East Side Story

by Louis Auchincloss

  “I’m talking about changes in the general atmosphere. Not of anyone in particular.”

  “And not of the nonparticipation of our age bracket in the recent conflict? Forgive me if I misunderstood you. Perhaps the point you wanted to make is that the new spirit of which you speak is contagious. That it affects even those of us who fought only the home battle.”

  “I sent a son to the Pacific.”

  “And so did I.”

  “We all know that, Carnochan. I even thought it might make you more understanding of the young men’s point of view.”

  “Isn’t it the old men’s of which you are thinking?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “My dear Joel, you can’t think that I am so much out of touch with firm matters that I have not learned of your interesting proposals for changes both in our name and in our percentages?”

  Krantz glowered at him. “Very well, then. What are you going to do about it?”

  “First of all, I must talk to Mr. Carter. I must see how he views your ideas. Particularly as to the change in the firm name.”

  “Is it his decision alone?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Funny. I thought it was yours. Well, speak to me after you’ve talked to him.”

  Saying which, Krantz turned abrupdy on his heel—he had not chosen to sit during the short interview—and marched (there was no other word) out of the room.

  Carter, as no one knew better than his son-in-law, was never to be totally relied on. There was nothing more likely to elicit his negative response than the least assumption of a favorable one; he hated the idea of being predictable. Added to this was his fear, or at least his apprehension, as he aged, that the next generation might “gang up” on him, so that he derived a certain relish from any falling-out among his younger partners. He didn’t even mind outraging Janetta’s younger sister when she was divorcing a notoriously philandering husband by muttering about middle-aging wives who put on weight with their wrinkles yet expected their husbands to be saints.

  “Well, I don’t know but that our Joel may have a point.” Adam Carter leaned back as he drawled this proposition in the Louis XIV armchair by the great boule Renaissance table that served him for a desk. Black-and-white Piranesi prints of old Roman forts and prisons looked down on him and David from the paneled walls, interspersed with silver-framed autographed photos of kings and presidents. “Carter, Carnochan & Krantz strikes me as perhaps more in keeping with the ethnic widening of our day. Krantz. What exactly is Krantz? Probably shortened from something else. Krantzberg? Krantzstein? Is it Jewish? It might be. At any rate, it leaves the door comfortably ajar for a minority member to speculate that it might be his own. And it’s certainly not Wasp. There was no Krantz on the Mayflower. Mightn’t it be even better to put the monosyllabic name in the middle? Carter, Krantz & Carnochan, how does that strike you? Of course, people would abbreviate it to Carter Krantz.”

  “Why not Carter & Krantz?” David queried bitterly. “Mightn’t that be best of all? Or just Krantz. Krantz et al. Alone and magnificent.”

  “Now, dear David, let’s not be silly about this.”

  “It’s the man’s pushiness I object to, sir. The way he barges into my office and expects me to bow to his every demand. A gentleman should at least give the appearance of waiting till he’s asked.”

  “But Joel doesn’t claim to be a gentleman. He probably despises gentlemen. And I must say, he’s never asked anything of me.”

  “He knows better ways of getting around you, sir.”

  “You mean by channeling it through you, David? Well, think it over, my friend. Think it over. I haven’t given it my blessing. As yet.”

  David had reached the point where he shared his deepest concerns with his son, who had converted one floor of the Carnochan town house to a temporary bachelor’s flat. It was almost as if he needed concerns to justify the serious sessions where Ronny would sit with him over a nightcap after his mother had taken herself to bed with a rather cross “You two night owls can sit up till dawn if you like.”

  The night when he told Ronny of his grandfather’s enigmatic reaction to Krantz’s proposal, the latter was silent for a couple of reflective moments before he had a comment.

  “Don’t you think you and Mr. Krantz could hit it off? He might be easier to deal with if he got the recognition he thinks he’s earned.”

