MGM fired Maurice Allen, citing the Waldorf Agreement, though nothing connected Maurice to being a Communist other than Charlie’s accusation. Maurice was philosophical about it. He called me and said he had known the risk when he took it. He had impressive credits now, and he was tired of writing; he wanted to produce. He was taking his mother and returning to New York. Daily, Thelma and I read every column inch of the trade papers like witches pawing through entrails, looking for word that Paragon Pictures had fired Art Luke, or that Gunsmoke had fired Jimmy.

“It might be different now,” said Thelma philosophically after a few days had passed. “I’m cautiously optimistic. As long as the advertisers stay lined up for Gunsmoke, CBS might not care if Jimmy Ashford fronted for Lenin. Back in forty-seven when all this started, if you didn’t work in the movies, you didn’t work at all. But people aren’t going to the movies like they did then. Audiences are more like pigeons roosting in front of their televisions. TV shows are just a middleman between the products and the pigeons. If Jimmy keeps his head down and his mouth shut and soldiers on, he might be all right. Gunsmoke is doing great. The networks need fodder for their shows, week after week after week.”

“Look at this.” I tossed Variety over to her. “Charlie’s reward for doing his patriotic duty.”

“So Irv Rakoff has taken Charlie on as a client. Fancy that.”

“Yes, I wonder if Irv will snuggle up his dick to Charlie’s tush.”

We both laughed at that, though it was amazing to me that anything was funny, given our situation.

Interviewed separately by phone, Denise and Jonathan each were quoted in the press expressing outrage! Had they known Fly Me to the Moon had the least Red tinge, they would not have dreamed of being part of it! Had they known the writer was fronting for a Red, they never . . . and so on. They both blamed me. Denise added a few salty, indignant phrases decrying the betrayal inflicted by a thankless granddaughter on her entire family. Leon offered no public statement. However, Empire Pictures took out full-page ads in Variety and the Hollywood Reporter in what amounted to the Gettysburg Address of Denials. Empire maintained unequivocally they had no idea their ex-employee, Charles Frye, was anything but who he presented himself to be. In offering himself as a front for another writer, Charles Frye had lied, perpetrated fraud, and that was why they had terminated his services. They reiterated their long-held resolution that Empire would never knowingly have anything to do with anyone of a remotely Communist persuasion, and that Fly Me to the Moon was an outstanding example of good clean American values.