(1969) The Seven Minutes Read online

  ‘Of course I know, and I can appreciate -‘

  ‘You can’t fully appreciate what I’m saying, Abe, because there’s something you don’t know. And after you hear it, Abe, don’t give me any of that Freudian twaddle about mothers and sons and why my mother did it and what that’s done to me and that crap. Look, I’m as grownup as you and I’m a big Freud man. but I’m sick and tired of a whole smart-ass generation that makes you some kind of neurotic nut if you say something good about your mother, or defend her, or say you owe her something. Well, dammit, I say the way Confucius say that I owed her plenty. She did nothing for me in order to get paid back. She did it for the pleasure of knowing I might be more than she and my father had been by society’s standards. But I owed her plenty, and when it was time to pay back, when she was in need, I couldn’t pay her, because 1 didn’t have the legal tender of the realm. I had only the counterfeit scrip of idealism.’

  ‘Mike, I didn’t mean -‘

  ‘Let me finish,’ Barrett went on, harshly. ‘I’ll make it short and sour. After school, I passed up some good opportunities to take that job with the Institute and make the world more humane for humanity. It was just about the time I met you. My mother came down with a serious illness, serious. I’ll spare you the medical details. To stay alive, she needed the best surgeons, the best care, the best of everything. She needed money. Where was the money ? I’m talking about life-and-death money now, not luxury money. Where was it? No more rainy-day fund. That had been invested in me. And me, I was too busy doing good to save a dime.’

  ‘You were busy doing what you had to do, making your way. You were only beginning

  ‘Abe, don’t give me any prefab apologies for my guilts. What 1 was doing was copping out, turning my back on realities and responsibilities, indulging myself in my little anarchy and pretending there wasn’t a great big real world out there that had to be dealt with. Look, Abe, the facts. I needed fast money, and I didn’t have

  it. I had praise and merit badges, but they weren’t legal tender. Money was legal tender, and I determined to get it. Do you know where I went scratching for it ?’

  ‘I have no idea, Mike,’ said Zelkin quietly.

  ‘I had only one hookup with the world of affluence. Phil Sanford. I went to him. Long before this, he had once begged me to come into his family’s publishing house with him and make some real dough, and I’d treated his invitation like I’d been invited to work in a house of sin. I was an attorney and I belonged outside, busily attorneying. Now here I was, hat in hand, saying I had changed my mind and I wouldn’t mind taking a better-paying job with Sanford House. Well, I’ll always give credit to Phil for this. He may be a lightweight and insensitive in some areas, but that day I went to him his third ear was on my wave length and his perceptions were keen. He sensed trouble and he insisted on knowing why this drastic change of heart about my choice of career. At first 1 wouldn’t tell him, but after we went out and belted a few drinks I spilled my guts, told him the whole thing. Well, he wouldn’t have me diverted from my profession by my need for money. “Why, if it’s only money,” he said - only money - and he pressed the money I needed on me. A loan. With it I bought the best surgeons, and they saved my mother, and with it I was able to give her the best care possible in her remaining days. That should have been my lesson. Money talks. Money saves. Money shall make you free. But one lesson is not enough when you’re young. It wasn’t until my mother had another crisis - and this part you know about - and they began treating her with that drug which, we found out later, should have been banned, that I learned my second lesson. After the drug killed her, I learned the do-gooders wouldn’t do good if they had to fight one of the sources of their income. No, not until then did I get lesson number two and the full message. That’s when 1 made my vow. I’m a slave, I told myself, and only money can set me free, and if the Main Chance ever comes, I vow to take advantage of it. That’s why I have to go with Osborn Enterprises.’

  Zelkin had been very still, staring down at his empty coffee cup. Finally he nodded. ‘I see’ he said. ‘I mean, I can understand.’

  ‘Just to be sure you do,’ said Barrett, ‘let me add one last thing. I’ve met some of the Hollywood entertainment crowd, and they have a popular saying, one that is crude but tells it all in a single sentence. The saying is, “You’ve got it made when you’ve got ‘fuck-you’ money.” That’s it in a nutshell. When you’ve got enough money to say, “Fuckyou, buster,” to any bastard on earth, then and only then are you your own man. I intend to be my own man.’

