Red Equity (1/5)

Sophie 

For as little as it mattered, Sophie had always been considered smart. At the age of 26 she had reached the few goals her life could have been allowed: a degree, a husband, and a narrow waist. With carnivorous wit and subtle emotional intelligence her foresight led her farther than most women could think to go in any situation. Sophie's social and political observations made her a jewel at parties, an angel at social gatherings, and a genuinely interesting person at get-togethers. A popular success in her suburb of California, she summited the height of popularity; while still noticeably using the dearth of her knowledge. This was how Sophie’s name had come to Jack Hill, a small publisher in San Francisco.  

Known in most circles and well-known in certain circles Jack created intersecting levels of knowledge and intrigue in those that spoke of him. Jack's persona resembled a mirage fulfilled with the subconscious thoughts and desires of whoever spoke of him at a time. To some he was tall, others thought him languid, on a few occasions he was Latin, on others he was Swedish. Women knew he had black hair, men were certain he could box, and everyone, but one, had heard the story of his demise. The Freudian reputation of Jack Hill carried with it a great speculative power, a high piece of currency for any gossip. Which was why everyone, in any circle, knew he was looking for someone who spoke Russian.  

When the word got out, most people were either unaware, or afraid of anyone with the knowledge. But to Jack’s luck, a friend of a friend knew Sophie in college, and with a few calls Sophie was driving to San Francisco to meet with Mr. Hill. Through the curving hills and over the bridge, Sophie reached the big city with the same enthusiasm as her lemon colored Continental. Her day would be filled with so much excitement. She had started it with the wonderful drive to San Francisco, after that she would meet her husband at work, and there he would take her out for a lunch. The day riveted Sophie. It contained so much more stimulation compared to the excitement of cleaning, smoking, and cooking she usually had. The world had so many possibilities outside of her home, it was a positive mystery. She could hardly control her almost manic smile.  

Zooming through the Golden Gate Bridge the city erupted around her, its sunlight shining down on everything and everyone highlighting all it had that her subered could only dream to hold. It was all so exotic, yet somehow colloquial. Like a distant dream, only one step from her grasp. Peoples of every race and creed walked the streets, and none seemed to look alike. Ticking clocks with different times told whirling motor cars and distant ships where to go. Conversations between men and women popped and sizzled like so many of the spoils they chose to enjoy inside the many café verandas. Instruments, paints, textiles, and papers shifted under the arms of a thousand different artists. A million different stories all played on and Sophie witness all the notable characters as she drove past. She loved it all.  

Jack’s office was inside the printing house of a two story brownstone. The building was dominated by mechanical printers that churned at bombastic volumes. This meant that meetings were scheduled in between paper lays and maintenance work. Today it was maintenance. Arriving in the small office, Sophie found Jack ready and prepared to go behind his dark brown desk. 

“Hello Sophie, how are you?” Jack asked. It was their first time meeting, but Jack’s raspy baritone could make one feel otherwise. At first sight of him she wasn't sure who she was talking too. She smiled back and sat down as her mind slowly filled in the gaps between who she thought Jack Hill could be and the man in front of her. Jack Hill was a native Californian. With his sun kissed skin and swept back hair she thought it a marvel that he wasn’t married, spoken for, or known for sleeping around. 

“I’m very good, very good indeed.” Sophie responded. 

“Do you need anything? Yes? No?” Sophie wanted to say no, but Jack never allowed her the room to. “Your friend, or, our friend, tells me you speak Russian, is that still true?” 

“Oh, yes. I speak Russian, English, and German.” 

“German? Really? That will help too.” Jack snapped to the clock on the wall and then back to Sophie. They were tight on time. “Sophie the reason I asked you here today, was because I need someone to translate some Russian and German for me. I have been able to attain some transcripts of texts in Russian and German that desperately need translating.” Sophie shifted at the discomforting question. It was the necessity of her Russian that made her wary. Most well-known Russian works were already translated, if it were new, then it might be considered red. 

“Oh? What texts kind of texts might they be?” Jack paused, glancing at the door and window. They were alone. 

“Communist periodicals. No, now please wait.” Sophie’s obvious fear was realized and she was already getting ready to leave. Her gossamer smile had morphed into an expressionless mask. Something impossible to incriminate by tribunal. 

“Mr. Hill I have plans with my husband, I’ll be going now, thank you.” Sophie bee lined for the door but was halted by Jacks tan arm. He had reached out to her hand but snagged her elbow. The awkward grapple forced Sophie to stop and turn. Jack was splayed over his desk and clinging to her arm for equilibrium. His situation would be comedic, if it weren’t for the stern look on his face. 

“Sophie, please. Just give me a moment. No one will know.” That was the problem with 1951, people didn’t need to know. Knowing was a necessity for all accusations in America, but when it came to the red, it was simply a formality. Like the plague, if anyone you knew had it, then you also had it. And just like the plague, the only real cure was to be locked away or killed. That’s how communism worked, people didn’t want to get sick, so chances were never had. Sophie felt the same way with Jack, she couldn’t dare talk about his book, let alone translate it for him.  

“I’ve got it all figured out, all of it. Just stay and listen.” Jack checked the clock again, time was apparently against him. She pulled his arm away from hers, and slowly stepped away. Jack’s panicking face got redder with each step she took; and even though she knew she should look away, she couldn’t. When she finally reached the threshold of the office Sophie stopped. Jack was about to crack and for the sake of his masculinity, she couldn’t take another step. “Last year, they brought me in, Sophie. They thought just like you, that I was communist. You know why? Because of a misinterpreted phrase. They ran me through the wringer for a week, hoping to find a drop of red. When the jury concluded I was “innocent” they let me go. But it was after I was exonerated did everything change. Everyone left, no one wanted to work with me, and my business suffered. It’s taken me a year to get back on my feet, and now I have a shot at something big.”  

Sophie continued to stare, she couldn’t commit herself and that was paralyzing. She knew this was a dangerous decision for her and her family, but at the same time, there was Jack and San Francisco. A young baritone with a tan and a city that could excite. It was all so much. Sophie gave her answer with a single step forward and Jack exhaled in relief. Over the next ten minutes Jack explained the golden opportunity for him and his company. In recent years, liberal colleges in Europe and parts of Canada had started teaching modern history and political sciences courses. That meant that they needed the Communist Manifesto, other publishers were doing this on a very small scale, but if he published a modern version, with supplementary essays and texts from soviet nations and scholars, he could make a fortune. “Colleges have to buy in bulk, in bulk. 200 copies a college, and with eight colleges with orders in, that makes 1,600 books. Do you know how much money that is? That’s XXX dollars.” 

“XXX dollars?” 

“And that’s just for you.” Sophie was speechless, with XXX dollars her family could do so much. She and Bill could find a new home or they could buy a new car or even move her parents out of their crummy old apartment. The possibilities with XXX dollars even meant moving into the city.  

But she was still unsure. This must have been apparent, because the next round of assurances were designed all to quell all of her fears. “We’d give you a pen name, no one would know. We could give you a fake job here so people wouldn’t ask questions. And if the government asks we can give them the best reason in America: money. With XXX dollars we could only be motivated by capitalistic reasons. What do you say, Sophie?” Sophie considered her position for a moment, it did seem foolproof, but remarkably dangerous.  

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