“You don’t know what it was like. You weren’t even here. You were in Paris. You can’t imagine what it was like for the rest of us in fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two. Before that, everyone thought, oh, the First Amendment! We’ll stake our very lives on the First Amendment, and in nineteen forty-seven all those big-time actors—Bogart, Bacall, Paul Henreid, and the rest of them—they all flew to Washington to show moral solidarity for the Hollywood Ten. They were there, in the audience for the hearings. Great theater! The Hollywood Ten were so witty, so many clever retorts to the Committee’s questions. And then, you know what? That slimy Parnell Thomas, the chairman, indicted them for contempt of Congress. They appealed through the courts, still believing in the First Amendment. But the courts supported the Committee, and by nineteen fifty the Hollywood Ten were in federal prisons. So when the Committee hearings started up again, here in LA, everyone was too afraid to do anything at all. People would cross the street to avoid being seen talking to anyone who had even a blush of Red. It could be your brother, your best friend, your ex-wife, and you’d still cross the street. It was like living in a pressure cooker. If you didn’t want your career shredded, your life ruined, if you didn’t want to see your work, your reputation smeared, to see your livelihood disintegrate in front of your eyes, then when the Committee called, you stepped right up and vowed your allegiance to the Motion Picture Alliance for American Ideals. You kissed the flag and pressed it to your bosom. And if the Committee asked if you were once a Communist, you said yes, and if they asked who else was a Communist, you coughed up names like the goddamned phone book. And if you didn’t, then you could flush your life, your work, your reputation right down the cosmic toilet. I’ll say it again. Leon Greene was not alone in what he did, and Jerrold and Simon and Nelson knew it. Max too.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him!”

“All the studios fired anyone who didn’t cooperate with the Committee.” Thelma took out a match and lit her cigarette. “Take these comedies to Paragon. They’re a smaller studio, like Empire. They’re perfect. You said you met Carleton Grimes the other night, their new managing director.”

“If Empire turns me down, I will take them to Paragon.”

“Look how good Leon has been to you, Roxanne,” she implored, gesturing around the living room of the tract house. “How supportive. You’d still be stacking up file cabinets in your back bedroom if you didn’t have this office.”

“Don’t confuse the issue. I made a bargain that I would accept Denise, be nice to her. I was nice to her, and I will be nice to her, but . . .”