  Zelkin smiled weakly. ‘I read you loud and clear, Mike, only -only there are many ways of being your own man.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Barrett extracted his credit card from his wallet and placed it on the restaurant check. ‘Let me pay, Abe. After all,

  I’m going to be a vice-president.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get it next time.’

  Barrett suddenly felt better. ‘I’m glad you said “next time.” I was hoping you would. I didn’t want this to hurt our friendship.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Zelkin. ‘I like rich friends, too.’

  Barrett signed the credit-card charge slip, put down a tip, and consulted his wristwatch. ‘I’d better hustle.I’ve got less than a half hour to get downtown to the Hall of Justice and our Mr Duncan. You don’t mind if I rush off, Abe? Remember, it is my farewell performance as a do-gooder - a do-gooder who also wants to clean up his last debt.’

  It was three minutes before his scheduled appointment when Mike Barrett strode toward the half-century-old building where District Attorney Elmo Duncan had his headquarters and exerted control over 260 lawyers in his department. Above the high arched entrance, chiseled into stone, were the intimidating words hall of justice.

  Pushing through one of the doors, Barrett hastened down the short flight of steps, went past the familiar lobby arcade with its numerous food-and-drink-vending machines, and caught the elevator. On the sixth floor, he found the curved modernistic reception desk, and he was directed straight ahead through another doorway into another broad corridor. Across from the press room he came upon the door with lettering painted on its glass panel that said ‘Elmo Duncan, District Attorney.’

  Inside, there was a medium-sized room with two desks. On the one to his left was a name marker for ‘Lt Hogan,’ whom Barrett knew to be the District Attorney’s driver and bodyguard. The chair at this desk was unoccupied. Across the room, past the grouping of extra chairs and beside a copying machine, was the other desk, a busier-looking one, and this one was occupied. Not until Barrett had reached the clacking typewriter did the receptionist become aware of him. She looked up apologetically as he introduced himself. Quickly consulting her appointment sheet, she nodded and told Barrett that District Attorney Duncan was expecting him in the office of Mr Victor Rodriguez,” his special assistant and chief of the Appellate Division. Mr Rodriguez’ office was at the opposite end of the corridor. She would buzz the District Attorney and alert him that Mr Barrett was on his way.

  Retracing his route, Barrett continued up the corridor until he came to the Appellate Division. As he entered, the lone occupant of the room, a pretty, brown-haired girl, ceased typing and stood up. ‘Mr Barrett ? Right this way. The District Attorney can see you now.’

  She held open a door to an inner office, and Barrett thanked her and walked past her. Two men were standing beside a table that was backed up against a desk, and they were deep in conversation.

  Barrett recognized Elmo Duncan at once. He was the taller of the pair, at least six feet tall. He had slick blond hair, narrow blue eyes, a thin nose and a cleft chin. His complexion was light and faintly freckled. He was tastefully dressed in a tailored blue alpaca suit and a blue-and-white striped shirt. His companion, stockier, had jet-black curly hair and a swarthy face with a conspicuous nose over a neatly trimmed but full moustache.

  The moment that the door had closed behind Barrett, Duncan looked up, broke off his conversation an
d came forward with a broad smile and an extended hand. Shaking hands, he said, ‘Good to see you, Mr Barrett. Sorry to give you all that legwork. I can only get things done when I slip out of my office. Victor and I -Oh, perhaps you two haven’t met. This is Victor Rodriguez, my assistant. Victor, meet Mike Barrett, one of our more successful attorneys.’

  Barrett shook Rodriguez’ hand as Duncan stood beside them.

  ‘Mr Rodriguez will be leaving us - he has an outside meeting -unless you need him here,’ said Duncan. ‘You said you wanted to discuss the - the - What was that fellow’s name?’

  ‘Ben Fremont,’ said Rodriguez.

  ‘Yes, Fremont,’ said Duncan. ‘Well, Victor Rodriguez is the man in charge of our pornography cases. Of course, like everything else, I review them, but if you’d prefer to have Mr Rodriguez sit in …’

  “That won’t be necessary,’ said Barrett.