  David looked at him carefully. Of course, he was well aware that Ronny belonged to a tight little social group that included Elly Krantz, the monster’s daughter, who, damn her, was blond and pretty. David had hugged to his heart the wishful thought that his son had befriended her with the object of easing the tension that he knew to exist between their fathers, but he couldn’t blind himself to the possibility that, even if such had been the origin of his interest in the young woman, the girl’s strong sex appeal might well give it another emphasis.

  His tone in replying to his son was dry. “I’m not really sure I could stay in a firm where I had to check every major decision with Joel Krantz.”

  “Is that really the case, Dad?”

  “I’m afraid so. Do you think that’s petty of me?”

  “I’m not so much interested in assessing it as I am in facing it. But if it’s a case of you or Mr. Krantz leaving the firm, I think it would be better for both of you if it were he.”

  “Why for both?”

  “Because the firm is more your life than his. He could be just as happy doing something else. You couldn’t.”

  “How do you know what would make Joel Krantz happy or unhappy?” David’s tone had an edge of jealousy.

  “Because I know him. And because I’ve discussed him with his daughter. Mr. Krantz would love above all things to be a federal judge. He yearns to wear a black robe and rule men from the bench. He says he’s practiced law enough. Now he wants to be the law.”

  “He’s never told me that. And he must be aware that I’m on Senator Clark’s panel to advise on potential judicial appointees.”

  “But that’s just it! He thinks you’d blackball him if his name ever came up.”

  “Instead of which, suppose he owed his appointment to me?” David was dazzled at such an easy solution to his problem. To rid himself of Krantz without a rift in the firm, to do it, on the contrary, to the applause of the firm, which would be gratified by the elevation of a member to the bench, and to the everlasting gratitude of Krantz himself—what a panacea! “But wait a second, my boy. Wait a second.” Of course, it was all too good to be true. “What has prompted you in all this? What is between you and that young woman? Are you conspiring together?”

  “Conspiring what?” Ronny seemed in no way to resent the implication. He merely smiled.

  “Conspiring to put the whole world on your side! So that if you marry Miss Eleanor Krantz, you’ll have a father-in-law who loves the father he now detests and a fool of a father who’s happy to fancy himself the power behind the throne of the firm still called Carter & Carnochan!”

  “Everyone doesn’t have a mind as devious as yours, Dad.”

  “I know one young man who has.”

  “With that I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  They did not discuss the question again, nor did David tell him, a week later, that he had made a luncheon date at the Downtown Association with Senator Clark. When they met it did not take the white-haired, black-eyebrowed, stout, gruff Republican boss of Long Island long to get to what he naturally suspected would be the object of their meeting.

  “Joel Krantz? Well, of course, David, the name of so prominent a litigator as he has come up before. Several times in fact. Krantz has every qualification but one. What sticks in my craw is that old case of Judge Blackburn in New Jersey. You remember that one, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t we all!” Blackburn, a federal district judge, had been convicted of bribery. It had created a famous scandal a decade earlier. “And I assume you’re referring to the Jekyll Steamship Line case. But there was
never any evidence that Krantz had any notion that the judge had been fixed when he argued the case before him. Or that he had anything to do with the bribe our client—our very ex-client, I should add—had paid the judge. It was just a lot of loose gossip, the kind that a mess like that is bound to engender.”

  “I grant it was never proved. But it was believed by your ex-client’s opponents in the case, who were badly damaged by the corrupt ruling, even though it was ultimately vacated. They made a big stink at the time about Krantz knowing that Blackburn was on the take and telling his client about it. Of course, they were bitter and prejudiced, and they never came up with any convincing evidence, but some of that mud stuck.”

  “But do you believe it?”

  “I don’t believe it or disbelieve it, David. That’s not my job, as I see it. But when I’m faced with a choice between two equally eligible judicial nominees, one with a question like that behind him, no matter how unfairly, and one without it, you know which one I’m going to pick. That’s politics. You don’t buy even an easy fight to win if you don’t have to. And there are plenty of candidates with records as clean as this napkin.” And here the senator took up the still-unused linen by his plate and shook it at his luncheon companion.

