impressed.
‘I used to belong to this club,’ Lev said. ‘But in 1921 the chairman told me I had to resign because I was a bootlegger. Then he asked me to sell him a case of Scotch.’
‘Why does Senator Dewar want to have lunch with you?’ Greg asked.
‘We’re about to find out.’
‘Would you mind if I asked him a favour?’
Lev frowned. ‘I guess not. What are you after?’
But, before Greg could answer, Lev greeted a man of about sixty. ‘This is Dave Rouzrokh,’ he said to Greg. ‘He’s my main rival.’
‘You flatter me,’ the man said.
Roseroque Theatres was a chain of dilapidated movie houses in New York State. The owner was anything but decrepit. He had a patrician air: he was tall and white-haired, with a nose like a curved blade. He wore a blue cashmere blazer with the badge of the club on the breast pocket. Greg said: ‘I had the pleasure of watching your daughter, Joanne, play tennis on Saturday.’
Dave was pleased. ‘Pretty good, isn’t she?’
‘Very.’
Lev said: ‘I’m glad I ran into you, Dave – I was planning to call you.’
‘Why?’
‘Your theatres need remodelling. They’re very old-fashioned.’
Dave looked amused. ‘You were planning to call me to give me this news?’
‘Why don’t you do something about it?’
He shrugged elegantly. ‘Why bother? I’m making enough money. At my age, I don’t want the strain.’
‘You could double your profits.’
‘By raising ticket prices. No, thanks.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Not everyone is obsessed with money,’ Dave said with a touch of disdain.
‘Then sell to me,’ Lev said.
Greg was surprised. He had not seen that coming.
‘I’ll give you a good price,’ Lev added.
Dave shook his head. ‘I like owning cinemas,’ he said. ‘They give people pleasure.’
‘Eight million dollars,’ Lev said.
Greg felt bemused. He thought: Did I just hear Father offer Dave eight million dollars?
‘That is a fair price,’ Dave admitted. ‘But I’m not selling.’
‘No one else will give you as much,’ Lev said with exasperation.
‘I know.’ Dave looked as if he had taken enough browbeating. He swallowed the rest of his drink. ‘Nice to see you both,’ he said, and he strolled out of the bar into the dining room.
Lev looked disgusted. ‘ “Not everyone is obsessed with money,” ’ he quoted. ‘Dave’s great-grandfather arrived here from Persia a hundred years ago with nothing but the clothes he wore and six rugs. He wouldn’t have turned down eight million dollars.’
‘I didn’t know you had that much money,’ Greg said.
‘I don’t, not in ready cash. That’s what banks are for.’
‘So you’d take out a loan to pay Dave?’
Lev raised his forefinger again. ‘Never use your own money when you can spend someone else’s.’
Gus Dewar walked in, a tall figure with a large head. He was in his mid-forties, and his light-brown hair was salted with silver. He greeted them with cool courtesy, shaking hands and offering them a drink. Greg saw immediately that Gus and Lev did not like one another. He feared that would mean Gus would not grant the favour Greg wanted to beg. Maybe he should give up the thought.
Gus was a big shot. His father had been a senator before him, a dynastic succession that Greg thought was un-American. Gus had helped Franklin Roosevelt become Governor of New York and then President. Now he was on the powerful Senate Foreign Relations Committee.
His sons, Woody and Chuck, went to the same school as Greg. Woody was brainy, Chuck was a sportsman.
Lev said: ‘Has the President told you to settle my strike, Senator?’
Gus smiled. ‘No – not yet, anyway.’
Lev turned to Greg. ‘Last time the foundry was on strike, twenty years ago, President Wilson sent Gus to browbeat me into giving the men a raise.’
