“Well, Irv says: ‘I’m sure you remember Roxanne Granville,’ and whoever it is says, ‘Yes, of course,’ and I say, ‘Yes, of course, I remember you from—’”

“What? They’re parading you around like a monkey on a string!” He stood and started pacing, always a bad sign. “Don’t you see? How that reflects on you! On us! It’s such an insult! Serving coffee like a maid! Do any of the others serve coffee?”

“No. But they’re all guys.” I was not at all immune to what Leon Greene thought of me. My birthmark suffused with color, and shame overwhelmed me.

“I ought to call Irv Rakoff and give him a piece of my mind. That would get some results!”

“Don’t. Don’t interfere. It’s my job.”

“How could you let them treat you like that and not protest? I didn’t bring you up to accept insults. It’s as much an insult to me and Empire.”

The enormity of the affront, the ongoing, daily affront, racketed through my whole body. The mortifying spectacle! I thought about how many times I’d bent low to lay a tray on the table while Irv and his cohorts looked down my blouse or ogled my backside. No wonder none of the guys got asked to deliver coffee. Oh yes, and I am Roxanne Granville, named for . . . Shame and anger and the desire to deflect humiliation away from myself made me snap at him. “What do you intend to do about Max? Are you going to fire him?”

“I already have,” he replied without a single qualm. “We have to protect our priceless heritage, our American ideals. Max did it to himself. We can’t have Communists, radicals, and crackpots—”

“Leon! I’m talking about Max! He’s not a crackpot. He’s your friend!”

“I have to think of my country. There is a higher loyalty than personal relationships. We must stop the people who want to overthrow the United States government, maybe not by outright revolution, but by something more insidious. A Communist college professor corrupts his students. A Communist author like Howard Fast corrupts his readers. And movies, well, movies are the most powerful medium in the history of mankind. If movies are tainted with Communist messages or propaganda, then America itself is tainted. Moreover, I gave my word. We all did when we signed the Waldorf Agreement. We said we would never hire or keep on the payroll a known Communist.” Behind his glasses his gaze was utterly without regret.

“Julia would spin in her grave if she heard you,” I retorted, picking up my shoes and my clothes.

“And what would she do if she knew you were carrying coffee like a maid? I wonder if she’d think that fine French finishing school was worth it.”