Page 6 of A Map to Paradise

5

Melanie didn’t hear from Carson that day until well after midnight New York time.

She’d assumed he’d want to hear right away how her phone conversation had gone that morning and that he’d call before heading to the theater for wardrobe and makeup. When her West Coast afternoon passed without the telephone ringing—the quick calls from her lawyer Walt and then Irving had taken place just minutes after she’d hung up with the government man—she’d then expected Carson to phone her from inside his dressing room immediately after curtain call.

But he’d gone back to his rented Chelsea apartment before picking up the phone to call her. Melanie didn’t know if that was because he really did trust her not to spill names or because he’d called Walt much earlier that day to see how it had gone.

This latter notion annoyed her. She wanted Carson to want to hear from her what that man had asked her and what she’d said in response, not from Walt who wasn’t even on the call. She spent the early part of the evening before Carson called telling herself it was because he trusted her, even though she didn’t quite believe it.

Melanie was in bed sipping a martini, worrying about Elwood, and watching The $64,000 Question on the little TV set in the bedroom when the phone finally rang.

“Hey, doll.” Carson’s voice was smooth, deep, and sensual, as if in character and reading from a script.

“Hey.” She’d wanted to sound nonchalant but then quickly realized she’d answered on the first ring. Damn.

“So. You doing all right?” he asked.

“Sure. Are you? It’s a little late back there, isn’t it?”

“I’m always keyed up after a show; you know that.” He laughed as though she’d forgotten something everybody knew about Carson Edwards.

“No. I mean, I thought I’d hear from you before now.”

“I wanted to call when we were both alone, and could talk as long as we want, and say whatever we want.”

At these words Melanie felt a pang of longing. Carson hadn’t been back to see her since his show opened in October, and she missed him. She missed his hand on the small of her back when they were out or that same hand on her knee as they sported about Hollywood in his convertible. She missed the sex, too, but it was his little attentions she missed the most. Carson Edwards had a way of making someone feel like they mattered to him, like his life had more meaning because they were in it. Deep down she knew it was probably all just his forward-facing persona and had little to do with how he really felt about her, but she didn’t care what she knew deep down. She missed being held, embraced, kissed. Touched. Elwood Blankenship telling her to distance herself from Carson’s affections was easy for him to say; he obviously didn’t need anyone.

“I wish you were here.” The words fell too easily off her lips. She knew in an instant they were exactly what Carson wanted her to say.

“So do I. But the show’s doing well. They’re already saying it’s going to be held over. Maybe into the spring even.”

She took a sharp breath at this response of his. He’d met her deep yearning for him with news about the show. His show. His show that was keeping him gainfully employed on Broadway while her career languished. Carson seemed to sense what she’d really needed at that moment was for him to say he longed for her, too. It was a mistake he probably didn’t make often.

“But I will miss you terribly of course if that happens,” he said.

“Will you?”

“Absolutely. Now, tell me how your day went, hmm? I want to hear all about it.”

She hesitated before answering as she could tell in his tone that he wasn’t all that curious. “But you already know how my day went, right? You talked to Walt. Hours ago.”

“Melanie.”

“What? You already know. That’s why you could wait until now to call me.”

“Mel.”

“What?”

“Yes, I already talked to Walt. But he only gave me details. Information. The gist of what was said. And what wasn’t said. That’s not what I care about when it comes to you. I want to know how you felt about that phone call. I want to know how the day was for you, not how it was for that man in Washington. I couldn’t care less about him.”

Melanie let those words sink in. Maybe he actually meant them. She wanted to think he did.

“I kept my promise to you,” she said. “They wanted names and I told them I didn’t have any names to give them.”

“I know you did. I don’t need you to tell me that. You’re not that kind of person.”

“What…what kind of person?”

“The kind of person who would subject people you barely know to accusations of treasonous activity just because they know me.”

