The Troubled Air Part 30

Hutt nodded agreeably. "Not your confusion, then, Archer. O'Neill's confusion. You've seen the papers, I suppose."

"Yes," Archer said.

"We've gotten thirty-seven telephone calls already," Hutt said, without heat, "from church groups, veterans' organizations, patriotic individuals, demanding that O'Neill and you and Barbante and Levy and Brewer be dropped from the program immediately."

"Advertise me," Barbante said. "In the interests of better public relations. Announce that Barbante has patriotically and individually dropped himself."

Hutt ignored him. "What's more," Hutt said, "calls have been coming into the sponsor's office, and even to his home, although he has an unlisted number. I don't mind telling you gentlemen that Mr. Sandler is getting rather restive, to put it as mildly as I know how." Hutt smiled, a businesslike, boards-meeting smile.

"Church groups," Barbante mumbled. "Cut the Quakers' ears, off and nail them to the bronze doors."

Hutt glanced at Barbante puzzledly. "What's he talking about?"

O'Neill shrugged. "He's off on a private tear. He can't explain it and I'm sure I can't. We could've saved ourselves a lot of grief if we'd sent him to a psychiatrist for the, last two years and charged it up to entertainment."

"I was born and brought up a Roman Catholic, gentlemen," Barbante said", "and I played third base for the Church of the Good Shepherd until they found a boy who could hit curve-ball pitching."

"I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you gentlemen," Hutt addressed O'Neill and Archer again, "that the sponsor is seriously considering dropping the program entirely. I must say, too, in his defense, that I can't really blame him."

There was quiet in the room while n.o.body blamed the sponsor.

"I won't disguise the fact that we're hanging by a thin thread," Hutt said. There's a man, Archer thought irreverently, who will tackle any cliche head-on, asking and giving no quarter. "There's a good possibility that unless we take things in hand immediately," Hutt went on, "that the option on the program will not be taken up when the time comes next month. I won't deny that I'm worried," Hutt said confidently, "but I don't think we're beaten yet." He smiled around the room, putting them all graciously on the same team. "If we work together, we can salvage the program and perhaps even come out better than we ever were. First, I've arranged a press conference up here this afternoon at three o'clock, and I want everybody who is connected with the program-and that means everybody-actors, musicians, engineers, sound men-to be here and answer any questions any reporter asks, answer candidly and with perfect frankness. I've already sent telegrams to all the people who work on the program, even bit-part actors who perhaps only appear two or three times a year for us. I've invited Connors, the editor of Blueprint, who's coming as a personal favor to me, and he's indicated that he is going to ask a certain number of our people directly whether they are Communists or not. You're one of them, Archer," Hutt said, smiling deprecatingly, as though it was a childish joke that he was reporting. "It seems," Hutt said softly, "that the word has gone round that you were fighting our little private cleansing operation and they've been looking into your background rather intensively." Hutt shook his head sadly. "Connors was good enough to show me what they've picked up. I must say, Archer," Hutt said tolerantly, "you seemed to have signed your name to a grotesque list of things."

"Like what?" Archer asked stonily.

Hutt looked surprised. "Do I have to tell you?"

"I'm afraid you do," Archer said. "My memory is failing me."

"It goes all the way back to the time you were teaching in college. But really, now," Hutt laughed softly, "I don't have to tell you."

"What did I do in college?" Archer asked. "I really want to know."

"Well, for one thing ..." Hutt shrugged, as though half good-naturedly giving into Archer's whim. "You were one of the founders of a chapter of some college instructors' union. And then you were chairman at a meeting called together by the American Student Union to hear a Communist candidate for office in 1935."

1935, Archer thought desperately, trying to reach back into his memory, what did I do in 1935? He remembered nothing.

"The American Student Union, as you know, of course," Hutt said, "is on the Attorney-General's list of subversive organizations."

"I don't know of course," Archer said. "And I'm d.a.m.n sure it wasn't on any list in 1935. The list didn't come out till 1947."

