Her piece, when it appeared, was a confectionary gem. “Roxanne Granville, daughter of Sir Rowland Granville, the great British actor, granddaughter of Leon Greene of Empire Pictures, bravely struck out into a show business avenue of her own. The Granville Agency has championed the young and unknown, seeking out wonderfully talented, unsung writers who are rapidly rising in stature and numbers.” In addition to some quotes from me and the flattering, even glamorous photograph, Hedda sought quotes from associates. Leon (or his office) complied with a sugared statement. Maurice Allen lauded my insight and excellent taste. Charlie said (probably ironically) that I knew how to recognize genius. Jimmy Ashford said the Western will live forever thanks to Roxanne Granville. Carleton Grimes said again, for print, that I was one of the most interesting women in Hollywood. Art Luke was in Mexico. Just as well.

“You know,” said Thelma as we read the article, “I bet this is what it was like to run a speakeasy back in Prohibition. You know you’re illegal, but you’re offering up something everyone wants.” The phone rang and she picked up. “Granville Agency.” She turned to me, smiling, and put the phone in my hand.

“The trials are over,” said Terrence, his voice laced with weariness, “and Dr. King’s been found guilty of boycotting, and so have the others, including Reverend Cooke. Everyone’s out on bail, and they’re appealing, and it’ll just go through the courts now, maybe all the way to the Supreme Court.”

“That will take months,” I said. “Maybe years.”

“Yeah, so now it’s just a question of endurance. And they will endure. Make no mistake of it. They will overcome too, but for now they will endure.”

“Will you stay there and wait with them?” I asked, appalled to think how long he might be gone.

“I’m too restless to sit around while the courts churn through these motions. I’m coming home.”

“Oh, Terrence! When?”

“I don’t know. Soon.”

“I’m here. I love you. I’ll always love you.”

The operator demanded more coins and cut us off before he could say he loved me.

Chapter Thirty-one

We didn’t see Popeye anymore after that blitz of praise from Hedda Hopper. I liked to think that J. Edgar himself called Popeye and said, “Popeye, there’s no place on god’s green earth a Red can hide from Hedda Hopper, and if she says these people at the Granville Agency are A-OK, well, that’s good enough for me. Besides, this girl is related to my dear old pal, Leon Greene, so never mind staking out Clara Bow Drive, Popeye. Go torment someone else.”