Winter of the World

‘Don’t talk to me about liberty,’ Lev said with a touch of anger. ‘When I was twelve years old I was flogged by the Leningrad police because my parents were on strike.’

Greg was not sure why his father had said that. The brutality of the Tsar’s regime seemed like an argument for socialism, not against.

Gus said: ‘Roosevelt knows you give money to the League, and he wants you to stop.’

‘How does he know who I give money to?’

‘The FBI told him. They investigate such people.’

‘We’re living in a police state! You’re supposed to be a liberal.’

There was not much logic to Lev’s arguments, Greg perceived. Lev was just trying everything he could think of to wrong-foot Gus, and he did not care if he contradicted himself in the process.

Gus remained cool. ‘I’m trying to make sure this doesn’t become a matter for the police,’ he said.

Lev grinned. ‘Does the President know I stole your fiancée?’

This was news to Greg – but it had to be true, for Lev had at last succeeded in throwing Gus off balance. Gus looked shocked, turned his gaze aside, and reddened. Score one for our team, Greg thought.

Lev explained to Greg: ‘Gus was engaged to Olga, back in 1915,’ he said. ‘Then she changed her mind and married me.’

Gus recovered his composure. ‘We were all terribly young.’

Lev said: ‘You certainly got over Olga quickly enough.’

Gus gave Lev a cool look and said: ‘So did you.’

Greg saw that his father was embarrassed now. Gus’s shot had hit home.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Gus said: ‘You and I fought in a war, Lev. I was in a machine-gun battalion with my school friend Chuck Dixon. In a little French town called Château-Thierry he was blown to pieces in front of my eyes.’ Gus was speaking in a conversational tone, but Greg found himself holding his breath. Gus went on: ‘My ambition for my sons is that they should never have to go through what we went through. That’s why groups such as the Liberty League have to be nipped in the bud.’

Greg saw his chance. ‘I’m interested in politics, too, Senator, and I’d like to learn more. Might you be able to take me as an intern one summer?’ He held his breath.

Gus looked surprised, but said: ‘I can always use a bright young man who’s willing to work in a team.’

That was neither a yes nor a no. ‘I’m top in math, and captain of ice hockey,’ Greg persisted, selling himself. ‘Ask Woody about me.’

‘I will.’ Gus turned to Lev. ‘And will you consider the President’s request? It’s really very important.’

It almost seemed as if Gus was suggesting an exchange of favours. But would Lev agree?

Lev hesitated a long moment, then stubbed out his cigarette and said: ‘I guess we have a deal.’

Gus stood up. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘The President will be pleased.’

Greg thought: I did it!

They walked out of the club to their cars.

As they drove out of the parking lot, Greg said: ‘Thank you, Father. I really appreciate what you did.’

‘You chose your moment well,’ Lev said. ‘I’m glad to see you’re so smart.’

The compliment pleased Greg. In some ways he was smarter than his father – he certainly understood science and math better – but he feared he was not as shrewd and cunning as his old man.

‘I want you to be a wise guy,’ Lev went on. ‘Not like some of these dummies.’ Greg had no idea who the dummies were. ‘You’ve got to stay ahead of the curve, all the time. That’s the way to get on.’

Lev drove to his office, in a modern block downtown. As they walked through the marble lobby, Lev said: ‘Now I’m going to teach a lesson to that fool Dave Rouzrokh.’

Going up in the elevator, Greg wondered how Lev would do that.

Peshkov Pictures occupied the top floor. Greg followed Lev along a broad corridor and through an outer office with two attractive young secretaries. ‘Get Sol Starr on the phone, will you?’ Lev said as they walked into the inner office.

Lev sat behind the desk. ‘Solly owns one of the biggest studios in Hollywood,’ he explained.

The phone on the desk rang and Lev picked it up. ‘Sol!’ he said. ‘How are they hanging?’ Greg listened to a minute or two of masculine joshing, then Lev got down to business. ‘Little piece of advice,’ he said. ‘Here in New York State we have a crappy chain of fleapits called Roseroque Theatres . . . yeah, that’s the one . . . take my tip, don’t send them your top-of-the-line first-run pictures this summer – you may not get paid.’ Greg realized that would hit Dave hard: without exciting new movies to show, his takings would tumble. ‘A word to the wise, right? Solly, don’t thank me, you’d do the same for me . . . bye.’

Once again, Greg was awestruck by his father’s power. He could have people beaten up. He could offer eight million dollars of other people’s money. He could scare a president. He could seduce another man’s fiancée. And he could ruin a business with a single phone call.

‘You wait and see,’ said his father. ‘In a month’s time, Dave Rouzrokh will be begging me to buy him out – at half the price I offered him today.’

(iii)