it miners 'owed their souls to the company store,' a new breed of chronic debtor had arisen, naively mortgaging future life and income to a 'friendly neighborhood bank.' One reason was that credit cards had replaced, to a large extent, small loans. Where individuals used to be dissuaded from excessive borrowing, now they made their own loan decisions often unwisely. Some observers, Alex knew, believed the system had downgraded American morality.
Of course, doing it the credit-card way was much cheaper for a bank; also, a small loan customer, borrowing through the credit-card route, paid substantially higher interest than on a conventional loan. The total interest the bank received, in fact, was often as high as twenty-four percent since merchants who honored credit cards paid their own additional bank levy, ranging from two to six percent.
These were reasons why banks such as First Mercantile American were relying on credit-card business to swell their profits, and they would increasingly in future years. True, initial losses with all credit-card schemes had been substantial; as bankers were apt to put it, 'we took a bath.' But the same bankers were convinced that a bonanza was close at hand which would outstrip-in profitability most other kinds of bank business.
Another thing bankers realized was that credit cards were a necessary way station on the route to EFTS the Electronic Funds Transfer System which, within a decade and a half, would replace the present avalanche of banking paper and make existing checks and passbooks as obsolete as the Model T.
''That's enough,' Margot said. 'The two of us are beginning to sound like a shareholders meeting.' She came to him and kissed him fully on the lips.
The heat of their argument earlier had already aroused him, as skirmishes with Margot so often did. Their first encounter had begun that way. Sometimes, it seemed, the angrier both became, the larger their physical passion for each other grew. After a while he murmured, 'I declare the shareholders meeting closed.'
'Well…' Margot eased away and regarded him mischievously. 'There is some unfinished business that advertising, darling. You're not really going to let it go out to the public the way it is?' 'No,' he said, 'I don't believe I am.'
The Keycharge advertising was a strong sell too strong and he would use his authority to exercise a veto in the morning. He realized he had intended to, anyway. Margot had merely confirmed his own opinion of this afternoon.
The fresh log he had added to the fire was alight and crackling. They sat on the rug before the fireplace, savoring its warmth, watching the rising tongues of flame.
Margot leaned her head against Alex's shoulder. She said softly, 'For a stuffy old moneychanger, you're really not too bad.' He put his arm around her. 'I love you, too, Bracken.' 'Really and truly? Banker's honor?' 'I swear by the prime rate.'
'Then love me now.' She began to take off her clothes. He whispered with amusement. 'Here?' 'Why not?' Alex sighed happily. 'Why not indeed?'
Soon after, he had a sense of release and joy in contrast to the anguish of the day.
And later still, they held each other, sharing the warmth from their bodies and the fire. At last Margot stirred. 'I've said it before and I say it again: You're a delicious lover.'
'And you're okay, Bracken.' He asked her, 'Will you stay the night'
She often did, just as Alex frequently stayed at Margot's apartment. At times it seemed foolish to maintain their two establishments, but he had delayed the step of merging them, wanting first to marry Margot if he could.
'I'll stay for a while,' she said, 'but not all night. Tomorrow I have to be in court early.'
Margot's court appearances were frequent and in the aftermath of such a case they had met a year and a half ago. Shortly before that first encounter Margot had defended a half dozen demonstrators who clashed with police during a rally urging total amnesty for Vietnam deserters. Her spirited defense, not only of the demonstrators but of their cause, attracted wide attention. So did her victory dismissal of all charges at the trial's end.
A few days later, at a milling cocktail party given by Edwina D’orsey and her husband Lewis, Margot was surrounded by admirers and critics. She had come to the party alone. So had Alex, who had heard of Margot, though only later did he discover she was a first cousin to Edwina. Sipping the D'Orseys' excellent Schramsberg, he had listened for a while, then joined forces with the critics. Soon after, others stood back, leaving debate to Alex and Margot, squared off like-verbal gladiators. At one point Margot had demanded, 'Who the hell are you?'
'An ordinary American who believes that, in the military, discipline is necessary.' 'Even in an immoral war like Vietnam?'
'A soldier can't decide morality. He operates under orders. The alternative is chaos.'
'Whoever you are, you sound like a Nazi. After World War II, we executed Germans who offered that defense.'
'The situation was entirely different.'
'No different at all. At the Nuremberg trials the Allies insisted Germans should have heeded conscience and refused orders. That's exactly what Vietnam draft defectors and deserters did.' 'The American Army wasn't exterminating Jews.' 'No, just villagers. As in My Lai and elsewhere.' 'No war is clean.'
'But Vietnam was dirtier than most. From the Commander-in-Chief down. Which is why so many young Americans, with a special courage, obeyed their consciences and refused to take part in it.' 'They won't get a unconditional amnesty.'
'They should. In time, when decency wins out, they will.'
They were still arguing fiercely when Edwina separated them and performed introductions. Later they resumed the argument, and continued it while Alex drove Margot home to her apartment. There, at one point, they came close to blows but instead found suddenly that physical desire eclipsed all else and they made love excitedly, heatedly, until exhausted, knowing already that something new and vital had entered both their lives.
As a footnote to that occasion, Alex later reversed his once-strong views, observing, as other disillusioned moderates did, the hollow mockery of Nixon's 'peace with honor.' And later still, while Watergate and related infamies unfolded, it became clear that those at the highest level of government who had decreed: 'No amnesty' were guilty of more villainy by far than any Vietnam deserter.
There had been other occasions, since that first one, when Margot's arguments had changed or widened his ideas.
Now, in the apartment's single bedroom, she selected a nightgown from a drawer which Alex left for her exclusive use. When she had it on, Margot turned out the lights.
They lay silently, in comforting companionship in the darkened room. Then Margot said, 'You saw Celia today, didn't you?' Surprised, he turned to her. 'How did you know?'
'It always shows. It's hard on you.' She asked, 'Do you want to talk about it?' 'Yes,' he said, 'I think so. 'You still blame yourself, don't you?'
'Yes.' He told her about his meeting with Celia, the conversation afterward with Dr. McCartney, and the psychiatrist's opinion about the probable effect on Celia of a divorce and his own remarriage.
Margot said emphatically, 'Then you mustn't divorce her.'
'If I don't,' Alex said, 'there can be nothing permanent for you and me.'
'Of course there cam I told you long ago, it can be as permanent as we both want to make it. Marriage isn't permanent any more. Who really believes in marriage nowadays, except a few old bishops?' 'I believe,' Alex said. 'Enough to want it for us.'
'When let's have it on our terms. What I don't need, darling, is a piece of legal stationery saying I'm married, because I'm too used to legal papers for them to impress me overmuch. I've already said I'll live with you gladly and lovingly. But what I won't have on my conscience, or burden you with either, is shoving what’s left of Celia's sanity into a bottomless pit.'
'I know, I know. Everything you say makes sense.' His answer lacked conviction.
She assured him softly, 'I'm happier with what we have than I've ever been before in all my life. It's you, not me, who wants more.' Alex sighed and, soon after, was asleep.
When she was sure that he was sleeping soundly, Margot dressed, kissed Alex lightly, and let herself out of the apartment. While Alex Vandervoort slept part of that night alone, Roscoe Heyward would sleep in solitude the whole night through. Though not yet.
Heyward was at home, in his rambling, three-story house in the suburb of Shaker Heights. He was seated at a leather-topped desk, with papers spread out before him, in the small, sedately furnished room he used as a
