Nick and Jake

by Jonathan Richards

HOTEL GEORGE V

  PARIS

  TO: HON JOSEPH MCCARTHY

  RUSSELL SENATE OFFICE BUILDING

  WASHINGTON, DC

  ARRIVE WASHINGTON 8 A.M. TOMORROW STOP WORK HERE DONE STOP NEXT THE ARMY

  COHN

  Hotel de l’Odeon

  Paris

  April 29, 1953

  Dear M. Camus:

  I am delighted to accept your kind invitation to read tomorrow evening at Shakespeare and Company, if the invitation still stands. I prefer to read selections from Trimalchio rather than the work in progress, which is not nearly ready for the light of day. But I thank you for your interest and encouragement.

  Again, for myself and my country, my profoundest apologies for your being caught up in the insanity the other day at Deux Magots. M. Cohn has been summoned back to Washington, and I hope this embarrassing episode will be soon forgotten.

  Sincerely,

  Nicholas Carraway

  ROYAL HOSPITAL

  Copenhagen, Denmark

  April 29, 1953

  Dear Chris,

  Yes, wasn’t that a fine mess? All hell breaks loose, and me not in Paris to cover the goddamn story. I always thought I had a nose for news. Just goes to show, you add a new appendage, the others go straight to fuck all!

  I figure that yahoo McCarthy was behind it. Or maybe it was just the lackey trying to impress his master, although I would never have credited Cohn with the gonads for a move like that on his own. A citizen’s arrest of Nick Carraway! I gather it damned near caused a government crisis. You almost have to give it to the little creep for sheer unmitigated world-class cocked-up showmanship.

  Having said that, those sons of bitches make me vomit. They’re everything I hate about America (is that your husky contralto in my mind’s ear saying, ‘Jake, dear, doesn’t that mean they’re trying to destroy everything you love about America?’) All right, and from where I sit, they’re doing a damn good job of it. I hear even the Cincinnati Reds are planning to change their name. Well, why the fuck not? There haven’t been any reds in Cincinnati since the Palmer Raids.

  And is there anyone left to stand up to that mob? Winchell’s gone farther to the right than that petrified asshole Ed Sullivan. Even old lefties like my so-called pal Irving Kristol are saying, “Well, you know, there really is a threat.”

  Yeah, there’s a threat all right. Just ask some of the guys who’ve been driven out of the country. I got a letter from Howard Koch, a writer friend who’s on the blacklist--the one they swear doesn’t exist. He wrote a movie called Casablanca about ten years ago. No one much remembers it today, but it was a hell of a flick. He’s in England now, and I’ve been telling him he should just stay the hell away from the whole craziness, but he’s planning to go back, in spite of the goddamn blacklist.

  And then there’s Nick. Nick’s a decent guy, and I’m glad as hell I’ve had this chance to get to know him. I guess I can thank McCarthy for that, so I take back all the crap I said about the cocksucker. Well, like the guy in Howard’s movie says, everyone in Casablanca has problems. Nick’s may work out.

  I’d feel a lot better if I were back in Paris. There’s something going on--I’ll find out soon enough. Nick’s coming to Copenhagen to pick me up, and we’re going to take a few days for a leisurely drive back to Paris, sampling the local vintages along the way. I’m thinking a little detour might be in order, if you’re game. Let’s you and me rendezvous in Normandy. I’ll have Nick drop me off at a little inn I know near St. Laurent-sur-Mer. I’ll check the exact address and cable you with driving instructions. Meet me Thursday next. I was there in ’44 covering the invasion, and the place still packs a hell of a goddamn wallop for me.

  Now I’ve got another beachhead to storm.

  With love,

  Jake (and my new pal, Little Jake)

  (COPIED AND FORWARDED BY DIPLOMATIC POUCH FROM ROY COHN TO ROBERT COHN, WASHINGTON DC.)

  May 2nd

  Uncle Robert,

  I’m back in Washington, and damned glad to be here. How’d you like my little Paris surprise?

  I thought someone should know this, and frankly, I’m a little hesitant to tell Dulles myself, because he’s not going to exactly like it. I think Barnes knows more than he ought to about plans that he ought not to know about. And I’m afraid it was my former friend Davey who’s responsible. He’s been going all dorky, sneaking around and acting like he thinks he’s some kind of a spy. I saw Barnes’s name on the phone pad, and when I asked Davey he wouldn’t say what it was about, he just looked like a cat who’d swallowed a cloak and dagger. As I said, it’s Davey who is responsible. I can assure you I never told Davey anything secret (no bull). It’s not like we were in bed together, ha ha.

  Maybe you and Aunt Frances could have me over for a home-cooked meal. I’m sick of that frog food!