“You mean like what happened to me.”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m not a communist, Carson.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“Are you? Elwood said I should probably assume you are. Should I?”

“Elwood? You mean Blankenship?” The timbre of his voice took on a slightly rattled edge. “Elwood Blankenship doesn’t know me. I’ve never even spoken to the man. You’ve been talking to him about this?”

“I’ve been asking him for advice now and again about what I should do. You’re not here.”

“But you already know what you should do. What you are already doing. Saying nothing. Because you know nothing.”

“Then why am I on the blacklist, Carson? I know nothing and yet I am on the blacklist. No one in Hollywood will hire me!”

“I am on the blacklist, too. Nobody in Hollywood will hire me right now, either.”

“But you don’t have to live like I am living. You’re working. You’re acting. And you’re rich.”

“I got lucky, Mel. You know that. If I didn’t have a good friend as the director of this play, I probably wouldn’t have a job right now, either.”

Tears of frustration had sprung to her eyes, and she blinked them back. “That man told me it’s likely the committee will subpoena me to testify, Carson.”

“I’m sure he said that just to scare you.”

“You don’t know that! They have summoned others.”

“Hey. Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves, doll. Okay?”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on the blacklist!” Her voice sounded panicked in her ears. “I won’t.”

“You won’t have to,” he said calmly. “I promise.”

Melanie wanted so very much to believe him. It had taken her five years of fruitless auditions and disappointing callbacks and seconds-long walk-ons in low-budget films to finally be asked to screen-test for a major film for a major studio. It was, in fact, Carson who had seen her in The Seven Year Itch —in which she spoke one line, just the one—and insisted she be tested for the role of his love interest in his next film, This Side of Tomorrow . She’d excitedly called her parents in Omaha when she was chosen for the part, and then had to assure them repeatedly she wasn’t going to have to take her clothes off and that her looks weren’t the reason she got the role. Before she’d hung up she told them MGM was paying her for one film as much as her mother made in an entire year teaching ungrateful fifth graders. She quit her day job at the glove counter at The May Company the very next day and sent her parents an extravagant box of French chocolates a week later for their wedding anniversary.

In the weeks before the premiere of This Side of Tomorrow and during its run in the theaters and even afterward, MGM all but insisted Carson and Melanie be seen together. The studio heads were convinced that not only was the film going to be a hit but that there was a chemistry between Melanie and Carson they were relying on for future films. This confidence, which Melanie felt every time she was on the sound stage or on location, was exhilarating.

If that wasn’t wonderful enough, the months on the set and on Carson’s arm, and even in his bed, had been nothing short of magical.

She’d found measures of happiness after that one disastrous relationship with a talent scout whose only aim had been to get her naked. But none of the men she’d dated since had the charm or the class—or the money—that Carson did. None of them made her feel desired like he did. When the movie premiered and Carson ushered her down the red carpet like she was the headlining star rather than him, she’d never felt so valued.

Her parents had in fact changed their tune when the film was released and their Omaha friends and neighbors began raving to them about it. Her parents had gone to see the film—twice, like many people had—and they admitted how wonderful it was to see Melanie’s name on the big screen like that even though Kolander was her real last name, not Cole, and how convincingly she had played her part, and how very dead she looked in that crashed car. It was scary how real it looked.

Melanie had thanked them. Said she was glad they enjoyed the movie enough to see it twice. Told them the makeup people were exceptionally good at making someone look lifeless.

When Melanie had hung up with her parents, she realized with a start that she finally had everything she wanted. And more. After so many long, hard years of working and hoping and yearning, she had it all.

She would later think of that shining moment in her life as a beautiful but fragile dream, one capable of being torn in two with just a word.

Because it had been. With just a word.

Blacklist.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Carson said now, so gently, so persuasively. “Tell me what you’re wearing. Or not wearing.”

Ten minutes after they’d hung up, Melanie realized Carson hadn’t answered her question.

She’d asked him if he was a communist and he’d dodged it.