  That afternoon David sat alone in his office, his door closed and his secretary instructed that he would take no calls. He had to give the deepest thought to the news that the senator had imparted to him. Or rather to what purpose, if any, he might use it. Suppose he should go quietly to Krantz and lay before him, entirely as a matter concerning the welfare of the firm, the possibility of injuring its reputation in the Street by adding to its title the name of a lawyer even unjustly tainted with an ancient scandal? Of course, Krantz would angrily reply that nobody credited such mildewed and malicious gossip. But David would have the additional ammunition, as yet unknown to Krantz, that the mildewed gossip was still fetid enough to stay the appointing hand of a powerful senator. If that did not work with Krantz, might it not work with some of the other partners, into whose ears this item could be discreetly deposited? And could David not add the clinching point that the senator had hinted that he, for one, believed there might be some basis for the rumor? Had Clark not so hinted that? Or in words that could rationally be so construed? And David could add to his argument that not only would the proposed new firm name carry a whiff of scandal but its alteration would open the partners up to an annual fight with other aspiring members who thought their work entitled them to greater publicity on the letterhead.

  David rehearsed in his mind how the discussion at the ultimate firm lunch might go. Joel would, of course, be away, arguing a case somewhere. That could easily be arranged.

  “But surely, David, you put no credit in this old wives’ tale yourself?” someone would be bound to ask.

  “None whatsoever” would be his firm response. “I’ve never harbored the slightest suspicion that our Joel was anything but true blue. But what I can’t get away from is the fact that here we have an important lawgiver who is unwilling to raise him to the judiciary.”

  “But isn’t that just a politician’s super caution and fear of the yellow press? You don’t suppose that Senator Clark really believes that crap?”

  David’s shrug would be monumental. “Who knows what a senator believes. A senator believes what it is politic for him to believe. And it seems to be politic for Clark to believe that Joel’s name is something less than shiningly clear.”

  “But did he say that he thought there was anything in the allegations against Joel?”

  David would be ready for this. “He certainly didn’t deny it.”

  Yes, it might work. It might well work. And Krantz would probably not walk out of the firm. Where could even such a talent as his command a larger income?

  David had resolved to speak no word of his plan to anyone, even Ronny, until he had definitely decided whether or not to execute it, but it was so weightily on his mind that he broke down on the first evening that he found himself alone with him in his dark, leathery, book-lined study after dinner on a night when Janetta was absent at a governors’ dinner of her club. Ronny had been the one to bring up the subject by asking him if he had done anything about the judicial appointment. David then told him all.

  After a thoughtful pause he asked, “What do you think about Mr. Krantz, Daddy? Do you believe he bribed that judge? Or that he even knew about it when he argued the case?”

  “Good heavens, dear boy, what has that to do with the price of eggs? I’m concerned with the reputation of the firm and what might hurt it.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter to you that Mr. Krantz might be made to suffer for something he hasn’t done?”

  “Not having his name in the firm title is hardly suffering.”

  “It might be. For him. He’s a very proud man. I know about his ego and all that. But Elly maintains he’d have cut his hand off rather than pay a judge.”

  “Oh, so you’ve discussed that matter with Miss Krantz?”

  “I have indeed. Which is why it concerns me now to know what you really think about her father. In your heart of hearts, I mean. Was he guilty or not?”

  In the heavy pause that followed, David felt he was perspiring. “I just don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? You mean you don’t care about having a crook for a partner? It’s just his being named a partner that you mind?”

  David felt he could no longer stand the gravity of Ronny’s stare. “How is one to tell what to do in such cases? How can one read another’s mind? Any lawyer might think or not think that the judge before whom he’s appearing might be fixed. I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to bed!”