"Now, Archer." Hutt shook his head, mildly reproving. "That's mere verbal juggling." He smiled again. "And then you seemed to sign your name to every piece of paper that had the word Spanish on it between the years of 1936 and 1940. Good Lord, man, it looks as though you were trying to win the Spanish war single-handed right in Ohio." He laughed generously, showing Archer that he understood the immature enthusiasms of youthful history instructors. "And then, it seems you contributed to Russian War Relief in 1942."

"I won't even comment on that," Archer said. "You'll probably find fifty senators on the same list."

"Conceded," Hutt said reasonably. "But it sounds unpleasant these days just the same, doesn't it? And it has been declared subversive."

"I guarantee," Archer said, "not to relieve the Russians in any future wars. Does that make everybody happy?"

"Actually, Archer," Hutt said pleasantly, "you happen to be in a quite fortunate position. Through no fault of your own, and at the moment, I'm sure you don't appreciate it fully ..." He chuckled. "But that columnist on that Red sheet who's been after you the last couple of days has done you a world of good, actually."

"What?" Archer asked, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"An attack from that quarter is enormously wholesome," Hutt said sonorously, "and rea.s.sures people who have been entertaining serious doubts about your reliability. And some of the phrases he's used, although they're the most exaggerated nonsense, like 'vanguard of Fascism' and 'hatchet-man for the imperialist war-mongers' have the effect of giving you almost a clean bill of health, all by themselves. Almost, I said." Hutt pointed his finger warningly. "Almost. Of course," he said sympathetically, "some of the other things must be rather embarra.s.sing and I'm terribly sorry they had to be printed. The absurd bit about the Yogi exercises and the information about your being rejected by the Army."

"Loony," Barbante said at the window. "Cracked as an old jug. Our Clem. On a clear day you can see his brain parting at the seams."

Hutt glanced sharply at Barbante, then decided to ignore him. "But then you've got to expect vulgarities like that," Hutt said to Archer, "from gentlemen of that persuasion."

Persuasion, Archer thought dazedly. What does he mean by that? Does he mean Roberts' religion?

"Still," Hutt said expansively, "I'm sure that if you answer all the questions put to you this afternoon by the gentlemen of the press, and answer them candidly and frankly, as I said, and as I am sure you can and will, we'll find that you will be completely rehabilitated in the public mind by the time our next program goes on the air. And anything I may have said previously to you, in a moment of exasperation-" Hutt waved his large pretty hands magnanimously "-anything to the effect that your usefulness was at an end or any hint that perhaps we would have to come to a parting of the ways, I'm sure both you and I will be able to forgive and forget."

He smiled, friendly, dapper, in control, maintaining the perfect, cool, superior, almost cordial relationship of employer and employee.

"Barbante," he said, standing up and taking a step toward the writer, speaking in the hushed, sedative tones of a male nurse, "even though for the moment you no longer happen to be a.s.sociated with us, I think it would be a nice gesture on your part if you would be present at the conference this afternoon, although of course there is no hint of any accusation against you." He chuckled paternally. "You never seemed to have signed anything at all."

"I was too busy," Barbante said soberly, "following girls down Madison Avenue."

Hutt smiled, the male nurse humoring the patient. "Of course you did go to the funeral yesterday," he said, "and there might be a question or two on that score, but I'm sure there'll be no real difficulty."

Even as involved as he was with his own dazed reactions to Hutt's speech, Archer knew that Hutt shouldn't have used the word, "funeral." From the look on O'Neill's face Archer recognized that O'Neill was of the same opinion. Archer saw Barbante growing tense. His head rocked a little from side to side and he flicked the Venetian blinds in a rapid, irregular, tinny rhythm. But for the moment, he didn't reply. Hutt looked at him curiously, frowning slightly, then turned back to Archer. "Oh," he said, as though he had just remembered, "one more thing. Word has reached me that tonight there is to be a meeting at the St. Regis Hotel, a meeting called and paid for by Communists in radio, television and the theatre, to protest the so-called blacklist. Word has reached me, also, that several people from our program have been invited to attend. Naturally," he said carelessly, "I expect everyone in this room to leave it severely alone."