  Quickly Rodriguez took leave of them. Duncan gestured toward two leather chairs facing the desk. ‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’

  Barrett went to one of the leather chairs and pulled it away from the shelves of law books and closer to the desk. Duncan had gone . behind the glass-topped desk and lowered himself into the leather swivel chair. He indicated a pitcher of water, but Barrett shook his head. Duncan offered a pack of cigarettes. ‘I’ll stay with my pipe, if you don’t mind,’ said Barrett.

  Duncan lit his cigarette, while Barrett busied himself filling his English shell briar and then applying a match to the tobacco.

  ‘I guess this is the first time I’ve seen you outside Willard Osborn’s little palace,’ Duncan said. ‘How is Willard these days? I don’t have time for television, but everyone else seems to watch it, so I suppose he’s doing tolerably well.’

  Barrett smiled. ‘I’d say he has no problems beyond Internal Revenue.’

  ‘I wish that were my only problem,’ said Duncan cheerfully. ‘You know, Willard Osborn’s one of the few wealthy men I’ve met whom I’d like even if he were poor. He’s very clever and entertaining.’

  Barrett agreed. He was tempted to let the District Attorney know that he would shortly be a vice-president in the Osborn Enterprises, to impress him even more. But, as Duncan went on, Barrett

  saw that it was not necessary to identify himself further with Osborn. Elmo Duncan was doing it for him. The District Attorney was recalling several of the Osborn dinner partiesat which Barrett had been present, and he was saying complimentary things about Faye, and then he was digressing into a long anecdote about a lawsuit in which Osborn had been involved and which was a perfect example of Osborn’s shrewdness.

  Time was passing, and abruptly Elmo Duncan stopped, lit a fresh cigarette off the stub of the old one, rolled his swivel chair in tight to the desk, and said, ‘Enough of that. I’m sure you want to get down to business. What can I do for you, Mr Barrett?’

  Barrett took the pipe from his mouth, emptied it into the ashtray on the desk. ‘You can do me a favor,’ he said.

  ‘You name it. Anything - within reason.’

  ‘I’m not here for Willard Osborn. I’m here representing another client, an old friend of mine in New York. Philip Sanford, the head of Sanford House, publisher of The Seven Minutes, that book -‘

  ‘I know. The Ben Fremont matter.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Barrett studied the handsome blond behind the desk. ‘Mr Duncan, may 1 ask, have you read the book?’

  ‘To be quite frank about it - no.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Barrett. ‘But a number of important critics and professors have read it and had written about it long before its first publication in the United States, and they have found considerable merit in it. This is not some piece of hard-core pornography created for commercial profit and dumped into drugstores and bookshops by some sleazy printer of filth out in Reseda or Van Nuys. This is the life’s work of a legendary figure of the thirties, and it is being published by one of the most renowned and prestigious firms in the book trade. This little action by the police this morning has caused my client some embarrassment and may cause him considerable financial hardship. So I thought it made sense to come up here and - ’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Elmo Duncan as he lifted a pile of manila folders from the edge of the desk. ‘Let me see what this is all about.’ He was checking the folder taps. ‘Here it is, “Fremont, Ben. Section 311.”’

  He extracted the folder and set the others aside. Before opening it he said, ‘Of course, I’m sure you understand, we don’t make these arrests casually. They are always preceded by a careful investigation. I do know that after the complaint was received, Rodriguez and his aide - that’s Pete Lucas, who’s a specialist in pornography and a capable trial attorney to boot - both read the book in question with care. Well, let me see.’ He opened the folder and began scanning and turning the pages inside.

  Barrett remained silent and busied himself with refilling and lighting his pipe. Puffing steadily, he waited.

  When Duncan was through with the folder, he placed it on the

  desk, and rubbed his chin. ‘Well, now, what I’m going to tell you is off the record, but what I think it comes down to is this. Mrs Olivia St Clair, president of the STDL in Oakwood, filed the complaint. Pete Lucas, and then Victor Rodriguez, as I said, read the novel. There was no question in their minds but that it was pornographic. The question was whether it was legally obscene by contemporary community standards.’