  Ronny at this arose without a word, kissed him on the brow, and left the room.

  Alone, David refilled his glass from the decanter on the little sideboard. Alone he felt, indeed, and as never before. Or was it really as ever before? Ronny with his terrible question had removed himself, as with a flash of lightning, from the tiny group of humans who had understood him—his old nurse in childhood, his sister Estelle, a boy at Chelton School, all long dead. The world that had always looked askance at him, the world that hated him because it feared—and rightly so—that it was basically like him, was a world of sin, and he and that world were both in it together, however much they might deny and dislike it. Did he believe that Krantz was guilty? Could anything be more irrelevant? Had he even bothered to consider it? How could a thing that was past be worth considering except in how to deal with it?

  But he found himself now considering it; he owed at least that much to his son, even if that son was blatantly deserting his cause. With a conscious effort he tried to divorce himself from the mental picture of him and Krantz and to see Krantz alone. Could Krantz have bribed a judge? he asked himself. Never. He was much too smart, too cautious. Could he have advised a client that the judge was bribable? Probably not. Again, he would have been too aware of the risk. Had Krantz known, when he argued that case, that the judge he was endeavoring to convince had already been convinced? Quite possibly. But wasn’t it a crazy world that cared to get into the recesses of Krantz’s mind or into those of David Carnochan? What earthly difference did it make what went on in one’s own private thoughts? Wasn’t that indeed the essence of freedom? But there it was. The world was crazy. He had always known it; he still knew it, and he could only act on it and accept a crazy universe. Ronny would no longer be with him in soul, only in body. For Ronny had joined the world.

  The next morning at breakfast he found his son smiling, alert. They were alone, as Janetta always had the first meal of the day in bed.

  “I’ve thought things over,” David announced flatly. “I’ve decided that Joel Krantz is pure as driven snow and that I shall no longer oppose his desire for more public notice in the firm.”

  Ronny actually clapped his hands. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so glad! And now I can tell you my news.”

  “Oh, I think I’ve guessed that. Indeed, I wonder if I hav
en’t known it subconsciously for some time.”

  “Has it been so obvious?”

  “I think to everyone but me. Does your mother know?”

  “Oh, yes, and she thoroughly approves.”

  “Well, the girl’s a charmer. When will you marry?”

  “Right after I get my first raise. On New Year’s Day. You’ll see that I do, won’t you?”

  “Oh, I’m quite broken, my boy. Do with me what you will.”

  “Well, I’m going to make it a condition with my future father-in-law that you and he will be the best of friends and the most cooperative of partners.”

  David made a little face at this. “We shall try, anyway. And I shall endeavor to see an alliance with the Krantzes of the Gowanus Canal as the acme of our long social clamber!”

  Ronny jumped up to give him a hug. “Try not to be any nastier than you can help!” he exclaimed with a laugh.

  Alone again in his study before going downtown, David reflected that to face defeat with assumed equanimity was the nearest thing to a victory that such a man as himself could expect. Ronny had even looked like his grandfather at the breakfast table. The Carters had won again. No doubt they always would.

  9. JAIME

  THOSE WHO DECRIED the morals and character of Jaime Carnochan, son of Andy and nephew of David, of whom there were many, and branded him a heartless Don Juan for whose long-merited punishment the statued Commendatore had not yet descended from his pedestal, might at least have had some insight into the origin of his ceaseless philandering had they been able to read the senior thesis that he had submitted to his English professor at Yale in the winter of 1934. His mother, Tetine, possessed the only copy of this singular document; she had preserved it with care, because she alone knew what it was: not the whimsical expression of a sexual philosophy of total permissiveness designed more to amuse than instruct a reader, but the promulgation of what the writer believed to be an absolute truth. It would have been difficult for the world, Tetine’s world at least, to credit anyone, even Jaime, with a sincere faith in so godless a creed, but Tetine could very well believe it. Indeed, she knew it as the only explanation of her adored son and heir.