Gloria listened closely as Bailey read the question. Once he had finished, she said, “I respectfully decline to answer. I prefer to invoke my rights under the Fifth Amendment.”
The shocked silence in the room was complete. The brave lady had just put the Fifth Amendment defense into play and challenged the very foundation of the committee’s assumed authority.
“Miss Adams, are you aware that we regard your refusal to answer an act of contempt of Congress?”
Rising from her seat, Gloria stood erect before the committee before speaking. “I have been advised by counsel if there is a possibility that I might incriminate myself, I have to assume that it is being inferred that I have broken the law. Accordingly, I enjoy the same protections as provided under the Fifth Amendment.”
“Miss Adams, I don’t know from whom you’re getting your legal advice, but I must remind you that you are appearing before this committee to answer questions. No, you have not been charged with a crime. Therefore, your protections under the First and Fifth Amendments do not apply. I must advise you that unless you answer the question, you will be found in contempt of Congress.”
Don Cerreta slowly rose. His deliberate movement attracted the attention of the committee, members of the audience, and the entire press corps. There was something about the impression he was sending that indicated a matter of extreme importance was about to be discussed.
The federal prosecutor, after handing a copy of the brief to each member of the committee, the opposing lead counsel, and the court reporter, began his remarks. “The U.S. Attorney General’s office, knowing this question might arise, has developed its own brief. With your permission, I would like to enter it into the transcript of this hearing. You may wish to review it before we proceed or you consider charging Miss Adams with contempt of Congress!
“In essence, this brief concludes that if the committee’s questioning of Miss Adams infers that a crime has been committed, the witness is entitled to use her rights as prescribed by the First and Fifth Amendments in exactly the same fashion as she would if she had been charged with a crime.”
The chairman immediately flipped through the pages, his face reddening. After a full 2 minutes of silence, he announced, “The witness is excused.”
The spectators went wild, laughing, whistling, and clapping as the press busied itself with making notes. The committee, its lawyers, and its staff filed out of the room in embarrassed silence.
Once the noise had receded somewhat, Gloria, her attorney, and Don proceeded toward the rear doors of the hearing room. Anyone who had been seated rose to join in a standing ovation. Gloria Adams had just given her finest performance. With the assistance of the Sentinels, she had leveled the legal playing field of the House Un-American Activities Committee.
* * *
SEVERAL DAYS LATER, EXHAUSTED FROM HER LONG COAST-TO-COAST flight, Gloria entered her darkened house. When she flipped on her hallway light switch, she took a step back in shock: all her closest friends, along with Natalie and David, stood waiting for her in the living room. “Surprise!” they all shouted together.
Gloria was at a loss for words. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined going to Washington to join a political protest, or that she would earn the appreciation of so many of her friends and acquaintances. Quickly regaining her composure, she reached over to her desk, picked up a yellow pad, and said to the gathered friends, “Now that all of you are here, I was wondering if you would mind writing your names down on this pad and indicating if you are or ever have been a member of the Communist Party. There are some people in Washington who are depending upon me to furnish them with the information.”
Gloria got her laugh. The tension was broken, and the party began. The first round of champagne bottles had been popped and the hors d’oeuvres had been served. Myron Goldman, the well-known CEO of one of Hollywood’s largest studios, after clinking a fork against his champagne flute, said, “Excuse me, everyone!”
When the jovial chaos of the party died down, he continued. “All of us in the industry wish to express our gratitude for all you have done. You, Miss Adams, and all your Sentinel friends, have improved the lives of so many people. Hopefully, you have provided our country with an important lesson in how fragile our civil liberties can be and how diligent we need to remain if we are to protect what is uniquely ours. We will forever be in your debt. Nice job, thank you!”
The guests cheered and raised their glasses.
Making her way to the piano, Natalie could feel everyone’s eyes following her. She thought, They must be wondering what is planned next. After looking around at all the faces, she asked, “How many of you remember before Gloria became the beautiful star in all those earlier movies, she was originally recruited for her singing and dancing skills?