  Your nephew, Roy

  To: The Hon. Prescott Bush

  5/2/53

  Scottie--Dulles getting cold feet. Not the man he was. We’ll have to go over him, not through him. If there’s a shakeup at the Company and I end up in charge, so be it. If Ike looks weak, a few swift jabs could rattle war hero image, and set stage for a Bush in White House next election. See how chips fall. Meanwhile, need your son to help with a little end around play. Tell George to run all France cables to and from Dulles past me first.

  Robbie

  From: Hon. Prescott Bush

  To: Robert Cohn

  5/2/53

  Robbie--You get one shot. Then the door closes. I’ve got plans for that young man, and they don’t include any possibility of scandal.

  Scottie

  JAZZ NOTES FROM AROUND TOWN

  by Francis Paudras May 3, 1953

  PARIS--Don’t forget to “dig” the magnificent Sidney Bechet as he plays le jazz hot at the Café du Monde.

  The always-appealing Blossom Dearie debuts her new ensemble, the Blue Stars, at Caveau de la Huchette.

  The legendary American pianist Bud Powell, just returned to Paris from a series of concerts in Sweden and Denmark, played Monday evening at an emotion-charged evening at Shakespeare & Cie honoring the noted American novelist Nicholas Carraway for his heroic stand against McCarthy lackey Roy Cohn. M. Powell will be appearing nightly at Le Bar Negre.

  Hotel de l’Odeon

  Paris

  May 3, 1953

  Dear Jake, Father of Contemporary Journalism and Contemporary of Fatherless Journalists,

  We miss you here in the Center of the World. Where are you, when all the good stuff’s going on?

  You’ll have heard of my fantastic dustup with the unspeakable Cohn. As your friend Paudras would put it, “all Paris is talking about l’affaire Carraway.” I will save the eyewitness report for when I see you in a few days, but suffice it to say it was a novel and not altogether pleasant experience. Well, but what is a writer about if not experience?

  What made it particularly galling was the timing. I was sitting in Deux Magots with Camus, and he was just about to propose. I was like the spinster virgin, fanning myself, with “Yes! and Yes!” rolled up in my tongue, waiting for him to make his declaration. The Camus proposal was an invitation for me to do a reading under his auspices at Shakespeare & Co., but before he could get it said (you know how he hems and pauses) the little rodent Cohn appeared at my elbow, and declared me his prisoner!

  The resulting scandale has made me the unlikely hero of the hour in Paris literary circles, and what was, I’m sure, to have been a modest little event with tea sandwiches and lemonade escalated into a Major Event, with a full bar and speeches and testimonials, and even music--what music!--from our friend Mr. Powell, who has just returned to town. Oh, and I read from Trimalchio, and everybody clapped like hell.

  I could hardly believe some of the notables who turned out--Camus, of course, and Sartre and de Beauvoir, and Malraux. Picasso was there, and drew a caricature of me on a napkin that I will have to show you. The director Jean Renoir told me he wants to make Trimalchi
o into a movie with the title of Gatsby le Magnifique. He plans to cast Gerard Philippe in my role (an obvious choice, you’ll say,) and Yves Montand as Gatsby, with Jean Gabin as Meyer Wolfsheim. Montand was with him, and could not have looked less impressed. But he has an undeniable magnetism, and I could imagine him in the role of a Gallic version of my tragic gangster.

  I handled all of that pretty well, I think. It was later that I got rattled. A teenage French girl came up and told me that she intends to sleep with every famous writer in France before she turns eighteen, and then to write a great novel. Her name was Francoise something--Saggan, I think. She looked me over with a frankness that made me shrivel. She told me that her father absolutely hated ugly people, which meant that he took up with one beautiful empty-headed mistress after another, but she liked clever people. “Of course,” she said, “they can’t be completely devoid of physical charm. People who resign themselves to the fact that they don’t measure up physically seem to me somehow indecent. What are we looking for, if not to please?”

  I excused myself and said I had to go to the bathroom, which was not the place most calculated to get me out of a mood of self-doubt as to whether I would measure up to Francoise’s standards. I confess I hid out in there. And when I came out, her attention had shifted to Montand.

  But I wasn’t out of the woods. Next, I was accosted by Simone de Beauvoir, who bore down on me with wolfish eyes that made young Francoise seem like a hamster. “So,” she purred, “the paradigm I have never been able to resist ... that classic American species, the self-made leftist writer.” She seized me in an intimate grip that robbed me of speech and very nearly of manhood. But at that crucial moment Sartre intervened, and saved what I shall call my bacon.

  This time, I ran for the bathroom.

  What’s wrong with me, Jake? Oak Park was never like this! Was I married too long? Am I just insecure and naïve, or am I really, as I fear, not equipped the way a man ought to be?

