Louise asked, “Why is that a problem?”
Morgenthau looked at her and said,
“You are an exceptionally beautiful woman, and you’ve got more brains than most men. I hope you plan to stay in the United States, as we need people of your caliber.”
Louise blushed at this kind and genuine compliment.
“Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a big country that I will call the ‘Middle Kingdom’ and the people in the Middle Kingdom were very advanced and they made many items that Europeans wanted, such as tea and silk and porcelain. And the emperor of the Middle Kingdom did not like foreigners at all and tried to stop all trade, as he saw trade as immoral and dangerous. Of course, this did not work, and the trade with the Europeans, especially the English, flourished. With good reason, the Middle Kingdom did not trust these ‘foreign devils,’ and the Middle Kingdom insisted that the Europeans pay in silver. Now this was particularly burdensome for the English, whose currency was based on gold not silver.
“Nevertheless the somewhat desperate English went along. Then some bright spark at the British East India Company had the idea of introducing opium grown in British India to replace the silver. Needless to say the Emperor was justifiably outraged at this—trying to destroy the lives of millions of his subjects for 30 pieces of silver, as it were. And opium is terrible—it is a highly addictive and extremely dangerous drug. It always amuses me to think that Christian England would think it fit and proper to destroy the lives of millions of people. Whole villages were destroyed as the villagers all ‘chased the tail of the dragon,’ as smoking opium was called. Crops were left to rot in the field. As often happens, we Yanks got into the story a little late in the game, and the largest opium trader in the U.S. was the Boston firm of Russell & Company. And the young star of the company was a 24-year-old Yankee named Warren Delano.”
Louise was bored, “And?”
“And young lady, that is what we are now doing—we have turned our American voters into addicts. Under President Roosevelt, now voters expect entitlements. They are starting to expect the Federal government look after them in all ways. The wonderful ideals of independence, of personal responsibility, of thrift, of hard work, and of self-reliance are all being dissipated and destroyed. So the very principles that made this country great—the pioneering spirit of the people in covered wagons and the like—are being reversed. People are now trading their freedom for their own personal opium and for serfdom. But rather than being Russian serfs to the czar 100 years ago, now they are serfs to the President’s dictates; farmers now need licenses to farm; manufacturers are banned from competing; prices are fixed and rigged.”
Confused, Louise asked, “Delano is the middle name of the President, isn’t it?”
Morgenthau nodded.
“How is that?”
Morgenthau smiled, “Warren Delano was Franklin’s grandfather.”
Louise eyes widened, she was about to speak, but Morgenthau beat her to the punch,
“Yes, the President of the United States has a grandfather who destroyed the lives of millions of people by selling them a vile and despicable drug. In short, President Roosevelt’s grandfather traded in death and misery of millions.”
Morgenthau was lost in thought wondering how close the President’s morality was to his grandfather’s.
For the first time in the evening, Louise looked directly into Morgenthau’s eyes.
Hesitantly she said, “Does this relate to these notes from the Congressional Record?”
She passed him two small sheets of cream note paper she had taken from her sky-blue crocodile Hermès handbag.
Both were typewriter written; the first read,
“Now, gentlemen, we have tried spending money. We are spending more than we have ever spent before and it does not work. And I have just one interest, and if I am wrong, as far as I am concerned, somebody else can have my job. I want to see this country prosperous. I want to see people get a job. I want to see people get enough to eat. We have never made good on our promises. We have never taken care of them.”
The second typed sheet of note paper read,
“And as I say, all I am interested in is to really see this country prosperous and this form of Government continue, because after eight years if we can’t make a success somebody else is going to claim the right to make it and he’s got the right to make the trial. I say aftereight years of this Administration we have just as much unemployment as when we started.”
Morgenthau smiled, “I see your typist even copied verbatim the error of ‘aftereight’ from the record, a nice touch.”
“This is when you made an appearance in front of the House Ways and Means Committee in May 1939, right?”
Morgenthau nodded.
“Is this still your view today, sir?”
Louise deliberately said “sir” to make herself even more excited. Her nipples were almost painful in their enduring excitement. She smiled to herself that dry economic theory could do this to her 24 year old body, then in the same second she realized that it was actually the proximity to power that was making her so wet, not the theory of production and arcane politics. She had sampled a large number of men since arriving in America two and a half years ago; now she got excited very easily and she needed constant scratching of her new itch. Back in Germany, she was a healthy girl with healthy appetites, but under Schneider’s tutelage—and practical training—she had become insatiable; she needed to feel a man inside her every day; in contrast to her decorous way in Germany, now she had become the aggressor. And it was a feeling she adored.
“How old are you?”
“I am 24 years old. But 25 at my next birthday in three months.”
Both of them laughed at the comment that all six-year-old boys make.
“You have to be careful here in Washington. For a woman who is so scintillatingly attractive as you, well, I feel like your father giving you advice.”
“You are very kind and sweet… Henry.”
Louise was madly lubricating.
“Just be careful, my dear. I have to go and see Franklin now, so I am afraid I have to leave you now. But, you know, you should meet Rex so he can give you his perspective himself. I can arrange that if you like. Give me your card and I will have Rex’s secretary arrange a tête-à-tête with Rex for you next time you’re in Washington.”
Louise realized she had hit another seam of gold, “That would be wonderful.”
“It’s the least I can do, and I owe it to Rex to let him put his views to you directly.”
With that “Henry” rose and shook her hand. He left. Louise sat and marveled at her good fortune to meet such a gentleman.
Louise was dripping wet; she could actually feel her juices starting to run down her inner thighs; thank God her skirt was black and knee length; she was sure there was some of herself on her skirt.
But the proximity to such power, and such eloquent power at that, had aroused her more than she wished to acknowledge. She knew she needed to be satisfied. She smiled to herself: the benefits of banking friendships. She walked over the bar, it was empty.
“Peter, you get off work in 30 minutes, don’t you?”
9: The Little Flower’s Helper