And then he’d said it. They’d both been blacklisted.
“It’s nothing, Mel. I’m sure of it,” he’d quickly added. “I’ll call my agent. And my lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer,” she’d heard someone say in a breathless monotone and then realized she’d said it.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re an Omaha girl as apple-pie American as they come. You’re practically a Girl Scout.”
Melanie had looked down at her revealing swimsuit and painted toenails, the cocktail at her elbow and the obvious fact that she spent more time at Carson’s place than her own, and said, “No, I’m not.”
“So what? This has nothing to do with you. I’ll fix it.”
“How? How will you fix it?”
“Leave it to me. I’m Carson Edwards. I’m not some hapless idiot who doesn’t know which side his bread is buttered on.”
But she had heard unease in his voice, something she’d never heard before.
Carson had looked away from her and taken a long sip of his martini as he stared at the shimmering water in his swimming pool. He was worried.
And this had scared her. Ever since the day she’d gotten the role of Julia inThis Side of Tomorrowand she suddenly had everything she’d always wanted, Carson had been the one with all the answers. If she needed advice on how to speak to reporters or bait photographers or ditch overzealous fans, he gave it. If she needed to know how to dress for an event or schmooze with the Hollywood elite or handle studio scuttlebutt, he told her how. If she needed to know what to take seriously, what to have a good laugh over, and what to simply leave at the soundstage door, he told her.
If she’d needed a voice of reason, he was it. If she needed a pat on the back, he provided it.
He had been able to do and give and be what she needed.
“What do we do now?” she’d asked.
He hadn’t answered right away. She could tell he was thinking, assessing, still working things out in his head. That was good. He was plotting their way out of this. A modicum of calm had returned to her.
But when he’d spoken, he did not turn his head to look at her, and the tone of his voice was one she didn’t recognize. “I really don’t know, doll.”
She’d wanted to scream at him then.
Hurl his pretty cocktail glass to the ground and watch it shatter.
And yet she had also wanted him to take her into his arms and tell her she didn’t have to worry. Of course she was no communist. That was as laughable as saying Minnie Mouse was one. She wanted him to assure her they’d be on Oahu three months from then, just as planned, shooting the new movie and laughing about this.
Carson, however, had continued to stare at the water in the pool, at the play of light on its surface, saying nothing.
“Should I call Irving?” she’d asked blandly.
“He probably already knows but, yes, you should call him.”
“Should I go home and do it?”
“Maybe you should. I have calls to make, too.”
Melanie had risen from the chaise on unsteady feet. Nothing seemed real in that moment. Not the heat of the patio stones on the soles of her feet, nor the breeze plucking wisps of hair from under her sun hat, nor the heaviness in her chest.
Carson hadn’t walked inside with her or helped her gather her things. She was grateful he at least came back inside the house minutes later to call her a cab.
When the car came, he opened the front door quickly, as if needing to be alone with his thoughts as soon as possible.
“I’ll call you,” he’d said absently.
“You’ll fix this, right?” she said, desperate to hear him say this again.
“I’ll find a way.” His voice had been void of confidence.