  I know this is Paris, and I’m a single fellow, and I’ve gained a certain notoriety, and I should be taking advantage of it, not thinking about one girl all the time. A man has to sow some wild oats, doesn’t he? And if I’m afraid of not being enough for a woman, better to find out on someone with whom it won’t matter to me so much if I’m found wanting.

  This must all seem so juvenile to you. Anyway, other than that I’ve been working. Writing and eating, tearing it up, and throwing it up. Oh, and in two weeks (!) Girodias is bringing out a new edition of Trimalchio, in his Traveler’s Companion series. He’s offered me a very handsome advance against royalties, which I may well need, as I don’t know how long I’ll be keeping my current source of income (which I’ll have to tell you about, I suspect you’ve been wondering.) They call it an advance because they promise it long in advance of delivering the cheque. I expect it will arrive shortly.

  Very excited about our trip. Anything I can bring you? Food, money, some of this surplus of women?

  Your Devoted Friend,

  Nick

  DULLES – IN POSSESSION OF DOCUMENTATION OF ELBA PLANS. WILL NOT HESITATE TO MAKE PUBLIC IF OPERATION NOT TERMINATED IMMEDIATELY. YOU KNOW I MEAN IT. PLEASE CONFIRM. BARNES

  FROM: ROBERT COHN

  TO: George H. W. Bush

  5/3

  5/3

  Mr. Dulles,

  Here’s a cable from Barnes. Await

  instructions.

  George H. W. Bush, Communications Center

  (ENCRYPTED AND DECODED)

  (5/3)

  FROM: ALLEN DULLES

  TO: IRVING KRISTOL

  SEE ATTACHED FROM YOUR PAL BARNES. HAS HE TURNED TRAITOR?

  DULLES

  (ENCRYPTED AND DECODED)

  (5/3)

  FROM: I. KRISTOL

  TO: A. DULLES

  WORSE. HE’S AN IDEALIST.

  KRISTOL

  (ENCRYPTED AND DECODED)

  (5/3)

  FROM: ALLEN DULLES

  TO: IRVING KRISTOL

  WILL BARNES KEEP HIS WORD?

  DULLES

  (ENCRYPTED AND DECODED)

  (5/3)

  FROM: I. KRISTOL

  TO: A. DULLES

  HE ALWAYS HAS.

  K

  5/3/53

  FROM: ROBERT COHN

  WASHINGTON, DC

  TO: G. DAVID SCHINE

  HOTEL GEORGE V

  PARIS

  DAVEY--GOOD WORK ON LETTER BARNES MUST BE STOPPED STOP ARRIVING PARIS TOMORROW AM STOP HIRE CAR WE’RE GOING TO ST LAURENT SUR MER

  ROBBIE

  Apartment C

  14½ MacDougal Street

  New York

  May 3, 1953

  Darling Nick,

  Please listen to the enclosed recording. Mr. Wexler took me into the studio this week, and here is the result. A demo, they call it--a demonstration record. Mr. Wexler wanted to see what I sounded like with real musicians--and what wonderful musicians they were! The pianist is named Red Garland. The bassist, Paul Chambers. The drummer, the sweetest man in the world--next to you, of course--is named Philly Joe Jones. And so complex! If Mr. Wexler hadn’t told me to listen to the bass to get the beat, I would have been lost completely. Then for the instrumental break, he used a wonderful young tenor saxophone player named David Newman, who everyone--except me, of course-calls Fathead!!!! Can you imagine??? I hope you’ll listen to my second chorus of “Lover Come Back,” after David’s instrumental part. After listening to his improvisation, I felt like I understood the melody so much better.

  “Lover Come Back.” It could be our song, couldn’t it? And when you turn the record over, you’ll hear the song that I insisted on doing, and you can guess why: “April in Paris.”

  Much much love, my dearest man,

  Ronnie

  (GIVEN BY HAND TO GEORGE H. W. BUSH FOR ENCRYPTION AND TRANSMISSION)

  5/3/53

  FROM: ALLEN DULLES

  TO: GEN. RAOUL SALAN

  CALLING OFF OPERATION ELBA. TOO RISKY AT THIS TIME. REPEAT, ELBA IS OVER. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.

  DULLES

  5/3/53

  George--Thanks for the heads up. Keep letting me know everything that goes out on this matter--BEFORE you send it. Substitute this message:

  Gen. Salan--Stand by for signal. Coded message in Barnes Door Thursday Herald Tribune. Dulles

  (ENCRYPTED AND DECODED)

  (5/3)

  FROM: ROBERT COHN

  TO: NICK CARRAWAY

  DUCKS IN ROW. TOP SECRET INSTRUCTIONS FROMDULLES: USE YOUR BARNES COLUMN TO RUN THISPIECE. IMPORTANT: NO CHANGES!