“Gloria, before I ask you to join me in a song, I have something I would like to give you. I am holding in my hand four serious inquiries of employment from London. It appears that news of the ‘Heroine of Hollywood’ has crossed the Atlantic! Your presence appears to be requested. On behalf of all your friends, I would like to congratulate you on once again being a working member of our industry!”
As the applause died down, Gloria walked up and hugged Natalie. The older actress then turned to the guests, and after extending her arms, she started to talk. “For some time, I have begun to feel my active life, as I have known it, was drawing to a close. Isn’t it interesting to learn what can happen when one pissed-off old broad decides to get mad and do something about it?”
Some of those who were standing and applauding were having a difficult time comprehending the reaction of others. Close, longtime friends of Gloria’s appeared to genuinely appreciate all of the positive reinforcement she was receiving. Those who were attending to extend their gratitude were some of the most demonstrative. Then there were the others who were still engulfed in the inquisitional tyranny. Not certain of what would happen next, they chose to stand quietly and allow their presence to speak for their appreciation.
When the mixed applause started to settle down, Natalie motioned to the accompanist to take his place at the piano and motioned for Gloria to join her. When things had quieted, Natalie turned to her new-old friend and asked, “And what would a ‘Pissed-Off Old Broad’ care to sing?”
CHAPTER 17
Plaything of the year
MEXICO CITY, NOVEMBER 1948
Following the conclusion of hosting “Manuel’s Movie Night,” Señor Arena had been receiving periodic calls from his uncharacteristically effusive friend, J. Jordan McWilliams. He wanted to thank his friend for arranging his evening with Miss Mercedes Velasquez and expressing his desire to meet her again. Manuel took this endorsement seriously. In his mind, it helped confirm his opinion of Mercedes as someone who understood the game and could be counted on to play her part with his other rich and influential Mexico City friends.
Over the following months, Mercedes found herself enrolled in acting classes, working with a voice coach, and taking ballet lessons. Almost every week she was asked to study new scripts and prepare for screen tests or auditions. To her delight, she discovered the roles she was testing for demanded serious dramatic talent.
Her wardrobe, her makeup, and her jewelry and accessories now reflected top-of-the-line Mexico’s finest shops that customarily lent to the studio. Señor Arena personally supervised the selection of every item. Everything seemed so different . . . nothing like the halfhearted effort the studio had put into preparing her for the embarrassingly small role in Manuel’s previous film.
The rest of the studio crew began to realize that Mercedes was being set up to be Señor Arena’s most recent “Plaything of the Year.” When they talked among themselves, they would say, “Manuel should award us for our performance on the set!”
On the days reserved for screen tests, Manuel could be seen standing behind the camera, holding a copy of the script. One moment he would be studying the pages; in the next, he would be inspecting
the camera settings, checking the lighting, and making suggestions to the director.
Almost every night, Manuel requested that Mercedes accompany him to what seemed like an endless stream of private parties, gallery openings, and political receptions. On the evenings when they attended the symphony, ballet, or opera, the exquisitely styled starlet could be seen sitting next to Manuel in his private box. The ever-present press was always nearby, taking pictures and asking questions.
After several weeks, word began to circulate that a serious new role was being prepared for Mercedes. Manuel had selected her for the lead in an exciting new movie and introduced her to the renowned director assigned to the film.
On the set, the cast and crew treated her with courtesy and respect. Her drama coach and script assistant were constantly by her side. Even the director, known for his impatience and harsh temper, was quick to compliment her when he approved of her work. When she failed to please him, he patiently showed her what he wanted.
On the weekends, it was not unusual for Mercedes to receive invitations to accompany one of Manuel’s friends she had met at the constant receptions they had been attending. The big wealth of Mexico was held by a surprisingly small number of older families. The financial titans she met owned spectacular homes in any one of several coastal cities, near small villages, or on large family-owned haciendas.
