thought of that scares the hell out of me.'
'Lang knows all that!' cried Weingrass.
'Lang?'
The architect shrugged. 'Well, you'll learn soon enough—’
'Learn what soon enough?'
'Jennings kind of invited himself out to lunch here a few weeks ago, when you and my lovely daughter were winding things up in Washington… So what could I do? Tell the President of the United States he couldn't nosh a little?'
'Oh, shit!' said Kendrick.
'Hold it, darling,' interrupted Khalehla. 'I'm fascinated, really fascinated.'
'Go on, Manny!' yelled Evan.
'Well, we discussed many things—he's not an intellectual, I grant you, but he's smart and he understands the larger picture, that's what he's good at, you know.'
'I don't know, and how dare you intercede for me?'
'Because I'm your father, you ungrateful idiot. The only father you've ever known! Without me you'd still be hustling a few buildings with the Saudis and wondering if you could cover your costs. Don't talk about my daring—you were lucky I dared—talk about your obligations to others… All right, all right, we couldn't have done what we did without your balls, without your strength, but I was there, so listen to me.'
In exasperation, Kendrick closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. Suddenly, Khalehla realized that Weingrass was unobtrusively signalling to her, his lips in exaggerated movement; the silent words were easily read. It's an act. I know what I'm doing. She could only respond by looking at the old man, bewildered. 'Okay, Manny,' said Evan, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. 'You can cut it out. I'm listening.'
'That's better.' Weingrass winked at the agent from Cairo and continued. 'You can walk away and nobody's got the right to say or think a bad word because you're owed, and you don't owe anybody anything. But I know you, my friend, and the man I know has a streak of outrage in him that he keeps running away from yet never can because it's part of him. In short words, you don't happen to like rotten people—present older company excepted—and it's a good thing for this meshugah world that guys like you are around; there are too many of the other type… Still I see a problem, and to put it in an eggshell, it's that not too many of your kind can do a hell of a lot because no one listens to them. Why should anyone? Who are they? Troublemakers? Whistle-blowers? Insignificant agitators?… They're easily disposed of, anyway. Jobs are lost, promotions withheld, and if they're really serious they wind up in the courts where their whole lives are soiled—dirt dug up on them that's got nothing to do with what they're there for by expensive lawyers who've got more tricks than Houdini—and if all they end up with is a dole card and usually no wife and kids, maybe it could be worse. Maybe they could be found under a truck or down on the tracks of a subway at an inappropriate time… Now you, on the other hand, everybody listens to you—look at the polls; you're the top cardinal of the country, granting the fact that Langford Jennings is Pope—and there's not a shyster in or out of sight who'd take you on in the courts, much less the Congress. As I see it, you've got the chance to speak from the top for a hell of a lot of people down below who can't get a hearing. Lang will bring you in on everything—'
'Lang, again,' muttered Kendrick, interrupting.
'Not my doing!' exclaimed Weingrass, palms outstretched. 'I started right off the right way with a “Mr. President”, ask the nurses who all had to go to the bathroom the minute he came inside—he's some mensch, I tell you. Anyway, after a drink, which he himself got for me from the bar when the girls were out, he said I was refreshing and why didn't I call him Lang and forget the formal stuff.’
'Manny,' broke in Khalehla, 'why did the President say you were “refreshing”?'
'Well, in small talk I mentioned that the new building they're putting up on some avenue or other—it was in the New York Times—wasn't so hotsy-totsy, and he shouldn't have congratulated that asshole architect on television. The goddamned renderings looked like neoclassic-art deco, and believe me, the combination doesn't work. Also, what the hell did he, a President, know about square foot construction costs that were estimated at about one-third of what they're going to be. Lang's looking into it.'