  FRANCE REMAINS IN AN UPROAR, WITH CIVILUNREST SWEEPING THE COUNTRY, AND FROM WHEREI SIT, THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT IS DOINGNOTHING. THE SITUATION CRIES OUT FOR AFIRM HAND--CURFEWS, A STATE OF EMERGENCY. THE RECENT UNREST IN ALGIERS HAS PRODUCEDLAWS IN FRANCE TO DEAL WITH THIS STATE OFAFFAIRS. BUT ENFORCING THEM IS A MATTER OFWILL, AND I HAVEN’T SEEN ANYTHING FROM THISCOUNTRY’S CURRENT BUNCH OF COOKIE CUTTERPOLITICOS THAT SHOWS ANY BACKBONE.

  IT’S A SURE SIGN OF A DEGENERATE CULTURE. LAW AND ORDER HAVE GONE INTO THE TOILET. IF I WERE A PARISIAN SHOPKEEPER, I’D BEBOARDING UP MY STOREFRONT RIGHT AROUND NOW. THE STREETS ARE GOING TO BE FULL OF PEOPLEWHO ARE NO RESPECTERS OF PROPERTY RIGHTS, AND MORE WHO ARE SIMPLY FED UP WITH AGOVERNMENT OF SPINELESS CLOWNS.

  THE REAL DANGER, OF COURSE, IS THAT THECOMMUNISTS WILL TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THISSITUATION TO SEIZE POWER IN A CITY THAT’SALREADY FAR TOO COMMIE-FRIENDLY, AND THEN

  GOODBYE TO A ONCE-PROUD FREEDOM-LOVING COUNTRY. YOUR CORRESPONDENT HAS HAD PLENTY OF EXPERIENCE WITH THESE COMMIES. DUE TO A MISUNDERSTANDING INVOLVING THE INEPT GOVERNMENT AND KEYSTONE GENDARMERIE, AND SOME NONSENSE ABOUT A BIT OF LITERARY JUVENILIA THAT I’D LONG SINCE FORGOTTEN, I BECAME THE OVERNIGHT DARLING OF THE PINKO SET. WELL, I’M HERE TO TELL YOU, THESE ARE THE SORT OF PSEUDO-INTELLECTUALS WHO ARE AS LIKELY AS NOT TO LATCH ONTO JERRY LEWIS AS THEIR NExT CULTURAL DARLING.

  THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT, IF IT SURVIVES, WILL HAVE A LOT TO ANSWER FOR. BUT
THEN, FRENCH GOVERNMENTS COME AND GO THESE DAYS LIKE THE TOURISTS WHO VISIT THE EIFFEL TOWER. AND IF THIS SITUATION CONTINUES, THERE WON’T BE A LOT OF THOSE.

  AS FOR ME, I’M READY FOR A VACATION FAR AWAY FROM HERE. BACK IN AMERICA. MAYBE OUT WEST, WHERE THE ASPENS WILL ALREADY BE TURNING. THEY TURN IN CLUSTERS, BECAUSE THEIR ROOTS CONNECT THEM. I NEED TO GET BACK TO WORK-AND LIFE.

  REMEMBER, CARRAWAY, DULLES EMPHASIZES NO CHANGES!

  ROBERT COHN

  Hotel de l’Odeon

  Paris

  May 3

  Dearest Ronnie,

  I’ve just gotten the damnedest message from a man I respect very much, a top man in the Administration, with whom I’ve been involved in the service of our country. He wants me to use my guest turn in Jake’s Trib column to plant a piece of muckraking garbage I’m to present as my own words. His orders are to run it exactly as he sent it to me. It’s incendiary, it’s insulting, and some of it’s incomprehensible--aspens turning in clusters because their roots connect them??? What the devil does that mean??? I have a terrible feeling it’s a coded message.

  Dammit, Ronnie, I don’t know what to do. Loyalties! My first loyalty is to my country and my government. But what about my loyalty to Jake? If I betray his trust by putting this poison into the paper, he’ll never speak to me again. It will make for a very uncomfortable drive down from Copenhagen, if he even still wants me to meet him after this.

  And Ronnie, what about you? How will you feel about a man who could do this? I’ll have betrayed you too. But the inescapable fact is: I can’t betray my country.

  I’m going out for a walk. And then I guess I’ll take this column over to the Trib, where I’ll deposit this letter to you in their overnight pouch to New York. Instant communication. One of the perquisites of newspaper life.

  Love,

  Nick

  17 rue du Dragon

  Paris, France

  May 4, 1953

  M. Barnes,

  I received a message from M. Bud Powell, and met him as instructed at Le Bar Negre. He handed me a packet of documents from you, which he had smuggled into Paris hidden inside his piano.