  ‘Since the book has been seized, I wanted to make that point,’ said Barrett quickly. ‘One, in Flaubert’s time, Madame Bovary was considered obscene. Today it’s merely a mild and sad story about an unfaithful wife. Why, recently I read a respectably published memoir of an anonymous Victorian gentleman - it was called My Secret Life - in which the author explicitly recounts how he “fucked” - his word - twelve hundred women of twenty-seven countries and eighty nationalities. The only one he missed, I think, was a Laplander.’

  Duncan had been squirminguneasily, but now he forced a laugh.

  ‘That’s right,’ Barrett went on. ‘When that Victorian wrote his book, he couldn’t get it published. In our time it has been a best seller, and I don’t think it made-any reader’s hair turn white. Why ? Because times have changed. It’s a new ball game. As one professor pointed out, sexual activity is no longer contrary to the prevailing ethos. So why not write about sex as openly as it is being performed? I think it was Anatole France who said - of all sexual aberrations, chastity is the strangest.’

  Duncan gave the slightest smile, but did not speak. He waited.

  Since he still had the floor, Barrett decided to take advantage of it. ‘Nor do I think this openness about sex has hurt any of us in our country. Dr Steven Marcus once wrote about this new permissiveness. “It does not indicate to me moral laxness, or fatigue, or deterioration on the part of society. It suggests rather that pornography has lost its old danger, its old power.” I fully concur.’

  The District Attorney stirred. ‘Well, there is a good deal of truth in much of what you say, but I can’t agree with it entirely. Perhaps some pornography has lost its old danger, but not all of it, I’m afraid. We could spend a day, a week maybe, arguing this highly complicated problem.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Barrett. ‘I didn’t intend to go on the way I did. We all get carried away sometime. I meant to confine myself to the Jadway book. I’ll admit that in the thirties, forties, fifties, The Seven Minutes might have been regarded as obscene, but today - ? Mr Duncan, have you been to the movies lately ? Have you seen for yourself, on the screen, acted out, not only copulation, but female masturbation, homosexuality, well, you name it? 1 only contend that today, to the average person, by contemporary community standards, by modern standards, the Jadway book is no more or less explicit than other works of far less artistic merit. So why the arrest?’

  ‘Yes, well, yes, that was the debatable point. But our people finally came to the decision they did for two reasons. A large group of average and community-minded
women had made the complaint, thereby reflecting that this book had exceeded what is acceptable by contemporary standards -‘

  ‘Do you consider the kind of women who form a decency club as average?’ said Barrett acidly.

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Duncan with surprise. “They’re no different from any other women. They marry, have children, do housework, cook, entertain, read books. Certainly they ‘re as average as can be.’

  Barrett wanted to challenge the District Attorney on this, but he realized that Duncan was sincere - hadn’t Abe Zelkin called him ‘honest’ and ‘square’ ? - and nothing would be gained by antagonizing him. Barrett kept his peace.

  ‘And if ladies like that, a big organization, a very big one - ‘ Duncan went on.

  A big organization translated into a lot of voters, Barrett thought, remembering that Zelkin had also called the District Attorney ‘political.’

  ‘ - if they feel disturbed by this book, it tells us that maybe there are more people in Oakwood with high standards of decency than may be evident in the numbers who attend some of the films you mentioned. That was first in our minds. Second, and more import-, ant, was that we felt this whole outpouring of shock literature, disgusting sadomasochistic slime, was increasing and must be stopped, especially must be stopped so that it is not available to the young and impressionable. Perhaps, as you stated it, times have changed, moral boundaries have expanded, allowing for more candor and tolerance. Yet there are limits, there must be boundaries somewhere. Perhaps, as one Congregationalist clergyman so aptly put it, this country is suffering from an orgy of open-mindedness. I remember attending a speech delivered in the East by Pennsylvania Supreme Court Justice Michael Musmanno. In that address he said, ‘A wide river of filth is sweeping across the nation, befouling its shores and spreading over the land its nauseating stench. But what is most disturbing of all is that persons whose noses should be particularly sensitive to this olfactory assault do not smell it at all. I refer to District Attorneys and prosecuting officers throughout the nation.” Well, Mr Barrett, I’ve never forgotten those words. I intend to be one of the District Attorneys who does smell the stench.’