"Can't go to funerals," Barbante muttered, walking unsteadily toward O'Neill's desk. "Can't go to the St. Regis. Can't go to the potty, because Lloyd Hutt says no."

"Barbante," Hutt said sharply, "since you've decided you no longer wish to work for us, I think you can be excused from this conference."

Barbante stared at him drunkenly, thick-eyed. "The man in the Bronzini tie," he said. Then he came over to Archer. "Clem," he said, "a woman I never met coined a phrase. Name of La Pasionaria. Spanish lady. Red as the Russian flag, I wouldn't be surprised. During that little old war you tried to win with your signature in Ohio, Clem. Eloquent old bag. Made a speech. Know what she said?" He peered owlishly at Archer, who was standing now, near the door. "I'll tell you what she said-'You can die on your feet,' the lady said, 'or you can live on your knees.' Wartime choice. Oratory. Heard round the world. OK, while it lasted, Clem. Old-fashioned. Romantic. Other times, other choices. Not up to date. Shows signs of wear and tear, obso-" He stumbled on the word. "Obsolescence. Needs modernizing and I'm the boy to do it. With special permission of the copyright owner. Got it all brushed up for Mr. Hutt and 1950. Still preserve original form, original concision. Still preserve important element of choice. Here it is, the latest model-" He peered around him triumphantly. "You can die on your feet," he said loudly, thinking hard, "or you can die on your knees. Hear me, Clem?" He touched Archer's shoulder, briefly. "OK, OK." he said pettishly, "I'm going."

He went out, walking carefully.

There was silence in the room for a moment and then Hutt said, "Well, I'm glad we got rid of him." Then, more softly, to Archer, "Well, I don't think there's anything more we have to discuss at the moment, Archer. I won't keep you any longer. I'll see you up here this afternoon at three. We're using the Board of Directors' room because we expect a lot of people."

"No," Archer said, and he listened carefully to the words that were coming out of his mouth, as though they were surprising him, too. "No, you won't see me up here this afternoon."

"What's that?" Hutt asked.

Archer saw O'Neill slowly lower his head and look down at the desk in front of him.

"I won't be here this afternoon," Archer said evenly. "I'm not coming to your party. I'm busy. I have to prepare the speech I'm going to make at the St. Regis." He picked up his hat and coat, throwing his coat over his arm. He felt very calm.

"Archer ..." Hutt began. Then he stopped. His shoulders drooped and his mouth twitched and he looked older and more human than he had five minutes before and for a moment Archer was sure there was something baffled and frightened and pleading in the well-kept, controlled, handsome face. Then Archer went out.

"O'Neill," he heard Hutt's voice saying wearily, as he went into the outer office, "if you'll be so good as to close the door, there are one or two things we have to talk about ..."

Archer went downstairs and called the number Burke had given him and told him he would be at the St. Regis early.

22.

HE WANTED TO BE ALONE FOR AWHILE, SO HE WALKED ALL THE WAY downtown, even though the weather was threatening and it was cold and it looked like snow. He tried to think of what he wanted to say at the meeting that night, but all he could think of were sentences that began, "It is guaranteed in the First Amendment," and "As the Bill of Rights puts it," and "In the words of Voltaire ..."

Archer walked down Fifth Avenue, past the department stores, with their windows full of dresses, coats and furs, and the women rushing in and out of the doors, their faces lit with the light of purchase. It is the new profession for the female s.e.x, he thought-buying. If you wanted to set up an exhibit to show modern American women in their natural habitat, engaged in their most characteristic function, he thought, like the tableaux in the Museum of Natural History in which stuffed bears are shown against a background of caves, opening up honeycombs, you would have to set up a stuffed woman, slender, high-heeled, rouged, waved, hot-eyed, buying a c.o.c.ktail dress in a department store. In the background, behind the salesgirls and the racks and shelves, there would be bombs bursting, cities crumbling, scientists measuring the half-life of tritium and radioactive cobalt. The garment would be democratically medium-priced and the salesgirl would be just as pretty as the customer and, to the naked eye at least, just as well dressed, to show that the benefits of a free society extended from one end of the economic spectrum to the others. Eat, drink and acquire, because tomorrow the city may no longer be here or the price of rayon may go up.

