She swore she wouldn’t break, she wouldn’t let them see her pain. She’d lived with it this long. But looking out over the crowd who’d gathered tonight to celebrate the splendid world of live theater, in all its eccentric, superstitious glory, her heart broke. She stifled a sob with her hand, the suffering of so many years now evident to all.
Which only made them applaud harder.
Hazel looked down at Charlie, who stood with the rest of them, his face beaming. Maxine waited awkwardly by Hazel’s side. They should kiss or embrace or something, that’s what the crowd wanted. Two best friends, reunited after all these years.
Hazel turned to look at Maxine, who had that same silly smile on her face, but her eyes revealed fear. Fear of what Hazel was going to do next: Would she play the game? Or attack her on live television?
Hazel’s fingers itched. She’d heard that expression a thousand times before but never really understood it until now. They itched to physically hurt this woman who’d betrayed her so terribly. Who’d left her behind. Who was a traitor.
As the cheering finally died down, Hazel looked out to Charlie again. He was sitting back down, her empty seat beside him. Something about that unsettled Hazel, but before she had a chance to figure out why, she heard Maxine weeping beside her, her mouth a grimace. The ugly show of emotion dried up Hazel’s own tears in a flash. Leave it to Maxine to draw focus on herself when this was supposed to be Hazel’s moment. Chewing the scenery, as always. Hazel refused to be upstaged, not this time.
She stepped up to the microphone and took a deep breath.
“Thank you for this remarkable, and surprising, honor.” Her voice rebounded up the balconies, up to the rafters, through the cameras and into the homes of millions of Americans.
For years now, she’d wanted a way to right all the wrongs, an opportunity to be heard. This was it. Maybe Charlie was right. It was a new era, perhaps her anguish hadn’t been for nothing.
“Back in 1950, when Wartime Sonata first graced a Broadway stage, we were young and full of hope. We’d won another world war, defeated the enemy, and were the leaders of democracy, of the free world.”
She didn’t want to lecture. How to make her point, make them understand?
“It’s true that secrets were being ferried out of the country back then, secrets that were shared with the Soviet Union when they should not have been. Brave federal agents hunted for those spies, and they should be commended.” She looked down at Charlie. Again, that empty seat beside him nagged at her. Reminding her of another time, another empty seat. On the third of July.
“But then a terrible infection took hold in America. One of paranoia and witch hunts. Others in politics decided to use the fearmongering as a way to decimate the entertainment industry. They said that communists were poisoning the minds of their children, were out to destroy democracy. And many of you bought the lies.” She looked right into the television camera. “You didn’t question them. You didn’t fight back. You let this happen.
“The entertainment industry was hounded by bullies as the rest of America, including its top newspapers and news organizations, went along for the ride. The press, who should have exposed the contagion for what it was, let it fester for far too long, cowed by the credentials of the bullies in charge. Because of this, we lost a generation of talent. Screenwriters became typists to earn a buck. Brilliant actors sold shoes to make a living. My friend Floyd Jenkins, who had so much hope and promise, was forced out of the career he loved because of an offhand remark, then killed himself.”
Her throat threatened to close up, but she swallowed, took a breath, and kept on. “This is how a society is corrupted, from the inside out. We must make a promise to not ever let this happen again. We must promise to be vigilant against our own worst tendencies. Only by doing so will our country sustain its ideals of freedom.”
She stopped. There was nothing left to say.
The men and women in the audience sat for a moment in silence, before a wall of sound, of cheers and stamping feet and clapping, surged forward.
Hazel looked up into the darkness to the very last row of the top balcony, grateful that her message had been heard.
She heard Charlie give a whistle, the same one he used to catch a cab, and caught his eye and smiled.
Again, the empty seat. On the night that Charlie had asked about, the third of July, Maxine’s birthday, they’d gone to a show. Maxine had been harassed by a fan and seemed out of sorts during the first act, fidgeting in her seat. Then she’d disappeared.
The seat next to Hazel’s had been empty the entire second act. Hazel had emerged from the theater to find Maxine waiting outside. And Arthur right across the street, watching them. Just enough time . . .
No. It couldn’t be.
In shock, Hazel drew back, as if a burst of feedback had screeched out of the microphone that only she could hear. She felt Maxine’s hand on her arm, steadying her.
Maxine leaned close, speaking directly into her ear. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry about all this.”
Hazel couldn’t speak. Sorry for what? For this muddled awards ceremony? Or for worse?
She felt Maxine’s hand on her waist, guiding her off the stage.
“That was a beautiful speech, Hazel,” Maxine said. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”
Her delivery was wry, playful. She wanted to once again be in Hazel’s good graces now that Hazel was back in fashion.
But Hazel was having none of it.
“I know your secret, Maxine Mead.” Her tongue tasted of metal as she spoke. “I know the truth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hazel
March 1967
Once backstage, Maxine was swept up in a sea of handlers, leaving Hazel in the wings. Soon enough, though, the stagehands surrounded her, thanking her for her rousing words and shaking her hand. If anything, that was the most gratifying moment so far at this insane awards show, that she’d made the crew proud.
More than ever, Hazel wanted Charlie to have a chance to confront Maxine. Especially now that Hazel had figured out the truth. But any kind of confrontation was sure to be noticed and covered by the press. This had to be played out very carefully.
“Hazel.”
Charlie appeared, and she’d never been more relieved to see his face. She waited until they were safely in a taxi, on their way to the post-awards party at the Plaza Hotel, to fill him in.
“Maxine was part of it.”
“Part of what?”
“Arthur’s spy ring. Silver’s spy ring. Whatever you want to call him. Arthur is Silver, I’m certain. And Maxine was a spy, too.”
Charlie frowned. “Maxine Mead, a spy?”
“That evening, July the third, when we went to the theater, Maxine wasn’t with me the entire time. I only realized it when I was onstage giving my speech and saw the empty seat next to you. I remembered that Maxine never returned after the intermission, leaving me alone for the entire second act. I saw her later, outside. I spotted Arthur across the street, watching us, and insisted we all go to dinner so I could finally meet Maxine’s mysterious beau.”
“Slow down. I’m not understanding the connection.”
Hazel started again, thinking it through as she spoke. “When we were first entering the theater, a fan waylaid her, a rude one. After that, she seemed flustered, like something was bothering her. She got up as soon as the curtain fell for intermission, told me she was going to the bathroom, but never came back. Later, she said she’d missed the bell and didn’t want to make a fuss scrambling back to her seat in the dark. But I think the fan was connected to Arthur in some way, and had told her to get back to the hotel and let Arthur in through the tunnel. I remember the second act of that play was interminable, which means Maxine had more than enough time to grab a cab and help Silver-slash-Arthur escape by disappearing into the town house, through the tunnel, and out the hotel’s front door. Then they jumped in a cab back to the theater district.”