«It is the Hebrew Sabbath, Mr. Trevayne. I might have thought you’d consider that; at least to the extent of a telephone call. This house is Orthodox.»
«My apologies; I didn’t know. My schedule is very tight, the decision to drive over here a last minute one. I was visiting friends nearby… I can return at another time…»
«Do not compound your offense. East Hampton is not Boise, Idaho. Come out to the porch.» Green led Trevayne to a large glass-enclosed room that looked out over the side and back lawns. There were plants everywhere, the furniture white wrought iron with dozens of printed cushions. It was like a summer garden set down in the middle of a winter snowfall.
It was completely charming.
«Would you care for coffee? Perhaps some sweet buns?» asked Green as Andrew sat down.
«No, thank you.»
«Come, don’t let my short temper deprive you of excellent cakes. I can’t speak that well of the coffee, but our cook is a superb baker.» Aaron Green, lips tight, smiled warmly.
«I deserved the short temper. I don’t deserve your hospitality.»
«Good! Then you’ll have some… To tell you the truth, I’d like a little nosh myself. They won’t let me indulge; company is the only way I get around them.» Green walked to a glass-topped iron table by the wall and pressed a button on a white intercom. He spoke in his deep, resonant voice. «Shirley, darling. Our guest would like coffee and some of your cakes which I have positively advertised. Bring enough for two, and it would be pointless to tell Mrs. Green. Thank you, darling.» He returned to the chair opposite Trevayne.
«You’re too kind.»
«No. I have merely changed attitudes—from irritation to common sense. That makes me appear kind. Don’t be fooled… I was expecting you to call upon me. One day; I wasn’t sure when, and certainly did not think it would be so soon.»
«I understand the Defense Department is … upset. I assume they’ve contacted you.»
«Most definitely. A number of others as well. You are causing excited reactions in many quarters, Mr. Trevayne. You breed fear in men who are paid to be unafraid. I have told several they would not draw an additional week’s salary from me. Unfortunately—and I use the word well—they are not in my hire.»
«Then I don’t have to beat around the bush, do I?»
«Beating bushes was always a questionable method of hunting, used by the poor because they couldn’t afford bait. It had two adverse possibilities. One: the game always had the advantage due to its smell detectors and could choose its avenue of escape. And two: if aroused, it could turn on the hunter and attack without warning. Unseen, as it were… You can do better, Mr. Trevayne. You’re neither poor nor unintelligent.»
«On the other hand, I find the idea of placing bait a little distasteful.»
«Excellent! You’re very quick; I like you.»
«And I understand why you have such a loyal following.»
«Ahh! Fooled again, my friend. My following—if I really have one—has been purchased. We both have money, Mr. Trevayne. Surely you’ve learned, even at your young age, that money begets followers. By itself, isolated, money is useless, merely a by-product. But it can be a bridge. Used correctly, it promulgates the idea. The idea, Mr. Trevayne. The idea is a greater monument than a temple… Certainly I have followers. What’s more important is that they transport and convey my ideas.»
A uniformed servant came through the porch door carrying a silver tray. Green introduced Shirley, and Trevayne stood up—to Green’s obvious approval—and helped place the tray on the exquisite wrought-iron coffee table.
Shirley departed quickly, hoping Mr. Trevayne would enjoy the cakes.
«A gem! An absolute gem,» said Green. «I found her at the Israeli Pavilion at the Montreal Exposition. She was American, you know. I had to endow a half a dozen orange groves in Haifa to convince her to come back and work for us… The cakes, the cakes. Eat!»
The cakes were delicious.
«These are marvelous.»
«I told you. Falsehoods may pass in this room with our ensuing conversation, but not about the cakes… Come, let us enjoy them.»
Both men warily, with some humor, bandied about trivialities until the cakes were finished. Each sized up the other, each found himself confident but apprehensive, as two extremely good tennis players approaching a play-off match.
Green put down his coffee and sighed audibly. «The nosh is finished. We talk… What are your concerns, Mr. Subcommittee Chairman? What brings you to this house under such unusual circumstances?»
«Genessee Industries. You dispense, partially through your agency, an acknowledged seven million a year—we estimate closer to twelve, possibly more—for the purposes of convincing the country that Genessee is intrinsic to our survival. We know you’ve been doing this for at least ten years. That totals anywhere between seventy and a hundred and twenty million dollars. Again, possibly more.»
«And those figures frighten you?»
«I didn’t say that. You were right the first time. They concern me.»
«Why? Even the disparity between the figures can be accounted for; and you were right. It is the higher amount.»
«Perhaps accounted for; can they be justified?»
«That would depend on who seeks justification… Yes, they can be justified. I justify them.»
«How?»
Green pressed his back into the chair. The patriarch about to dispense wisdom, thought Trevayne. «To begin with, a million dollars in today’s purchase market is not what the average citizen thinks it is. General Motors alone bills twenty-two million annually in advertising. The new Post Office Utility, seventeen.»
«And they happen to be the two largest consumer corporations on earth. Try again.»
«They’re infinitesimal compared to the government. And since the government is the predominant client—consumer—of Genessee Industries, certain scholastic logic might be applicable.»
«But it isn’t. Unless the client is, in fact, his own company. Its own source. Even I don’t believe that.»
«Every viewpoint has its own visual frame, Mr. Trevayne. You look at a tree, you may see the sun reflected off its leaves. I look at it, I see the sunlight filtering through. Two different trees if we described them, wouldn’t you say?»
«I fail to see the analogy.»
«Oh, you’re capable of seeing it; you simply refuse to. You see only the reflection, not what’s underneath.»
«Riddles are annoying, Mr. Green, set-up riddles, insulting. For your edification, sir, I’ve gotten a glimpse of what’s underneath, and that’s why I’m here under these unusual circumstances.»
«I see.» Green nodded his head. The patriarch again, thought Trevayne; this time tolerantly accepting the inconsequential judgment of an inferior. «I see. You’re a tough fellow. A very hard man… You have chutzpah.»
«I’m not selling anything. I don’t need chutzpah.»
Suddenly Aaron Green slapped the flat of his hand against the hard metal of his chair. The slap was loud, ugly. «Of course, you’re selling!» The old Jew shouted, his deep voice seemed to echo, his eyes glared at Trevayne.
«You’re selling the most despicable merchandise a man can peddle. The narcotic of complacency. Weakness! You should know better.»
«Not guilty. If I’m selling anything, it’s the proposition that the country has the right to know how its money is spent. Whether those expenditures are the result of necessity or because an industrial monster has been spawned and become insatiable. Controlled by a small group of men who arbitrarily decide where the millions will be allocated.»