Arthur held his palms out. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving.”

I wondered if he had any last words for me, but the guard grabbed him by the collar before he could say a thing.

In my dressing room, I sat still, calm and composed, as the makeup artist painted my face. I thought of Hazel and how I’d betrayed her in ways both big and small. A terrible choice had to be made, and I’d taken the coward’s way out. I’d make it up to her, though, make sure she was well taken care of. I’d reach out to her again when things settled back down.

When the world righted itself.