He moved into the zone of Oriental rugs and Chinese objets d'art. The men who went in and out of the stores seemed dispirited and beaten, as though they were trying, without success, to hide from themselves the fact that no one bought Oriental rugs any more and that the Chinese had long ago given up making vases, ivory fans and plump, glazed horses in favor of the more interesting business of destroying one another.

The men and women who hurried past him on the avenue looked sullen and cold, as though they thought the bitter weather was a personal attack against them, unjustly delivered by a malicious and powerful enemy: Today, Archer thought, regarding the city, everyone looks as though he would rather be somewhere else.

Washington Square was better because there were children there. They slept in carriages and they chased puppies on the dead gra.s.s and they played ball against the monument, unaware that the weather was bitter or that they would soon become adults who would feel the cold and be doomed to stand in shops and try to sell things that no one wanted any more. Washington Square was one of Archer's favorite walks, but on one side workmen were tearing down a handsome old building, and it stood in jagged ruins, as though it had been prematurely bombed. And on the other side, New York University had spilled over into the beautiful row of mansions, and when you walked past you saw fluorescent lighting and people typing at crowded desks in lovely, high-ceilinged rooms where ladies and gentlemen should have been balancing teacups and speaking in deliberate sentences. Grace, Archer thought, is being superseded by ruins and inst.i.tutions. Private sweetness is giving way to public need, or at least to what the public thought it needed.

In five years' time, Archer thought, the only people who will have the heart to walk in Washington Square will be law students and accountants.

He decided to go home and try to write the speech he had to deliver that night. Maybe, he thought, putting it on paper would make it easier. As he walked toward his house he hoped that Kitty was out. It would be good to have the house all to himself with no questions to be answered, no disturbing domestic noises except the distant humming of Gloria in the kitchen.

But when he opened the door, Archer heard voices from his study. As he put away his hat and coat he listened. Nancy and Kitty. He was surprised. Nancy seldom came down during the day and Kitty hadn't said anything about expecting her. He toyed with the idea of stealing upstairs quietly and working in the bedroom, but the phone began to ring in the hall and as he picked it up, he saw Kitty coming out of the study to answer it. He waved to her and she stopped, waiting to see if the call was for her. "h.e.l.lo," Archer said into the phone.

"I want to speak to Clement Archer." It was a man's voice, rough and harsh.

"Speaking."

"You G.o.d-d.a.m.n, Jew-loving, Red sonofab.i.t.c.h," the man said evenly. "Why don't you leave the country before we carry you out?"

Archer hung up. He looked reflectively at the instrument, then smiled at Kitty.

"Who was that?" Kitty asked.

"Wrong number," Archer said. He put his arm around Kitty and tried to get her to walk with him toward the study. But Kitty didn't move.

"Was it another one of those calls?" Kitty asked.

"Which calls, darling?"

"There've been nearly a dozen of them this morning," Kitty said. She talked swiftly, but Archer could see she was making an effort to be calm. "Men and women. Cursing you and me, too. Threats."

I mustn't be angry, Archer thought. That's what they want.

"Yes," he said gently. "I'm afraid it was."

"Don't you think we ought to do something about it, Clement?" Archer realized Kitty was frightened. "Call the police?"

Archer grinned. "What would you suggest they do-arrest everyone who has a nickel in his possession? Don't worry, Kitty ..." He propelled her gently toward the study. "n.o.body's been killed yet by telephone. It's probably just a couple of cranks with nothing to do and some loose change in their pockets,"

"It's scary," Kitty said. "Right in your own home. That's why I called Nancy and asked her to come down. She says they've been calling Vic, too."

"I must ring my broker," Archer said, determined not to take it seriously, "and tell him to buy a hundred shares of telephone stock for me this afternoon. Hi, Nancy," he said, as he and Kitty went into the study. He kissed Nancy. She was standing against the desk. She had on a trim black suit over a white lace blouse. She was wearing a nice perfume, too. Archer sniffed deeply. "My," he said, "you smell delicious."

