Love Conquers All

by Galia Albin

  Chapter 52

  Mooly Caspi knew where to dig up the stuff that scandals are made of, and how to whip up public interest in them. “We’ve got to give these politicians hell. We’ve got to expose those fat cats that grow rich at the public’s expense, including the businessmen and the industrialists. This is our job: make them shake it their boots. As far as I’m concerned, they shouldn’t sleep at night.”

  Talia wanted to tell him that she, too, stayed awake at night, afraid of libel suits: Members of Knesset, a mayor in a southern town, and her Orthodox neighbor, the ex-member of Knesset Rabbi Eitan, had all threatened to sue her and the magazine for defamation of character. The paper’s attorney, Berliner, assured her that there was no cause for worry. “We’re sitting pretty. We have ample proof of these two crooks’ financial scandals.” But Talia was loath to have her name dragged into political scandals and, in particular, she felt bad about having betrayed her neighbor, who had treated her kindly when Jonathan was alive and, especially, after his death. “I told you right at the start that I’m the editor and you’re the publisher,” Caspi attacked her bluntly. “If you want me to bet he editor of this magazine, you must have absolute trust in me. You cannot show favoritism to your neighbor. Then added, “You have no idea how good these scandals are for business. People are crazy about this stuff. Look at the figures. Haven’t sales gone up this month?”

  “Perhaps, but we’ll end up paying for it another way. Look at the big papers. None of them dares print articles about CEO’s. I’m not inventing the wheel here. Do you remember what happened with the economic reporter of ‘Tonight?’ Manor, the CEO he wrote the expose about, immediately stopped advertising in their paper. They regretted the whole affair, and since then they haven’t repeated that mistake.”

  “Yes, but I’m not so easily intimidated. Members of Knesset and businessmen and other mucky mucks don’t scare me. They should know that ‘Society’ cannot be bought.” He looked at her askance and, in an almost pleading voice, added, “You know that’s true, Talia, So don’t try to deny it. You, too, are proud of our daring and independent spirit, aren’t you?”

  Every so often, Talia would hear strange sounds and voices coming from Caspi’s office. Young female reporters went in and then came out with flushed cheeks and disheveled blouses. Talia usually kept her door often and so she often spotted the girls scurrying down the hallway, in their jeans and tee shirts, some of them looking rather dazed, but others stretching their limbs like cats and smiling contentedly to themselves. Or maybe it only seemed so to her.

  “They’re willing to do anything for the opportunity to write for the magazine. They just want a foot in the door, that’s all,” Caspi didn’t wait for her question when they met one morning by the coffee machine. The noises that came from his room a little earlier were particularly wild. He hated to offer her instant coffee in a paper cup. He had the look of a cat that has just swallowed the cream.

  Talia wanted to say, “I pity these poor girls,” but she held her tongue. Caspi was too valuable an asset, and she didn’t want to lose him. What am I doing here, she asked, disgusted at herself for the self-imposed silence that implied tacit acquiescence.

  “Do you see this paper?” gleefully Caspi waved a few collated pages. “This article was prepared by one of these chicks. She has a good head, and a few other things lower down. Read this. More revelations on your bigoted, pious neighbor.”

  Talia winced. “There’s no God in your heart.”

  “And in your neighbor’s heart?”

  Indeed, the readers flocked to the newsstands to buy the new edition of “Society,” which was printed on glossy chromo paper and in colors that had never before been seen in Israel, the headlines were sprawled across the front page. The pictures presented a new concept in design and bordered on pornography. In the fashion section the best-known models were featured minimally dressed and in psychedelic make-up. At the beginning of each month, Talia felt proud of her magazine, but she was also a little perturbed. True, the articles were of good quality, both refined and daring, but at times they seemed to cross a tenuous lie that she didn’t feel she wanted to cross. Was she dragged against her will, or was she still the goody-two-shoes from Haifa who could never shed her inhibitions? There were times when she told herself that Caspi was a good choice, and there others when she cursed the moment she had laid eyes on him.

  The balance sheet still showed more loss than profit. “It’s not enough to know your magazine is good,” Keierman explained to her, “the success of a publication must be reflected in the advertisements. The magazine is good and has a wide circulation. We’re getting there, but we haven’t reached the status of a leading publication. Talia, you must put in some more effort.”