Separate rooms were always provided. There were closets well stocked with a broad selection of bathing suits, casual lounging clothes, and highfashion evening and cocktail dresses, all carefully chosen to fit her. Velvetcovered boxes containing gifts of expensive jewelry were to be found sitting on top of her bedside table, together with a short welcoming note from her weekend benefactor.
Sometimes, her host would request she join him on his elegant yacht. Once she was on board, she never knew whether the ship would remain in port or venture out of the bay and turn north or south. On the shorter trips, they would sail up to Zihuatanejo, while the longer trips usually ended at Puerto Vallarta.
Mercedes particularly enjoyed the longer cruises. Once they had arrived at their destination, onboard cranes would gently lift the highly polished, wood-planked Chris Craft powerboat from its cradle and carefully place it in the water. During the day, the powerboat was used to pull water skiers or inspect the more interesting caves that were to be found at the base of the shoreline cliffs. At night, the same boats would serve as their ship-to-shore taxi.
Some of the eloquent dinner parties were hosted by one of her host’s friends. To Mercedes, she looked forward to meeting his male friends, the same men she had often read about in the Mexico City newspapers. As she became more accustomed to the elegance of the dinner parties and the presence of what appeared to be some of Mexico’s most important men, it hadn’t taken very long before Mercedes began to notice that none of the other women were married to their evening’s escort. They all shared the advantages of youth and beauty. Some of them were talented musicians, recognizable actresses, and models. And some were secretaries and personal assistants. At first, she was somewhat surprised by the effort their host-dates made to introduce their companions to each of the other men.
It was until she had witnessed this “tribal ceremony” for the third time when it occurred to her that she was part of another unspoken competition between the male guests to determine which one of them would be accompanied by the most beautiful and desirable woman.
Mercedes, an experienced beauty contestant, was amused by the extraordinary attention she was receiving. She learned to insist that she be escorted to the beach club that existed in every port they visited. The lively action of the beach clubs would customary not begin until 1:00 a.m., about the same time that Mexico’s custom of late-night dining would be completed. Housed in a large, cone-shaped, open-air building, complete with a large, circular bar and a high thatched ceiling, the clubs were the source of local excitement. Dominated by the loud mariachi music being played on the raised stage behind the circular bar, the two large cocktail areas, each furnished with small tables and wicker chairs, were separated by two very large dance floors. The club was always filled with Mexican men who loved to dance. The lively patrons, invigorated by generous amounts of rum or tequila, would perform their favorite Latin steps with a variety of the attractive single women who regularly frequented the club.
Mercedes loved the mixed fruit juice and rum drinks, the music, the conversations with intelligent men, the constant laughter, and the intoxicating atmosphere of the club. Sometimes, she and her partner joined the congested movement on the dance floor, and sometimes, she accepted another man’s invitation, and sometimes she danced alone. Her beauty and her growing celebrity status always caught the attention of the people sitting in the cocktail areas, the other dancers, and the ever-present press. The budding starlet was learning to enjoy the admiration of the approving crowd.
Later, back on the yacht, a still exhilarated Mercedes understood she would have to decide whether to accept the inevitable lovemaking invitation from her generous host. Clearly, she believed it was the lady’s choice. If her host had been rude, less than charming, inattentive, less generous with his gifts of jewelry and clothing, or not physically appealing, Mercedes could politely excuse herself and retire to her separate stateroom.
* * *
MERCEDES NEVER DISCUSSED HER LATE-NIGHT ADVENTURES WITH Manuel. She had no way of knowing that each of these trips had been approved, in advance, by him, and that he only gave his consent when he received a significant favor from, or owed a debt to, one of his friends. They did, however, become a topic of frequent conversation among Señor Arena’s wealthy, influential Mexico City friends. Those who had succeeded in spending the entire evening with the actress received their approval. Unwittingly, she found herself involved in a very sick game, a game played each year by the wealthy and powerful.