They all sat down, Kitty on the couch beside him, holding his hand.

"How're things uptown this bright morning?" Archer asked.

"Confused," said Nancy. "The kids're staying home from school today and our nurse left and ..."

"What's the matter?" Archer asked. "They sick?"

"No." Nancy shook her head. She was wearing a little hat with a veil that was modeled on a bullfighter's hat and she looked as though she ought to be going to an elegant restaurant for lunch. "Our calls started to come in early. Five-thirty. Then every fifteen minutes from then on. I told Vic to have the company disconnect the phone, but he says he likes to hear what his public has to say. He just stands there and chuckles and calls them the most horrible names back over the phone."

"That's an idea," Archer said. "The technique of counter-terror. Tell them they don't fool us, they're Jew-lovers, too."

"People're insane," Nancy said. "Just because you went to that funeral yesterday. And Vic didn't even go."

"It wasn't just because of the funeral, baby," Archer said quietly. "And people aren't insane. They're just horrible."

"That awful magazine," Nancy said, sighing. "Did you see the last issue?"

Archer shook his head. "I made a decision this week. No reading matter that has been written later than the eighteenth century."

"I saw it," Kitty said. "Those people ought to be put in jail."

Archer grinned and patted her hand. Nice, simple Kitty, who still thought she lived in a world in which you could call the police.

"Somebody sent a copy to Miss Tully, our nurse," Nancy said, "and she came in and told me she was going to quit. She wouldn't even stay overnight. She's been with us five years and she wept when she said good-bye to the boys, but she said she couldn't stay in the house of a man who was an enemy of the Church. She's very devout. The kids howled b.l.o.o.d.y murder and she must have used five handkerchiefs mopping her own tears, but she wouldn't even take two weeks' pay as a bonus from Vic. She said it was dirty money. Happy days in the nursery," Nancy said grimly. "After I leave here I have an appointment at an agency to interview some more nurses. That aren't so politically sensitive, I hope. Anyway, we decided to keep the kids home from school today. I was afraid somebody might annoy them on the way. Vic says there's nothing to worry about and he was all for sending them along as though nothing was happening, but I feel better with them in the house. I must confess I don't take those calls as calmly as Vic does. Those people sound ..." She hesitated. "Demented."

"I'm sure there's something that could be done," Kitty said firmly. "Even if you had to go to the Mayor. It can't be legal to call up a perfect stranger in his own house and call him the foulest words anyone could imagine. You have no idea, Clement ..." She turned to Archer, her lips trembling, "Some of the things they've called me over the phone this morning when I told them I was Mrs. Archer."

"You stay away from the phone from now on, baby," Archer said. "I'll answer it or get Gloria." He grinned. "I'll tell Gloria she's free to say anything that comes into her head. They'll think twice before calling again."

"I think we all ought to go away some place," Kitty said. "To the country. Away from phones. Away from these horrible people. Clement ..." She appealed to him, holding his hand, "Can't we get into Vic's car tomorrow and go out to Connecticut and find a little hotel or even a house? It's out of season and I'm sure you could get one for almost nothing for a month or two."

"There's a little question of work, darling," Archer said lightly. He felt guilty and cowardly because the idea attracted him so much.

"You could come in on Thursdays," Kitty said. "Or even two or three days a week. And the rest of the time you could rest and forget about this. You look terribly tired, Clement, and you're sleeping so badly. I hear you moving around and groaning in your sleep all night long."

"Vic'll be able to spend a nice, long spell in the country," Nancy said grimly. "They dropped him yesterday from Griffith Theatre." Griffith Theatre was the other program that Vic did regularly. "And he hasn't been offered a new job in three weeks."

"We'll see," Archer said. "Maybe it'll all blow over by tomorrow."

Gloria came into the room. "Mis' Archer," she said, "the laundry-man is here in the kitchen. He says he ain't responsible for putting those holes in the curtains. He wants to talk to you."

Kitty stood up, moving slowly. "All right," she said. "I'll talk to him."

Nancy and Archer watched Kitty walk heavily and ungracefully after Gloria. Archer rubbed the top of his head thoughtfully.