  She didn’t tell Keiserman of her decision, taken rather hastily, to go to The United States, assuming that he would have objected had he known about it. In a desperate attempt to gamer advertisements and improve the magazine’s status, she had contacted Tommy Galiani, the owner and publisher of the American nude magazine “Hit.” The slick, shiny magazine enjoyed a certain intellectual cachet; its mixture of sexy photos and serious articles written by noted authors and intellectuals appealed to readers of various tastes and walks of life—refined, self-proclaimed liberals as well as lecherous vulgarisms. Talia, after conducting a market research, found that there was great demand for the American magazine in bookstores and newsstands in Israel. She believed that success in finding a niche in the Israeli press would bring her many advertisers and would enhance the reputation of “Society.” In her imagination, she saw herself at the top of a thriving media empire whose cornerstone would be the happy union of “Hit” and “Society.”

  Galiani was not an easy nut to crack. He wanted to know her motives for approaching him, and Talia writhed and wriggled attempting to explain. After all, she was not a great champion of freedom of expression and, in her heart of hearts, she really considered publications like “Hit” smut and obscenity. In order to attain her own goal—that of obtaining advertisements and enlarging the circulation—she was ready to close her eyes and ignore the unsavory aspect of Galiani’s magazine. She was at the point of conceding defeat and returning home when, to her surprise, Galiani’s Italian aide informed her that she had been granted an exclusive contract to distribute the magazine in Israel and in the Middle East. The agreement stipulated that the centerfold, printed in color and showing full frontal nudity, would be chosen by Galiani himself and, in addition, a selection of articles by the most prominent writers in the United States would be supplied to the Israeli monthly.

  In the plane on the way back, Talia tried to take stock of what had happened. Galiani was a scary, overbearing, hippopotamus-like bully, with whom she didn’t enjoy doing business. He was not the kind of man she wanted to meet alone in a dark alley. He barely lifted a finger to shake her hand, and not once did he fleshy lips smile at her. To his credit, she had to admit that he didn’t ogle her, as many Israeli males had done, but treated her as a potential business partner. He agreed to the deal, after having leafed through several issues of “Society” that impressed him with their daring, innovative design and exquisite photography.

  Talia committed herself to paying Galiani an enormous sum of money every month; breach of contract was contingent only upon force majeure. When the contract was signed, the ice between them was broken a little. Talia told him about her latest trip to Italy where, after much investigation, she found a factory producing state-of-the-art printing presses in the town of Brecia, an industrial town near Milan. The machine she bought there was the only one of its kind in Israel, and many prospective clients had already approached her asking to use the press.

  Talia was amazed to see a warm spark light up in Galiani’s cold eyes. He rose from his seat, and for the first time, actually looked her in the eye, excited like a little child, “Signora, Brecia is my hometown! No wonder your magazine is so handsome! This is the most advanced factory in the world. It
belongs to our family, La Cosa Nostra. I use their machines to print “Hit.” Talia needed no translation when she heard him say to his aide, “This lady has balls!” She realized that she had won his heart, but at what price? Did the words “Cosa Nostra” imply affiliation with the Mafia?

  The signing of the exclusive contract was to be celebrated with several parties attended by large crowds upon Galiani’s arrival in the country. He was accompanied by a voluptuous “girl of the month,” who happened to be his girlfriend at the time. The couple was photographed getting in and out of the black Cadillac that drove them around the country. By the Western Wall, the gigantic Galiani, wearing a white satin yarmulke, stuck a note in the cracks of the ancient stones, and the girl, whose mother was Jewish, shed tears. “My love is a kosher Jewish princess,” Galiani announced to anyone who was willing to listen.

  The media frenzy didn’t subside until long after the visit was over. Some congratulate Talia on her courage, praising her for socking it to the bigots and phonies: “a lady with balls,” they dubbed her, using Galiani’s phrase. But others didn’t hide their reservations and their hostility. Talia shrugged it off, “The sanctimonious hypocrites! There were public figures among them who had begged her for an invitation to a reception for Galiani and his girlfriend!”

  It took Talia some time to reach the conclusion that the contract she had signed with Galiani had been a mistake. Once more, she thought, my impulsiveness has gotten the better of me. What have I got to do with such material, she kept asking herself. True, circulation is important, but not at all cost. Whenever she leafed through the magazine, she was filled with revulsion and loathing; from month to month, it seemed to her, the pictures in the magazine were getting more and more obscene, lewd, tasteless. The girls who came to be photographed as the “Israeli centerfold” seemed to her pitiable and irritating, like meat in the market, demeaning themselves and the entire female sex. The feminists denounced her for having degraded women and turned them into sexual objects. To her shame, Talia could only agree with them. Her mother, Jonathan’s mother, and the rest of the family didn’t say anything openly to disparage her, but their faces registered disgust and repugnance.

  Most of all, Talia worried about possible damage to her children. Were they picked on at school? Did their schoolmates hurl abuse and curses at their mother? She was weighed down by guilt. She avoided going out in society, and when not at work, she practically shut herself in.