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Kremlin if they tapped his phone, and God knows they’re probably doing that already.”
    â€œUn-American,” Luis said. “Like doing something that’s not cricket.”
    â€œSpare me your English jokes, old sport. I’ve been grilled by HUAC and it was no comedy.” Luis looked interested, so she told him.
    First, she was served a subpoena to appear before the committee. Failure to appear was contempt; she could be jailed for that. So she wore a sober blue dress and went. She knew what they were going to question her about.
    Back in 1947, working for a small New York publishers called Goblin Press, she’d edited two short satirical novels. They were about life on a US Navy ship during the war in the Pacific. The ship manufactured condoms in a great variety of sizes, textures and colors. The author was a happy, funny, middle-aged man who looked a bit like Winston Churchill, only taller. He enjoyed being taken to lunch, and he was content to let Bonnie edit his manuscripts. His name was Gibbon Connor Rail, Gib for short, and he would talk about anything except his experiences in the navy. He declined to supply a photograph for the book jacket. “Show the ship’s cat,” he said. “More brains.” She found a picture of a sardonic cat. The books sold well enough to cover their costs. Goblin Press was satisfied.
    Three years later, Bonnie saw Gibbon Connor Rail’s picture in
The New York Times.
He was Mikhail Bolgarik, an attaché at the Soviet embassy, declared persona non grata by the State Department and now on his way back to Moscow. “Pity,” her boss said. “I’d hoped he might have a big book in him. A desk job at the Kremlin will destroy his talent. Incidentally, I was never totally convinced by his name.”
    â€œGibbon Connor Rail,” Bonnie said. “What’s wrong with it?”
    â€œGib Rail is Big Liar, backward.”
    She was startled, and defensive. “You forgot the Connor,” she said.
    â€œThink about it. Conner. One who cons.”
    â€œMy God … If this gets out, Goblin is going to look pretty stupid.”
    â€œYes. Fortunately, both titles are out of print. With luck, no one but us will know.”
    Soon, Bonnie and her boss moved on. She joined a bigger publishers, worked hard, got known as a skilled editor with an eye for new talent. He made a career move: he became a theatrical agent. In 1952, he appeared before HUAC as a friendly witness. They asked him questions and he told them what they wanted to hear.
Chairman:
Have you come across any blatant Communists in the course of your professional career?
Witness:
In my experience, good actors are seldom blatant, and Communist actors even less so.
Chairman:
I see. How many Communist actors have you known?
Witness:
Let me answer that in this way. I know of certain people in show business who would not raise a finger to help this Committee fight the Communist conspiracy for world domination: Paul Robeson, Sam Wanamaker, Zero Mostel, Humphrey Bogart, Jules Dassin, Larry Adler…
    He was on safe ground here. All these people had already been denounced by HUAC.
Chairman:
Any others?
Witness:
There are certainly many actors whom I personally would never cast in a truly patriotic American play or movie …
    And he read out a list of seventy-three names, some famous, some retired, some just starting their careers, and none represented by the witness’s agency.
    The committee was impressed. The chairman remarked that the list included writers. Did the witness know of any specific Communist attempt to infiltrate the US with dangerous written material?
Witness:
In 1947 a Russian KGB officer, working undercover in New York and using an alias, succeeded in getting two books published here, satirizing the US Navy. I never met the man, but I understand the editor, Miss Bonnie Scott, knew him well and worked closely with him.
    That was more than enough. HUAC