CHAPTER 18
Plan
NEW YORK, N.Y., NOVEMBER 1948
The news of Gloria’s appearance before the committee had immediately caught the attention of J. Jordan McWilliams and the other members of Manuel’s Club. Independently, they were able to confirm what they were hearing from people who witnessed her performance. To a person, they all agreed, “The days of the committee’s bullying tactics were drawing to a close. No longer would their more important witnesses appear unprepared or without the benefit of qualified counsel.”
Unaccustomed to defeat, J. Jordan McWilliams felt in the pit of his stomach impending doom. He barricaded himself in his office. He did not return phone calls or answer his correspondence. He asked his secretary to cancel all his meetings, decline requests for future meetings, and keep his calendar clear. He needed time to think and prepare.
Jordan had studied Don Cerreta’s brief. After several readings, he knew from experience he was looking at a highly sophisticated, thoroughly researched, and exceedingly well written, precedent-setting example of legal craftsmanship. After sitting back and thinking about what he had just finished studying, the wily veteran was forced to conclude, It takes an extraordinary amount of time, legal expertise, and expense to put together a landmark legal brief of this quality. This brief is well beyond the scope of what the government is capable of accomplishing. Someone else had to be responsible. Who is capable, who possesses that kind of money? Who is so determined to oppose us? What are they trying to accomplish? Groups like this just don’t happen!
* * *
THE MORE HE THOUGHT ABOUT HIS PROBLEM, THE MORE CONVINCED he became he needed assistance. Who can I trust? Who stands to gain by stopping us? Could it be one of Manuel’s Club members? Could it be Manuel? There is a lot of our money in his safe. Could it be some branch of the government, or could it be Manuel’s Cuban investment partners?
Do I need to have a chat with some of my security company friends? Maybe they could discover what is going on, who is behind this, and suggest a course of remedial action.
* * *
AS THE DAYS WORE ON, HIS DEPRESSION DID
N’T SUBSIDE. QUITE THE opposite; it continued to deepen. There had never been a time in his life for headaches, emotional distractions, or wasted time. He knew he had no choice. We can’t continue to carry out this plan and not risk exposure until we learn who is behind the opposition and deal with the problem.
* * *
EACH MORNING WHEN HE AROSE, HE COMPLETED HIS FLOOR EXERCISES, dressed for the day, and went to his car. He no longer insisted on reading the morning papers and dictating any new thoughts. His cherished routines no longer held any joy for him.
Long walks in Battery Park, boat rides to the Statue of Liberty, and dinners alone at Sweets, his favorite seafood restaurant near the Fulton Fish Market, helped relieve some of his anxiety, but not all. No matter how hard he tried, he sensed the growing doom that his world was about to collapse.
* * *
ON THE NIGHTS WHEN HE DID RETURN HOME, HE WOULD ATTEMPT to explain to his wife over their nightly Old Fashioned what was happening. When he tried to express his fears, his wife seemed unconcerned. Disappointed by her seeming lack of interest, he would have to listen to her as she said, “I am sure you will find a solution; you always have. Everything will appear better tomorrow after a fine dinner, a bottle of your favorite wine, and a good night’s sleep.”
Wishing to limit the dinner conversation to nonthreatening small talk, he would listen quietly to his wife describe her charitable endeavors, the daily activities of their children, and any new gossip she had heard from the “girls.”
When he again tried to tell her that the problems were serious, her inability to relate to his problems was rapidly shifting his opinion of her. He felt she was becoming one of his enemies.
* * *
ONCE HE GOT TO BED, HE WOULD LIE AWAKE, WORRYING ABOUT HIS problems, becoming increasingly upset. No matter how hard he tried, dropping off into a deep sleep was becoming more difficult. On one such sleepless night, Jordan finally gave in to his restlessness and stepped out of bed. He padded downstairs, poured himself a drink of his favorite Cognac, quietly made a fire in the library fireplace, lit one of his favorite cigars, and eased into his deep, comfortable chair.
Voices Behind the Curtain Page 11
